You know what, Mom?” Abel said later that evening. “Next Sunday I’d like to have company over for dinner.”
“Next Sunday is not a good time,” Mom replied. “I have three scarves to finish, and I won’t have time to go shopping and prepare a dinner for company. Some other time would be better, Abel.”
“That’s okay, Mom,” Abel assured her. “You wouldn’t be involved. I was thinking of buying all the stuff myself and making the dinner. I’d do it all, Mom. You and Dad and Penelope would just need to sit down and eat.”
Mom smiled. “You’re joking, of course,” she said.
“No, Mom, I’m serious,” Abel answered.
“Abel,” Mom told him, “I know you fool around the kitchen sometimes. But you wouldn’t seriously want guests to come and eat something you cooked. I mean, you’re not ready for that. Who would you want to ask over anyway?”
“The Sandovals,” Abel replied quickly. “Ernie’s been such a good friend to me, and Mr. Sandoval is great too. He helps me out a lot at school and with problems and stuff. I thought I’d ask Ernie, his parents, and grandmother and the two little sisters over.”
Mom laughed. “You want to make dinner for six guests and our family too? Abel, are you crazy?’ she asked him.
“No, Mom. When you’re not at home, I’ve done a lot of stuff in the kitchen. I watch all the cooking shows on TV. I’ve cooked for Aunt Marla, and she was impressed. I thought I’d make salmon,” Abel explained, keeping calm in the face of Mom’s disbelief. He was thinking of what Ernesto told him. He was hanging onto his dream and taking the bull by the horns.
Dad came into the kitchen to get some coffee. “What’s this about salmon?” he inquired.
“Oh Sal,” Mom told her husband, “this is almost too much. Abel has this absurd notion that he’s going to cook dinner next Sunday for us and the whole Sandoval family, a big salmon dinner.”
Abel’s father looked at him. “Where did this all come from, mi hijo?”
“I sorta want to be a chef,” Abel confessed.
“A chef!” Mom gasped. “There’s never been a chef in this family. Nobody in our family ever dreamed of such a thing. Is it working at that donut shop that gave you this ridiculous idea, Abel?”
“No!” Abel protested. “I been thinking about it for a long time. I told Ernie, and he thought it was a pretty good idea, Mom. Lot of the big-time chefs are guys, you know. There’s a guy from Turkey who runs a restaurant downtown, and he’s making megabucks already. It’s something I’m really interested in.”
“Oh Abel,” Mom groaned. “You’re making me gray before my time. I would be so embarrassed to have the Sandovals sitting here at the table and we’re serving this disaster, this horrible mess.”
Abel was close to anger as he looked at his father and mother. “You guys got no faith in me at all, do you? It’s always been that way. You think Tomás is some wonderful genius who can do no wrong. And I’m an idiot who is gonna screw up every time.”
Abel was fuming. “I feel like just cutting out of here and going to live with Aunt Marla. She has six nieces and nephews. She told me I’m her favorite and I can stay with her anytime as long as I want. At least Aunt Marla has a little respect for me.”
Abel’s mother looked shocked at his tirade. “Abel,” she stammered, “I do have faith in you but—”
“No you don’t,” Abel cut in. “It’s Tomás this and Tomás that. He’s like some idol around here and I’m a piece of trash. Well, I’m sick of it.” Abel couldn’t remember ever being angrier.
“Abel, your brother is going to be back in a few minutes,” Mom announced. “He’s been visiting old friends. I don’t want you spoiling his visit with your bitterness.”
“Oh, I won’t spoil my brother’s visit, Mom,” Abel assured her. “Ever since he got here last night, you guys have been kneeling at his feet like he’s some guru, waiting for pearls of wisdom to fall from his lips. I mean, maybe we should build a shrine to him and light candles.”
Abel shocked himself by the depth of his fury. He knew he was jealous of Tomás. He had been jealous of him for a long time, but right now his feelings verged on hatred. He didn’t want that to happen, but he couldn’t stem the rush of emotion.
Mom was smarter than Dad. Everybody knew that. But right now Dad seemed the wiser of the two.
“Liza,” he said softly, “if the boy has his mind made up to cook dinner next Sunday and he wants his friends over, why not? It’s not going to be the end of the world if it doesn’t work out. We’ve known the Sandovals for a long time. They’re just ordinary people like us. It’s not like the king and queen of Spain are coming for dinner. If it turns out a little wrong, Luis and Maria Sandoval would laugh it off with us, and things’ll be fine. For heavens sake, Liza, let the boy do it if he wants to.”
“Sal,” Mom blurted, not getting the message yet, “can you imagine the look on Abuela Lena’s face when she sees this horrible concoction that Abel makes?”
“Liza, Liza, she’d get a kick out of it,” Sal Ruiz cajoled her. “I know that woman, and she’s down to earth.”
The door slammed. Tomás was back from visiting his numerous friends in the barrio. “Now the worship begins again.” Abel thought bitterly. “What delightful anecdote has the wonder boy brought to thrill his parents?” Abel caught sight of his brother in the doorway. He felt a terrible urge to punch him right in the mouth and watch those pearly white horse teeth fly all over the kitchen floor.
“Hi Tomás,” Mom cooed. Then she said something that only raised Abel’s rage. “Poor Abel has this ridiculous idea to cook Sunday dinner next week—salmon of all things. He wants to invite the whole Sandoval family over to join us. Can you imagine?”
Abel was stunned. Didn’t Mom have a clue? Didn’t she know she was just enlisting her golden boy to help demean Abel? Didn’t she see how close Abel was already to loathing his older brother? Was she trying to give Abel more reason?
“Hey, I’m sorry I won’t be here for that,” Tomás replied. Abel listened for the sarcasm. Surely there was sarcasm. There had to be sarcasm.
“Tomás,” Mom persisted, “don’t you think it’s a terrible idea for Abel to cook a salmon dinner and have the whole Sandoval family over? I mean, the humiliation of some fiasco—”
She didn’t respect Dad, and she didn’t respect Abel. But every word from Tomás’s mouth was like the gem of a prophet speaking atop a holy mountain. She waited for her wise son to confirm her fears and help spare the Ruiz family from a terrible humiliation next Sunday.
Tomás plucked an apple from the wicker basket on the dining room table and bit into it. Then he answered his mother. “I think it’s a great idea, Mom. I remember when Abel and I were in middle school, we went on a hike, and Abel made the best Sloppy Joe hamburgers we’d ever had. You made fudge too, remember, Abel? It was great. I tried to make fudge a coupla times, and it always turned out chocolate pudding. Abel’s fudge was to die for. Maybe Abel has a knack for cooking.”
Abel stared at his brother in amazement. He remembered the fudge he’d made on the Juarez Middle School hike five years ago? Abel was stunned.
“But Tomás,” Mom stammered, like the disciple of a holy man with doubts about the seer’s wisdom, “fudge and hamburgers are one thing. A salmon dinner with six guests! I mean, the Sandovals will be laughing in the car all the way home. I’ll be ashamed to show my face in church when they’re there.”
Tomás shrugged. “Chill, Mom,” he advised. “Come to think of it, it was Abel who always made the pancakes on Mother’s Day, remember? They were really good. Light, fluffy.” Tomás turned now and looked at his younger brother. “So you want to go into cooking as a career man?”
“Maybe,” Abel nodded. “A chef or something . . .. . .”
“Cool!” Tomás affirmed. “People always want to eat good food, in boom times and bust.”
“I’ve been sorta thinking about maybe being a chef for a long time,” Abel went on, flustered by the sudden turn of events. A few moments ago he had a hard time not hating his big brother. Now his ill feeling had melted like ice on a hot sidewalk. Abel didn’t know how to feel.
“Go for it, Abel,” Tomás urged him. “Let me know how the salmon dinner turns out. I’ll be back home again in a few weeks for my birthday. You gotta make dinner for me then.” He looked at his phone. “Gotta go again. Lotta guys want to see me in the old barrio.” Then he was out the door.
“Well. . . .. . ,” Mom spoke slowly after Tomás left. “I’m going to be busy next weekend, but I’ll help you all I can, Abel.”
“No Mom,” Abel insisted. “I don’t want any help. That would ruin everything. It wouldn’t be my gig then. I want to do it all myself.”
Liza Ruiz looked at her husband with a gesture of frustration.
All week Abel thought about the salmon dinner he was going to prepare on Sunday. He wasn’t nervous about making it. He was just excited. A few times, when he had stayed over at Aunt Marla’s house, he had made dinner for himself and his aunt. He made chicken manicotti one night. Right after that dinner, Aunt Marla told Abel he was welcome to come stay with her as often and as long as he liked. She wasn’t, she explained with a chuckle, a very good cook.
Abel had never confided his dream of being a chef to anyone until the other day when he told Ernesto. He was always afraid people would laugh, but he felt so close to Ernesto that he just blurted it out. Ernesto’s pep talk about following his dreams gave him the courage to open up.
At school on Monday, Abel couldn’t wait for lunch so that he could invite Ernesto and his family to Sunday dinner in person. Texting him about it just didn’t seem cool. A Sunday salmon dinner was too special to send the invitation by cell phone. The minute Ernesto walked up, Abel said abruptly, “Hey man, how about you and your family coming to my house for a salmon dinner on Sunday? I’m cooking it.”
Ernesto grinned. “Listen man, I never turn down a free dinner. You mean we can all come, even Abuela and my sisters?” Ernesto asked.
“Yeah. I sprung it on my mom, and she went nuts,” Abel told him. “She didn’t think I could do it. She freaked man. She doesn’t think I can do anything, but then a real weird thing happened. In comes my wonderful brother, who can do no wrong. Mom asks him if my plan to make dinner isn’t the stupidest thing he ever heard of. Tomás blows my mind by siding with me! It was like a miracle, Ernie. Took the wind right outta Mom’s sails.”
Monday afternoon went well at the donut shop. Elena didn’t talk about any more missing money. And Paul, Claudia, and Abel handled the brisk business. Abel was starting to feel more optimistic.
At about five-thirty, Abel went into the back room for more jelly donuts. Elena had gone home, and he needed to add to the display case. Paul was outside in the parking lot talking to someone on his cell phone. Abel didn’t mean to eavesdrop. But Paul was talking in a loud, agitated voice, and he couldn’t help overhearing.
“I’ll have it for you tomorrow,” Paul was saying. “Tomorrow, okay?. . . Yeah, I got the money. I swear I got it, man. I’m not trying to stiff you, okay?”
Abel hurried back into the front of the store. He didn’t want Paul to know he had heard anything. Abel felt numb. Paul sounded as though he was trying to calm somebody down, somebody he owed money to. Maybe the call wasn’t about that at all, but it sure sounded like it. A terrible thought crossed Abel’s mind. Maybe Paul was hammered for money, and he did rob the till. Maybe Elena wasn’t imagining things at all. But if that happened, then all the crew would be under suspicion, including Abel.
When Paul came back inside, he looked upset. Claudia asked, “You okay, Paul?”
“Yeah, fine, great. Why?” Paul snapped. He started to resupply the coffee station with sugar and napkins. Claudia exchanged a look with Abel. When Paul got off his shift, he sprinted out of the shop, got into his car, and left a lot of rubber in the street in his getaway.
“What’s that all about?” Abel asked Claudia.
“I don’t know,” Claudia responded. “He got a call on his cell and went out to talk. Paul gambles. I think somebody is pressing him over a gambling debt. I hate gambling. It’s like setting fire to your money.”
Abel thought to himself, “Please don’t let there be any money missing tonight when Elena checks the receipts.”
The rest of that week, when Abel worked at the donut shop, Elena seemed even more distracted than usual. Everybody was on edge. Once she couldn’t locate ten dollars she was sure she had put into her purse. For a few minutes Abel was nervous. She always left her purse in a drawer in the back room, and nobody went in there but Elena and the crew. Elena said she thought her purse was safe there, but maybe not. She was getting closer to starting to accuse somebody.
After that incident, Paul Morales gave Abel and Claudia a knowing look. “She’s cracking up, you guys,” he advised. “Mark my words. This is gonna have a bad ending.”
“Oh Paul,” Claudia protested, “don’t be silly.”
Abel thought about Sarah Suarez, Elena’s daughter, and he figured it was no wonder the poor woman was losing it. To have a daughter like that, an eighteen-year-old wacko beauty queen in the body of a thirteen-year-old had to be horrible.
Toward the end of the week, Abel’s preparations for his big dinner became more intense. He planned to make a lemon dill salmon with small red potatoes, along with a leafy green salad with tiny tomatoes. He was going all out for dessert, making a banana cream trifle ahead of time and storing it in the refrigerator. (He’d checked the pantry in the kitchen, and there was just enough sherry for his recipe.)
Abel went to the supermarket on Saturday to get everything he needed. As he shopped, his excitement grew by leaps and bounds. He couldn’t remember many occasions in his life that he had done something to impress his parents, and he was eager to do that. He got so-so report cards and did blah science fair projects. Now, finally, he was making a big splash. His parents were going to be amazed. Neither his mother nor his father expected anything but a dismal failure. Penelope wasn’t sure what was going to happen, but she had picked up on her parent’s low assessment of Abel’s abilities. While Abel was getting dinner ready on Sunday, Penelope came out to the kitchen and stared at him suspiciously. Finally, she said, “Do you really know how to do this, Abel?”
“I sure do,” Abel replied with a smile. Abel was exulting ahead of time how bowled over everybody would be by his dinner.
The next day, Sunday, the Sandovals arrived at the Ruiz home. When they came in, Abel’s mother and father greeted them warmly. Abel heard Mom say to Ernesto’s mother, “I must warn you. Our son Abel is doing this entire dinner, and he hasn’t ever done anything like this before. So I hope it’s okay. Just in case, we’ve got the phone number for the pizzeria ready.” Mrs. Ruiz laughed shakily.
“Oh, I bet it’ll be wonderful,” Maria Sandoval responded.
“Yeah,” Ernesto added. “I know it’ll be. I can hardly wait. I’m crazy about salmon.”
Penelope appeared behind her parents. “Hi,” she said. “My crazy brother is making dinner. You guys might as well sit down.”
When the Sandovals and Abel’s family were seated at the table, which had been made larger with extenders, Abel appeared with the salad. It had small bunches of romaine, tomatoes, freshly grated parmesan cheese, ground pepper, and homemade caesar dressing. Abel wore a nice white shirt and tie. He looked like a real waiter.
“Abel,” Maria Sandoval commented, “you look so handsome.”
Abel smiled and nodded to Luis Sandoval, his teacher, and to the rest of the family. “It’s real nice to see everybody,” he told them. “I hope everything is okay.”
“Don’t count on it,” Penelope warned. Her mother kicked her under the table.
Abel didn’t join the others as they ate their salads. He was too busy preparing the plates for the main course. He had sprinkled the salmon fillets with lemon pepper and cooked them in olive oil. He cooked the small red potatoes, then added bacon pieces. Just before serving the salmon, he added lemon juice, dill weed, and more lemon pepper.
When the salad plates were taken away and the salmon served to everyone, Abel took his seat at the table. He then said something he’d heard the chefs say on some of the cooking shows.
“Enjoy!” he said to everyone. The two families dug into Abel’s meal. Everyone was silent for what seemed to Abel like a long time. Then Maria Sandoval was the first to speak
“Oh my!” she exclaimed. “This is delicious!”
“Remember when we splurged at that nice restaurant downtown and had salmon,” Luis Sandoval recalled. “It wasn’t anything to compare with this. This is so flaky and tender.”
Eight-year-old Katalina chimed in. “Abel, you gotta come to our house and cook sometimes. Abuela is a good cook, and Mom is okay, but I never tasted something like this.”
Abuela Lena looked at Abel and asked, “Where did you learn to cook like this, Abel? Have you taken lessons?”
“No, Mrs. Sandoval,” Abel answered. “I watch the guys on TV, and I read a lot of cookbooks. I’ve tried out stuff a lot at my Aunt Marla’s condo. I really love to cook. I mean, it just pulls me into a zone like. It’s almost like art.”
“Well, it is art,” Abuela agreed. “I think it is one of the world’s greatest forms of art because eating is such a joyous thing.”
Their salmon finished, the diners sat and chatted while Abel took the dishes away. When everyone had had time to digest the meal, Penelope helped Abel bring in the banana cream trifles. The dessert was a perfect end to the meal.
Luis Sandoval leaned back in his chair and looked at Abel. “The meal was amazing, Abel,” he declared. “I bet there’s not another sixteen-year-old kid in the county who could have pulled off something like this. If you want a career in cooking, you’re well on the way.”
Ernesto’s father glanced at Liza Ruiz. “You must be some great cook too, Liza. Abel must have learned a lot at your side.”
Liza Ruiz looked flustered as she responded. “Uh well . . . I’m all right as a cook, but I never dreamed Abel was into cooking like this. So I didn’t spend much time teaching him anything.”
“To tell the truth, Luis,” Sal Ruiz added, “we never knew Abel liked to cook at all. Abel’s never been much good at anything. He’s sorta like me. Just a nice kid who sorta blunders along. Our other kid, Tomás, now he’s a genius. Everything he touches turns to gold, but Abel . . .. . .”
The man’s voice trailed off. He saw the hurt in his younger son’s eyes. He wanted to say something that would ease the pain his words had caused, but he was too late. What he had said he could not recall. So Sal Ruiz finished his banana cream trifle in silence.
“You know what?” Penelope piped up as she helped Abel clear the table. “That was the most awesome dinner I ever had in this house. I thought it’d be horrible, Abel. I don’t even like fish, and I loved it.”
Abel smiled at his sister, “Thanks, Penny,” he told her.
The Sandovals and the Ruizes then went into the living room for coffee and hot chocolate. The moms and dads talked about things in general. The girls played a game on the computer. And Ernie helped Abel clean up in the kitchen.
When it was time to go, the Sandovals thanked Abel and his parents for asking them over and for the wonderful dinner. The last of the Sandovals out the door was Ernesto. He and Abel high-fived and fist-bumped. “It was a home run, man,” Ernesto assured his friend.
Abel closed the door, flushed with happiness. He expected his meal to turn out well. He had experimented with many meals at Aunt Marla’s condo. He had read many books. He had watched the TV cooking shows. He was certain he was going to pull it off.
But now, with the Sandovals gone, his parents looked at Abel with nothing short of astonishment.
They had been sure he would fail, just as he failed at everything else. They were sure of it.
“You did great, muchacho!” his father announced. Abel thought he saw tears in the man’s eyes.