I’d been planning on getting a margarita because that was usually my treat, but I had a possible drinking problem sitting right next to me and I was driving. “Water too, please.”

My mom started talking about one of her brothers calling earlier to wish Dad a happy birthday and how he was planning on coming to visit within the next month, when the waiter came back with our drinks and to take our orders.

“For you?” he asked Kulti.

The jerk-off did it.

“Tacos,” he paused dramatically and I had to be the only one that really caught it, especially when he knocked his knee into mine beneath the table and shot me a side look, “al Carbon.”

I snorted and tapped my knee back against his, curling my lips over my teeth to keep from smiling. I barely remembered rattling off my meal because I’d asked, knowing damn well they didn’t, “Do you have any German Chocolate Cake?”

Why would they have German Chocolate Cake at a Mexican restaurant? They wouldn’t, but I was going to be a pest and look like a moron at the same time.

“Umm, no. We have sopapillas and flan?” the man offered.

Before I got a chance to answer, someone pretended to drop his napkin on the floor and in the process of bending over to retrieve the imaginary item, decided to dig his sharp elbow right into the meaty part of my thigh.

It lasted all of a second, but the squawk that came out of my mouth was so ugly even my dad, the king of ugly noises, made a face at me.

“We don’t know her,” Dad said to the waiter in Spanish.

I laughed and turned to Kulti, way more amused than I was embarrassed, “You’re going to get it later, bratwurst,” I muttered under my breath.

He knocked his knee against mine again, his actions saying so much more than any words right after getting out of the car could have. Where the hell had this playful man come from, I had no idea, but I loved it.

I reached beneath the table and squeezed his denim-covered knee.

“Who wants to give me my present first?” my dad asked once the waiter had walked away.

Mom and I met each other’s eyes from across the table and we both barely shook our heads. Who asks that? My dad. My dad asks for his presents.

Mom turned her attention back to the brand-new fifty-seven-year-old and winked. “I’ll give you your present at home.”

I cringed.

From down the table, Ceci said, “Mom!”

Then I added, “Gross.”

Our dad laughed but it was Mom that gave us both a frown. “Nasty girls,” she said in Spanish. “That’s not what I meant!”

I balled up my hand and put it against my mouth, pretending to hold back a good retch.

“Cochinas,” Mom repeated, still shaking her head.

“Okay. Ceci? Sal? Who wants to go?”

My little sister sighed from across the table. Sometimes it was weird looking at her. She looked so much like our mom, brown hair, fair skin, brown eyes, fine boned and slim. She was the pretty kid. The really pretty one that had had boyfriends back when she was in fourth grade, while I’d been… not having boyfriends in fourth grade. Back then my only boyfriend had been my imaginary love, Kulti, the guy who happened to be sitting next to me in that exact moment.

“I’ll go first.” She pulled a small box from under the table and had our mom give it to Dad. “Happy birthday. I hope you like it, Daddy.”

Dad tore open the paper and then the box with the excitement of a little kid. He pulled out a beautiful frame with a really old picture of him and Ceci on a swing set. He grinned and blew her a kiss, thanking his youngest daughter for her gift. Then, expectantly he turned his attention in my direction and made ‘gimme’ hands.