Free A Snake in the Grass by K. A. Stewart

made her seem eight feet tall, and even I had
to suppress the urge to hop to when she barked.
    “Carlotta, this is Sveta.” It occurred to me,
not for the first time, that I had no idea what Sveta’s last name
was. Maybe she didn’t have one, like Madonna or Prince. I stepped
back so the two women could make their greetings, and Carlotta
tilted her head curiously as she looked the young woman over. Sveta
just returned the look, and the silence dragged on long enough that
I started to get uncomfortable. Had something gone wrong when I
wasn’t looking?
    Finally, Carlotta sniffed. “You need feeding
up. You’re too skinny.” And then she pulled Sveta into her arms for
the same motherly embrace she’d given me. Sveta’s blue eyes went
wide, looking at me for help, but after a moment she relaxed and
awkwardly returned the hug. Like I said, it was something about
Carlotta. What could you do?
    Estéban, suddenly appearing at my shoulder,
gave me a shrug. His cheeks were marred with lipstick from half a
dozen kiss marks, and he scrubbed at his face self-consciously with
the back of his hand. “Everyone is very happy to see me.”
    “I can tell.” The crowd was breaking up,
hastened on in no small part by the shooing motions Carlotta was
making in their general direction.
    She nodded her satisfaction as the family
slowly dispersed, then turned her gaze back on the three of us.
“Come. You will have dinner, and then you will sleep. We have
tomorrow for catching up.”
    “Yes ma’am.”
    “ Sí, Mamá .” The kid and I exchanged
sheepish chuckles at our automatic responses, and Sveta just shook
her head at us, falling into step behind Carlotta as she led us
into the main house.
    The Perez kitchen was enormous. It had to be,
to feed so many people at a time. Four ovens, three stoves, a
sprawling kitchen island with a butcher block top where they could
roll out loaf after loaf of handmade bread or piles and piles of
tortillas. Ropes of onions and dried peppers hung from the rafters
of the high ceiling, and there was a large pot of something
bubbling on the farthest stove.
    The smells alone were enough to have me
drooling on myself, and I was a bit envious of Terrence who was
already seated at the large table with a bowl of something
soup-like in front of him. Rosaline sat next to him, giggling at
something he was telling her.
    “Sit, sit. I will bring dinner.” We found
ourselves mom-bullied onto the bench seats at the table, and food
appeared as if by magic, everything from soup to tortillas to
something with a ton of seafood in it. “Simple food tonight, I am
afraid, but for the fiesta , I will be making chilorio .”
    Oh God. I’d had her chilorio at Miguel
and Rosaline’s wedding, and I’d almost moved to Mexico after that.
It was a local specialty, mostly resembling the barbecue pulled
pork from back home, but then they fried up the meat in this chili
sauce that was…I just…no words. “If I wasn’t married,
Carlotta…”
    She laughed and patted me on the head. “Eat.”
And we did. I personally ate until I was hurting, and even then
that last bite of homemade tortilla made me consider whether or not
I was really done.
    “That was spectacular, missus.” Even Terrence
seemed happily content, which I counted as a small miracle. “Much
thanks.” He spoiled the moment with a thick belch, but no one but
me seemed to care.
    “Now. Señor Smythe, you will be sleeping in
the room at the very end of the hall. Estéban can show you the way.
Jesse, I have put a cot in the boys’ room for you. Señorita, there
is an empty bed in the girls’ room that you can use, but you should
know that little Elena tends to have nightmares, so she may wake
you.”
    Sveta frowned faintly at that thought. “It
would be better if I slept elsewhere, then.” I tended to agree with
her. That was just going to end all kinds of bad. “Could I not also
have a cot in the boys’ room?”
    Estéban choked on a shrimp, and I pounded