"Your mom is raising two kids," he says, lacing his fingers through mine, squeezing my hand. "And designing furniture, and managing galleries."
"Yeah," I argue, "but my mom is almost forty, and she's had years of practice being a responsible adult."
Andrés leans closer to me, so close I can feel his breath on the nape of my neck. I don't dare open my eyes because I'm afraid this queasy feeling will return. He strokes my face with the tips of his fingers. "It's my baby, too. You think I won't help you? Your mom will help us, and my cousins, and don't forget Tio and Tia. We'll be lucky if Tia lets us see our baby at all."
I resist the urge to melt beneath his touch. I love it when Andrés caresses me.
"I love you, mija." He feathers soft kisses on my earlobe and down my neck. "It will all work out. I promise."
A soft moan escapes my lips. Andrés's touch is exquisite, and so enticing. If I didn't know any better, I'd say Andrés was trying to distract me from the ugly reality that I'm going to be a parent and I'm not ready.
I jerk, and my eyes fly open at the sound of the rumble coming from my mid-section.
"Was that your stomach?" Andrés asks.
"I'm hungry." I shrug apologetically. I had a huge dinner last night, but I'm famished. I realize this is probably one of those wonderful side-effects of being pregnant. I wish Andrés would take me out to eat. Though I normally crave chorizo and egg tacos, I can't get my mind off a heaping plate of pancakes with blueberries and whipped cream. Plus, crispy bacon, fluffy scrambled eggs and a big cup of coffee would be nice. I'm eating for two, but I'll probably gain enough weight for three.
"Do you want to go to IHOP?" he asks.
Andrés is either a mind reader or an angel from heaven.
I struggle to sit up and will the dizziness to subside. Worrying over my pregnancy isn't going to solve my hunger issue. We'll go discuss our doomed future over pancakes.
***
I normally don't like sweets for breakfast, but after I practically inhale blueberry pancakes loaded with extra whipped cream, scrambled eggs and two sides of bacon, I sit back and sip my coffee while dabbing the sides of my mouth with a napkin. Andrés is in the booth across from me, smirking at my empty plate.
"You sure you got enough, mija? Should I ask them to bring out the whole pig?"
"You're funny," I say, snatching a leftover wedge of toast from his tray. "I haven't had an appetite all week with this sinus infection. I'm just making up for lost time." I sniffle loudly, as if to prove my point, although I'm feeling a lot better today. The antibiotics must finally be working.
I slather the toast with strawberry spread and take a bite. Mmmmm. I can't believe I'm still hungry.
Andrés's smile widens as he nods at my pilfered toast. "Who said I was finished?"
I give him a sharp look: after all, he's partially responsible for my appetite. "I did, that's who." He pushes aside our plates and pulls out his iPad. "We need to set a date." He opens a calendar on his screen.
I frown when I notice how much work shit is on his calendar. I can't believe he's got time left over for me.
"I wanted a spring wedding." I lean back and groan as I settle a hand on my full belly, "but I'll be as big as a house by then. Maybe we should wait until after the baby."
Andrés's shoulders tense and panic flashes in his wide eyes. "You know my family's old-fashioned, mija."
"So you want to get married soon? Do you know how long weddings take to plan?" When he asked me to marry him, I thought we could still have a lengthy engagement, time enough for me to figure out what kind of wedding I want and plan our honeymoon.
Andrés shrugs, scrolling through the dates on his calendar. "You don't have to plan it. We can get married at Tio's ranch. My family will take care of it."
I lean forward, eyeing him intently. Does Andrés think our wedding is going to be another backyard barbeque? "Are you serious?"
I've got to pick out a dress, arrange a caterer, and since I'm supposed to be a wedding designer, I've got to decide on a theme.
"Yeah," he says casually, as if planning a wedding is no big deal. "My cousin Rosario got married at Tio's house a few years ago. We had a Tejano band. My family made all the food. Uncle Arturo made the cake and tamales."
I perk up like a dog with a new bone. "Tamales?"
His smile widens. "Of course."
Andrés found my weak spot. He knows how much I love tamales. But tamales at a wedding? I haven't been to many weddings, other than the few my parents brought me to at the country club, and I'm fairly certain tamales weren't on the menu. But this isn't going to be a country club wedding. Those rich snobs are part of my old life. Andrés is my life now, and so is tasty Mexican food. I take another sip of coffee while I think long and hard about what I want my wedding— our wedding—to be about, and the more I think about it, the more I like the idea of saying our vows at Andrés's uncle's ranch. We'd be surrounded by people who love us, with the awesome Texas Hill Country as a backdrop. Plus, we'd get to eat great food. What's not to love?