Page 58 of Mutual Discord

The other woman pursed her lips, her gaze far away. “I’ll have to check with Sam.” At my questioning look, Camila smiled. “My situationship.”

“I thought he was your boyfriend?” Alex snorted. “Does Sam know he’s only a situationship?”

“Mind your business, Alex,” Camila said, lifting her margarita to lick the salt off the rim. “Sam knows exactly where he stands with me because I don’t believe in playing games. He knows that I’m too busy to be in an official relationship with anyone.”

Alex tilted his head toward me and said in a faux whisper, “They’re totally in a relationship. Camila just doesn’t want anyone to think they have an emotional sway over her.”

Sneaking a glance at Camila, I saw that she sat glowering at her brother.

“The other night when I walked by her room on the way to the kitchen, I overheard them talking on FaceTime”—Alex cringed—“and I’m pretty sure Camila was telling Sam how much she missed him and couldn’t wait to get back—”

“Cállate, Alex!” Camila snapped, her brown eyes sparking like pyrite. “At least I’m not pining over someone who’s made it clear she’s not—”

“Excuse me, but here’s that michelada for you.”

I jerked my chin back at the interruption, turning to blink rapidly up at the server as she placed a large margarita-shaped glass on the table in front of me. The rim was liberally coated in Tajín, and a pickle, jalapeño, and two olives were speared on a toothpick and balanced expertly on the top.

“Gracias,” I said, smiling at the server. When she walked away, I brought the straw to my lips and took a sip, humming loudly in the back of my throat as if it would distract from the tension emanating between the siblings.

Camila’s arms were crossed over her chest, and she stared across the table at her brother, her brows low. But Alex didn’t appear irritated; more pensive, jaw hard as his gaze remained fixed on the NBA game playing on the televisions near the bar. What had Camila been about to say? At least I’m not pining over someone who’s made it clear she’s not…what? Ready to make it serious? Willing to move to be closer to you? Camila had to have been speaking about Caitlin, but I couldn’t be absolutely certain of that fact because I had refused to ask any questions about her relationship with Alex. I’d tried so hard not to ask him about Caitlin, and he’d never spoken about her with me aside from random comments here and there. But if he had, or if I had asked more questions, perhaps I wouldn’t be in my own head over them. Over him. Perhaps if I wasn’t trying to be a good, trustworthy friend to both of them, maintaining boundaries wouldn’t be so difficult.

“So that’s a michelada?”

Camila’s voice interrupted the silence, drawing my and Alex’s attention.

Sliding the glass across the tabletop toward her, I said, “Try it.”

Carefully holding the accoutrements aside, Camila lifted the glass to her lips and took a sip. When she rolled her eyes back, I laughed.

“Okay, that’s delicious. Salty and spicy and cold. I want one.” Raising her hand, she flashed a grin at the server. “May I have one, too?”

We laughed and joked for another hour, and I soaked up the time spent not just with Alex, but with his sister, too. Camila was wonderful, and I so badly wanted to be her friend. But would Caitlin believe I was crossing a line?

I offered to drive the siblings back to their hotel, and Alex didn’t complain when Camila called shotgun and jumped into the passenger seat when he held open the door. He simply sighed and sat in the back…where I inconveniently met his gaze anytime I glanced in my rearview mirror. When we arrived at the resort, I had just put my car into park when Camila leaned over the center console and wrapped her arms around my shoulders.

“You’re just as cool as I knew you would be. And so much prettier in person.” She pulled back, arching her brow. “Would you feel comfortable exchanging numbers? I’d love to keep in touch.”

Before I had a chance to respond, Camila scooped up my phone and held it to my face to unlock the screen. Then with practiced speed, she programmed her phone number into my contacts. With an impish smile, she handed it back to me.

Snorting softly, I sent her number a text with a simple, “Hey, it’s Sofia!”

When her phone buzzed, Camila glanced at it and squealed. “I’m so happy to have met you. I need more badass Latina friends. Will you converse with me in Spanish?” When I frowned, Camila lifted her shoulder. “Of the three of us, my Spanish is the worst. I think it’s because I’m the youngest and got less one-on-one time with our parents.”

“You just don’t remember your verbs,” Alex pointed out from the back seat.

“As if your Spanish is any better.” Camila turned back to me, her brows furrowed. “Has he spoken to you in Spanish?”

I shook my head and glanced at Alex in the rearview mirror. “He has not.”

He pressed his lips together for a second. “My Spanish may not be as bad as Camila’s, but it’s not much better. And I didn’t want to embarrass myself when I know it was your first language.”

Oh. My heart sank as I took in Alex’s, and to a lesser extent Camila’s, embarrassment. I wasn’t sure what to say to make them feel better, but I had to try.

“Being a Latino is hard, isn’t it? When we first moved to Arizona from Puerto Rico, I was teased in kindergarten because I spoke English with an accent. My English was great—my parents made sure of it—but because I had a Spanish accent, I was mocked. Sometimes by my teacher, who claimed not to understand me.” Camila scoffed, and I smirked at her disgruntled expression. “I’ve watched both of my parents, but especially my father, deal with academic prejudice because they have accents. Fellow professors and researchers that doubted my father’s credentials because they assumed he wasn’t English speaking.” I turned in my seat so I could meet Alex’s eyes directly. “And yet if you do learn English, if you do assimilate, you’re made to feel less than. As if you have no pride in being Puerto Rican or Mexican or Chilean or whatever. As if your family didn’t do what they needed to do to stay safe. As if Spanish isn’t a colonizer language anyway.”

“Exactly,” Camila declared, throwing her hands in the air.

Alex held my gaze but didn’t speak.