Mother and son embrace and then Joel drops a kiss to her cheek. Her face lights up with such happiness it makes me miss my own mother.

I’m frozen watching the interaction when Joel steps back and places his hand back at my side. “Ma this is Ki – Katrina.”

“How lovely to meet you, Katrina.”

“It’s nice to meet you too, Mrs. Moreno. You have a beautiful home.”

“Thank you, dear. Call me Isa.” She shoots her son a look that I can’t decipher.

“Katrina is working on a school project and had some questions about Mexico in the early 1900s – you know about the time you were born.”

She swats at him, but her smile stays intact. “That’s wonderful. What sort of school project?”

“Oh, I—” I wasn’t prepared to give my elevator pitch. What if they think it’s the dumbest idea ever? Will they still help me? “I wrote a screenplay based on the great, great-grandparents in the movie Coco – Hector and Imelda, and it was selected to be this year’s Spring Showcase performance.”

“You didn’t tell me that part,” Joel says, astonishment in his tone. “That’s incredible, Kitty.” He doesn’t catch the nickname that rolls off his tongue. “I love that movie.”

“You do?”

“Dylan made us all watch it many, many times,” Isa adds.

“My son did the same thing. That’s actually where I got the idea.”

My face warms and I feel the man beside me turn to stone. Sh– crap. Well, that certainly isn’t how I imagined telling Joel I had a kid. I look over at him with what I hope is an apologetic smile.

He clears his throat, but when he speaks, it’s gruff and stiff. “Katrina these are my tias, Lupita, Opal, and Bonnie, and my sisters Bree and Michelle. Those three over there are my cousins Karla, Anita, and Celeste,” he rattles them off as if there is any chance I could possibly remember all of them. Each one smiles or waves in hello.

“It’s so nice to meet all of you. Can I help with something?”

His mom looks to Joel who motions toward the back of the house. “Dad outside?”

“You know he is.” She pulls two waters from the fridge and hands them to Joel. “Make sure he doesn’t throw another putter into the mountains.”

“You good?” he asks quietly, turning so his back is to the rest of the women in the kitchen and shielding me from their gazes.

I nod, but he doesn’t budge. The look in his eyes is intense as he studies me as if he’s really seeing me for the first time. All of me. Katrina Phillips, twenty-one-year-old college student and mom.

“Go on. We’ll take good care of her.” Joel’s mom’s voice cuts through the moment.

His fingers brush mine as he takes a hesitant step toward the door. “I’ll be out back if you need anything.”

Isa calls out orders as I watch him go. “Katrina you can help me with the buñuelos as soon as I get this arrangement done.”