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“Dad mentioned you talked to Antonio?” Devon said as Nerea passed her a dish to dry.
“Was that a question or a statement?” Nerea asked. Devon’s fiancé, Miguel was doing his level best not to be noticed as he busied himself carrying plates from table to sink to be washed. Nerea assumed he’d stop being intimidated by her eventually, but it didn’t seem likely to happen soon. He’d only gotten more twitchy around her since he and Devon had gotten engaged. It reminded her of how Callum had behaved around her own mother, thirty years ago.
Devon sighed. “How’s he doing?”
“Your father or Antonio?”
“Antonio. Dad is fine, because he was feeling apologetic about Antonio again. Which doesn’t change the fact that he was a prick.”
“Language,” Nerea admonished gently because it was her maternal duty. Weddings were emotional events, and small wonder that this one was reopening old wounds for so many people. Devon had been the most attached to Tonio of all the girls when they’d been little. She’d resented Callum’s absences and his returns the most, and she blamed her father, then and later, for being the disruptive force that removed Tonio from their lives. Leigh had always been Callum’s daughter and, like him, ready and eager to forgive any failure of attention or emotional outburst. Piper had been too young at the time to form any opinion.
“Antonio’s well,” Nerea went on. “He’d like to see you, I’m sure, before the wedding. If you have time.”
Devon nodded shortly. “I know. We already have plans to meet for coffee next week.”
“Then why did you ask how he was?” Nerea handed her another clean dish.
“It’s been a while since he and I have really talked, making plans for coffee aside. And because I wanted to see if you and he were okay.”
Nerea wasn’t thrilled by all the back channel fretting going on over Tonio, but at least everyone was trying to be aware of the emotions involved.
Once cleanup was done, they moved on to wedding logistics. They spread planning materials over the kitchen table. Nerea doodled out ideas for the invitation design while Devon and Miguel debated the merits of having the reception in the church hall versus at the house.
Devon looked over at Nerea’s sketches and took a deep breath. “I need to tell you something.”
Nerea was forty percent sure the next words out of Devon’s mouth were going to be I’m pregnant.
What she actually said was, “I’d like to change what people call me.”
Nerea had no response prepared for that. “Say again?”
“Obviously the invitations need our full names,” Devon waved a hand at Nerea’s doodles. “But, Miguel calls me Margarita. His family calls me Margarita. I think I’d like for everyone to call me that from now on.”
Nerea’s eyebrows hit her hairline. “Even our family?”
“Yes. That’s why I’m telling you this.”
Miguel looked like he’d rather dissolve through the floor than be present for the rest of this conversation. Nerea tried to gather her thoughts. This was hardly anything dire, but the hesitance in her daughter’s voice had made her uncomfortable. As she looked for more words, her mobile rang. She glanced at it: Callum and his eternally ridiculous timing. It could have felt ominous, but after their conversation the other night, him reaching out, for whatever reason, made her feel hopeful that he could bring a steady presence to this odd moment.
“Hello darling,” she said as she picked up. “Guess what?”
“I couldn’t possibly,” Callum said after a moment’s hesitation.
“Our daughter wants to change her name.”
“Oh.” A beat. “Which daughter?”
“Devon.”
“She’s getting married. Isn’t that what married people do?”
“Not in Spain,” Nerea reminded him, as if he could have forgotten. It had caused a scandal with his family upon their own marriage. Nerea had never particularly grown more fond of them for it. “But no, not her last name. Her first name,” she clarified.
“Oh. Why?”
She pulled the mobile away from her ear and set it to speakerphone. “Tell your father why, Devon.”
“I live a Spanish-speaking life, with a Spanish man, in Spain. It’s not complicated.” Devon spoke in slow, condescending English, half to Nerea, half to the mobile Nerea now set on the table between them. “And I’m not changing it. I’d just prefer if you called me Margarita from now on. It’s part of my name anyway, it’s not that big a deal.”
“Are you changing your last name?” Callum asked, annoyed, in Spanish.
As Devon stuck to English, Nerea marveled at the capacity of both her husband and her daughter to use their bilingualism in a passive-aggressive battle of wills. “We don’t do that here. You know that, and even if you didn’t, Mother just reminded you.”
Callum merely said, “Huh.”
“Was there something you needed?” Nerea prodded.
“Ah, no, not particularly. But Jamie’s asleep, and I thought maybe you and I could...talk?” The flirtation in his voice was all too clear.
Devon put her head in her hands and moaned. Miguel patted her on the shoulder. Nerea rolled her eyes at the two of them.
“Callum,” Nerea said.
“Yes?” Callum sounded so hopeful it was absurd.
“You do know Devon — sorry, Margarita — and Miguel are still sitting right here and that you are still on speakerphone, don’t you?”
“Yes?”
Nerea pushed herself up from the table with a laugh. “All right, I’m leaving the room and taking this call privately. And then you can tell me more about what you’ve done now. Efficiently. Because you’re interrupting wedding planning.”
“Efficient is no fun. And I didn’t do anything,” Callum protested. “I mean, other than Jamie.”
Nerea laughed. “First things first,” she said as she headed upstairs to their bedroom. “Are you calling because Leigh complained about me again, or because you want to gossip about your new toy, or because you are insatiable and want phone sex?” She marveled at how little changed after twenty-nine years of marriage and three children. The banter and the fun and the deep, underlying trust and affection had never wavered, practically since the moment they’d met, episodes like Tonio entirely aside. But then, neither she nor Callum were perfect. More importantly, neither of them expected the other to be.