"Hi, Harper. Hi, Lizzie," he replies, his smile shifting into something calmly adult when he ducks his head and finds me. "Hi, Jamie. Do I even want to ask which of you three is the biggest thrill-seeker of the bunch?"
"Oh, it's not dad, that's for sure. He'll barf. But Lizzie and I will try everything. We don't care." Harper pauses for a breath. Barely. "But what about you? Are you gonna hit all the rides?"
She's already moving, opening her door enough for Mateo to back against his car while she tumbles out. Lizzie does the same from the back seat before she waves shyly and fixes her tank top. I stay where I am, and think it's probably polite to keep my eyes on Mateo until he answers.
"I'm actually here to help with one of the church booths," he says. "I might sneak in a ride or two, but I'll be working more than playing."
"Teacher, coach, and saintlike volunteer," I nod. "You're far more disciplined than I'll ever be."
"Oh, I don't know about that. I've been known to stay out past my bedtime when the mood strikes."
"Ah, of course. Does the mood strike often?" I ask.
"The mood? Yes," Mateo answers. "The opportunity? Not so much."
Harper bounces on the balls of her feet. "Okay, well, Lizzie and I are gonna go do some upside-down things. Bye, Mr. Z. Dad, I don't know what time I'll be home, but I'll text you later? And you should see if Mr. Z needs some help. Nobody will accuse you of being a hotshot athlete here."
"I'm not exactly dressed to hang out at a carnival, remember?"
"Oh, it's fine. Your shirt won't disintegratetoday," she giggles, running off with her best friend without caring what I do next.
I sigh. "Sorry about that. She just—says things sometimes."
Mateo sighs too, and I catch it when he steps closer and rests his folded arms against the window opening. His t-shirt is nicer than mine, and his hair is pulled into a messy bun that never had a chance to contain the strands hanging around his face. I want to sweep them away, but my hands are curled around the bottom of the steering wheel. Even without being on a ride, I need to hold on when he smiles again.
"She says a lot of things, yeah. But we could use the help if you're up for it. And if youareworried about being recognized, I’ll remind you your hat's done a pretty good job of hiding you in the past."
"I want you to remind me of so many things," I admit. "I'm just not sure whether a church fair is the place for it."
"Does that mean you're going home?"
"No."
Mateo takes a deep breath and glances around the parking lot. "You know, if you drive away now, there's a chance we won't have to do this until soccer season returns. You could go home. You don't have to help, and I don't have to remind you of a damn thing."
"No."
"Okay, let's go," he says, slowly peeling himself away from the passenger door. "You're plenty familiar with tacos and tortilla chips."
I don't understand what he means until we've snaked our way past the crowd of young families and excited teenagers and no small number of couples on dates. We're not any of those, so we don't stop until we're at the carnival's food court. Church volunteers are selling hot dogs, chicken fingers, popcorn, shaved ice—and apparently, nachos and tacos. Stepping behind the cheap plastic table covered by a cheaper plastic tablecloth, I feel Mateo's fingertips against my back as he introduces me to the volunteers we're relieving.
"Jamie, this is Barbara, Eileen, and Rosa. They've all known me since I was a skinny little altar boy. Everyone, this is my friend, Jamie. He's offered to help me out, so all of you are off the hook."
"He says that like we weren't prepared to arm wrestle for the chance to spend the afternoon next to him," one of them mutters with an endearing wink. "But it's very nice to meet you, Jamie."
We all sort of nod and smile and rearrange ourselves, then Mateo and I say goodbye to the ladies, and I look around. We've got meats, cheeses, onions, and jalapeños, and so much of it is familiar to me, albeit from the other side. There are stacks of small paper trays we'll fill quickly. Nachos and tacos get assembled and handed to people who won't stick around long enough for more than a thank you. Our setup is no different from a food truck, but even as my stomach growls and Mateo nudges me with a grin, none of it's the same as the carne asada and guacamole down the street from my house.
It’s better that way.
It's better if today is nothing like that night.
Chapter Six: Mateo
(I Saw Us in the Mirror)
Regardless of where he lives or how much money is sitting in his bank account, nothing I've seen from Jamie suggests he's a snob about food. Still, it's fun to watch him light up when he pumps bright orange cheese sauce onto a pile of canned chili and tortilla strips. He grins around a ridiculous bite, then hurries to pull on a pair of disposable gloves before he helps me serve more of our hungry crowd.
We're in the middle of a rush, but it hasn't been like this the entire two and a half hours we've worked together, and I'm glad we've had a chance to talk around occasional interruptions. Our small talk means even more than it did the night we met, all of it coming with context we lacked before, and we learn more about each other without attaching promises to every word. I think everything about those hours at the beach crushed us with hope, and while I won't give any of that time back, Jamie and I both need this now.