Page 23 of Mutual Discord

That was an interesting statement. I opened my mouth to tell Alex as much, but before I could, he looked at Denise. “Are you a transplant as well?”

“Yup,” Denise said, raising her glass to Alex. “I moved here ten years ago from Miami, and although I like to bitch about the weather and the snowbirds and their horrible driving, I had to deal with snowbirds and their driving in Miami, too. At least the heat here bakes you evenly.”

Alex leaned back in his chair and crossed his arms over his chest, his glass dangling from his fingertips. “Was it hard to adjust?”

Denise pursed her lips, her gaze far away. “Yes and no. Moving is always hard, especially if you move somewhere without a support system. I was lucky that I had an aunt who lived in Glendale, and I would go visit her whenever I felt homesick or needed some authentic Dominican food. And then my sister and her husband moved here, so I see them and my niece and nephew frequently. I finally feel comfortable enough to call Phoenix home, but every once in a while, I’m homesick for Miami. It’s possible I always will be, to some extent.”

“Have you been feeling homesick?” I asked quietly, looking at Alex.

He seemed to ponder my question for a moment, simply staring at the activity in the dining room. “Perhaps a little. I lived in New York for almost a decade, but I don’t know that it felt like home. I had friends, but I never felt rooted to my life there. Despite my proximity to Puerto Rican culture living in the city, I never engaged with the community and I truly don’t know why.” Alex turned his head, glancing at Denise before sliding his gaze to hold mine. “I suppose I want to try something new here in Phoenix. Give myself opportunities to connect in ways I didn’t in New York, or Raleigh, or Pennsylvania before that.”

“That is a lot of moving around,” I murmured.

Alex chuckled, although it sounded a tad brittle. “I went from being a military brat to a career that took me all over the country. I’m hoping Phoenix might be a place I can settle down in for a while.”

But Caitlin’s in New York. I didn’t voice the thought, but I still considered it. While it was true that they hadn’t been seeing each other for long, it seemed as if agreeing on a central place to live would make sense for a new relationship. But then both Caitlin and Alex were used to traveling and moving about, so maybe that worked for them.

I didn’t have a great track record when it came to love, so it certainly wasn’t my place to question how other people navigated their romantic relationships. Next time I talked with Caitlin, I would have to ask how she and Alex were doing, and how they made it work with their busy schedules.

“Well, Puerto Rican culture here is not as prevalent as it is in, say, New York or Chicago, but there are Puerto Ricans everywhere.” Denise grinned. “Between Sofia and me, we’ll make sure to expose you to as much of the culture and community as we can. Right, Sof?”

“Right,” I echoed. There were a few Puerto Rican pride events that were held every year, and a new salsa club had opened downtown the year prior that I had not been able to visit yet. Although the idea of dancing with Alex, our bodies pressed close, moving in tandem to the music, sent a forbidden bolt of heat shooting down my spine…

I was saved from my alarming thoughts when the server arrived with our food. We spent the next twenty minutes enjoying our meals, and I was reminded, yet again, of how delicious my people’s food was. Alex made us laugh throughout dinner as he shared his opinion on his entrées, fiercely proclaiming that he’d missed out by growing up without having soul food served at home every day.

“But if your parents were busy with deployments or alternate schedules, it’s understandable you wouldn’t have had much opportunity to enjoy authentic home cooking,” Denise said, winging up a brow.

“I know.” Alex studied the madura he speared on his fork. “But I often wonder how different my childhood would have been if my parents had never joined the military. Had they stayed on the island, and had me and my sisters there. They came from big families, and yet we’re not close with them.”

Crossing my leg so I could face him, I asked, “Have you ever been to the island?”

“No.” Alex set down his fork and stared at the uneaten food on his plate. “My parents got pregnant with my older sister right out of high school, and their families forced them to marry. I think they carried a lot of resentment because of that, so we didn’t interact with our extended family much at all. My mom and dad visited several years ago and had wanted us to travel with them, but the dates fell during the most inconvenient time. The Cosmos were in the playoffs, and there was no way I could dip out for a family trip to Puerto Rico. I tried to explain that to my parents, but the time frame worked for them, so they refused to budge. Instead, they complained to everyone who would listen about me missing the trip.”

“That sucks,” I whispered. I couldn’t imagine how I’d feel if my parents planned a trip home to Puerto Rico and refused to accommodate my schedule. “I’m sorry you missed out on the chance to meet your family and spend time in the land of your roots.”

“Me, too.” His chest rose and fell with a deep sigh. “I should apologize to you two for bitching this entire time about why I’m so disconnected from my—our—culture. But it’s embarrassing.”

Denise made a hissing noise, a scowl on her face, but it was me who said, “You have nothing to be embarrassed about. Culture is not something that you have to tap into as a child to understand. Or appreciate. Instead, I think culture is a seed that’s always inside you, just waiting to be nourished. To be watered. It sounds like you weren’t ready or even in a position to do those things before now.”

Alex stared at me, a crinkle between his brows. His normally expressive eyes were guarded in a way I’d never seen before, and I didn’t know what to think about it. Or more importantly, what to say to chase away those reservations.

“I think that to be an immigrant or the child of immigrants is to wage some sort of battle with your identity.” Denise rattled the ice in her glass as she considered Alex. “I was born in San Juan and moved to Miami when I was in junior high, and then, as I’ve said, I have lived here in Phoenix for over a decade. And do you know, I felt horribly guilty that I wasn’t in PR when María hit. That I couldn’t be there to help my grandmother, whose house flooded. Or help my Tío Miguel find insulin because the electricity was out for so long his supply went bad. I felt that by not being there during such a traumatic event, not having my feet on the ground to help, with my own two hands, made me less of a Puerto Rican.”

“Of course that’s not true,” Alex argued.

Denise smiled. “Of course it’s not. Just like it’s not true that you growing up distant from the culture makes you any less Puerto Rican. You can’t change how you were raised just as I can’t change the fact that I wasn’t there after the hurricane.”

I cleared my throat. “I firmly believe that being a Latine person shouldn’t require a litmus test. You’re Puerto Rican, Alex, because your parents, your family, are Puerto Rican. ¡Eso es!”

Alex nodded his head slowly, his expression unreadable. I took a bite of food merely to have something to do in the silence of my proclamation. When Denise met my gaze, I shot her a quick smile, which she returned with one of her own.

Grabbing his glass suddenly, Alex threw back the rest of his alcohol and then smiled first at Denise before he turned its brightness on me. “I’m sorry I brought down the mood. You invited me out, I enjoyed a delicious meal, and then I proceeded to be the world’s biggest bummer.”

“You’re not a bummer,” I declared, bumping my shoulder into his. “I’m honored you felt comfortable enough to share your insecurities with us.”

“I don’t know a lot of men who would be open and honest about something like that,” Denise said.

“I’ll tell my sisters their influence has rubbed off on me,” Alex said, dropping his head.