Val removes the taco salad from the fridge and divides it among three plates. She then waltzes over and does a little bunny dip as she places each dish on the table. They must have taught her that move at the hotel, in Etiquette 101—how to properly serve guests. I like it; it works. I also admire that she can carry three plates on one arm so effortlessly and not drop one.
I devour a considerable portion of the salad and compliment Cindy on her cooking skills. Believe it or not, it’s hard to find decent Mexican food here. I’ve been telling Slim that he needs to open a restaurant. He's always looking for new business ideas and he knows half the people in town. But it all comes down to time and money as it always does, and of course, finding good help. The rules are quite different here. Starting a business is not easy and requires copious amounts of patience.
After dinner, Val retrieves a covered dish from the counter and places it in the middle of the table. When she removes the tin foil, we all gawk in unison.
“What are they?” Cindy says, sliding a long red fingernail under one, lifting it by its corner.
“Pineapple empanadas,” Val sulks. She looks as deflated as the dessert sitting in front of us.
“That’s right; I remember having them one time. They looked different, though, more doughy and pillowy.” Cindy pinches it between her fingers and takes a bite. Pineapple oozes out and onto her plate.
“Yeah, they fell flat.” Val frowns. “I swear it must be the humidity here. Nothing I make comes out right.”
I don't want to add salt to the wound, but let’s face the facts. Val is a much better preparer than baker. The poor gal can't cook to save her life. I reach for one and bite into it, pretending to enjoy it.
“Delicious,” I say, forcing another bite. Listen, if I'm going to indulge in a sweet treat, it better be good, darn good. I refuse to waste calories on tasteless creations.
“Hey, have you guys ever had that spongy, milky cake?” Cindy asks. “I forget what it’s called. I think it has whipped cream on top.”
“Tres leches,” I say, gazing at Val. “We had it on vacation, remember?”
“Yeah, it was so yummy. It can’t be that hard to make but I’m sure I’d mess it up.”
“Aww, V. Don’t be so hard on yourself. I’ll help you with it; we can make it together tomorrow,” Cindy looks over, winking at me and Val catches her in the act.
“What’s going on?” Val snaps, crossing her arms over her chest.
“Nothing,” I say, shaking my head.
“Cindy, I saw you wink at him.”
“It wasn’t the first time,” I say, giving Cindy the side eye.
Suddenly I feel a kick from under the table and reach down to massage my shin. “She winked at me earlier when she first arrived.”
The chair scrapes against the floor as Val jumps up. She throws open the cabinet, grabs the bag of dog food, and fills Max’s bowl. With bowl in hand, she stomps out the front door, slamming it behind her.
“What are you doing?” Cindy reprimands me.
“What do you mean, what am I doing? What are you doing?” I glare. “I know it was you who winked at me. CutieC, how original,” I scoff, rolling my eyes.
“Oh please, I knew it was you, too. I was testing you,” she hisses.
“Testing me? For what?”
“To see if you were good enough for my friend.” She pushes back from the table and tromps into the living room.
“Who are you to judge?” I sneer. “Of course, I’m good enough.” Picking up my glass, I rise from the chair. “I’m the best thing that’s happened to her.”
“Then why the hell are you keeping her locked up from everyone?” she rages.
“Are you out of your mind? I’m not locking her up.” I take a step closer. “Did Val say that?” I watch Cindy’s mouth drop as she looks past my shoulder.
“Did Val say what?” I turn and see Val standing in the doorway, hands on her hips, staring at me.
33
Valerie
None of us slept much that night. David stormed off and fell asleep outside in the hammock. I had offered Cindy our bed but she insisted on sleeping on the futon. She felt bad about what had happened at dinner and kept apologizing, blaming herself for our petty quarrel. David, of course, blamed it on her and the alcohol. How quickly he forgets the times when he's had a few too many drinks. He forgets when he's made a scene, created unnecessary drama, and caused me heartache. I can't even begin to tell you how many times he's blatantly flirted with women right in front of my eyes. There were so many that I have lost count.
I shouldn't have become upset when Cindy winked at him. I know how flirtatious she can be at times. She completely opened up and was honest with me, telling me everything over coffee the next morning.
“You know I only winked at him to see if he’d wink back, right?” she pleaded, sitting on the counter, her long legs dangling.
“What if he had winked back, then what?” I held the mug tight in my hands.
“But he didn’t,” she stated, hopping off the counter, her bare feet slapping the tile. “Besides, he hadn’t logged into the site in months. You can see a person’s last activity on their profile, you know.”
“No, I wouldn’t know. I don’t do dating sites.”
“So when David called me—”
“How did he get your number?”
“Gosh, V, I don't know. He probably got it from your phone.”
“Great, so now he’s looking at my phone.”
“Seriously? You’ve been snooping through his files and digging in the garden… you’re not exactly innocent, you know.”
“Fair enough, continue.”
“Listen, he’s concerned about you. When he first told me you weren't acting like yourself, I didn't believe him. But now I see what he means.
