“You’re flirting with the waiters.”

Another Country -13-
by Erin Halfelven

I could swear the waiter winked at me as he passed out the menus. I ignored him but pretended to need to see what was available. I didn’t really, I always order the carne asada burrito with guacamole inside, and rice and beans for the combo. Mom always gets a chile relleno and recommended the same to Cyndy. Dad got biftek mexicano in red sauce, and John got the chile verde pork carnitas.

“Won’t be able to get good Mexican in Turkey,” John commented after gathering our menus to hand back to the waiter.

“Not even if you order guajalote?” teased Dad. Guajalote is Mexican Spanish for turkey, the bird.

John snorted.

“I’ll send you a care package, like I did your father,” Mom offered. “If you can get cheese and onions, you can make your own tacos.”

“Man, was I popular when those packages came in,” Dad remembered, smiling at Mom. “Those two Texas boys in my unit would do almost anything for a share, so I made them do the cooking.”

“I dunno,” said John. “I’d probably have to cook it myself.”

Mom groaned. John’s cooking disasters were legendary in the family.

“You don’t let him cook, do you?” I asked Cyndy.

“Not after the first time,” she said. “I had to borrow a stepladder to clean the kitchen.”

We all laughed, even John.

Drinks and chips-and-salsa arrived, and again, I was sure the waiter had winked at me. Later, I noticed him and another waiter watching us. Their voices were almost loud enough for me to hear, but Cyndy was sitting closer to them, and I saw her face go red.

I frowned at her, and she shook her head. “What are they saying?” I asked her.

She shook her head again and stifled a laugh.

The food arrived quickly—big plates of color and amazing smells. Warm tortillas in a basket, bowls of fresh salsa, little limes tucked into curls of lettuce. Everyone made satisfied noises as the dishes were set down, but I noticed two of the waiters lingering longer than they had to. One gave me a quick smile. The other looked from me to Cyndy, then back again.

When they left, Cyndy leaned in across the table and grinned at me. “You’re flirting with the waiters.”

My stomach dropped. “I’m not!” I hissed.

“Oh, totally,” she said with mock seriousness. “They’re checking you out. Both of them. And you’re giving them eyes.”

“I am not giving them anything,” I said, practically choking on my water. “Stop it.”

Mom raised an eyebrow, looking at us from the end of the table. “What’s going on?”

Cyndy smiled sweetly. “Nothing. Bobby’s just making friends with the staff.”

John caught on and laughed. “They think you’re a girl, huh?”

I stared at him. “Shut up.”

“Hey,” he said, hands up.

Dad gave him a look. “John.”

“I’m just saying—” he began, but Mom cut him off with a single glance.

Cyndy leaned closer again, whispering, “One of them winked at you. He’s super cute, too. You blushed so hard I thought your head was going to explode.”

“I hate you,” I muttered.

“You love me,” she whispered back. “And admit it—you kinda liked it.”

I didn’t answer. I just looked down at my food and tried to disappear.

But I couldn’t help it—my ears were burning, and I could still feel those looks. I’d caught one of the waiters saying something in Spanish as they passed behind me. My Spanish wasn’t great, but I caught enough: “La hermana menor es la más bonita.” The younger sister is the prettier one.

I didn’t know how to feel. Embarrassed, obviously. But also…a little proud? Confused? What if they knew I was a boy? Would they still smile at me like that?

The conversation at the table shifted, thank God. John and Dad started talking about the trailer logistics. Mom explained to Cyndy how much help I'd been in the yard earlier. I just ate my food slowly and kept my eyes down, trying not to exist too much.

The meal was good—my carne asada burrito was tender and juicy, the guacamole rich, and the rice cooked just right. Cyndy ended up loving the chile relleno and said so loudly enough that the same waiter came back, smiling, and offered her a dessert menu. He glanced at me again. Another tiny smile.

No one wanted dessert, no room, but the waiter lingered a moment with more glances shared between Cyndy and me.

“Oh my God,” Cyndy whispered again. “He’s trying to get your number through me.”

“I’m going to throw myself in the fountain,” I whispered back.

“You’d ruin your cute outfit,” she teased, and I groaned.

Dad tried to make a joke about how the waiters were probably just being friendly, but his voice didn’t carry the laugh. I could tell he was watching me more closely now, trying to figure something out. John even tried to smooth it over with more jokes, but the mood shifted to something...quiet. Not bad exactly, just awkward. Like everyone was trying not to say what they were all thinking.

The check came. Dad paid in cash, and we all headed back out to the truck under the garden lights and hum of insects.

Back at home, we scattered. John and Cyndy disappeared to talk about the trailer setup, and Mom stayed in the kitchen fussing with Tupperware, maybe to send a lunch with whoever went to fetch the trailer. I made it to my room and changed into my softest shorts and a plain tee, brushing my hair out in front of the mirror. I had the chemise on under the t-shirt. My cheeks were still pink. I didn’t know if it was the heat or everything else.

Did anything show through the layers of cloth? I couldn’t tell. I was still staring at myself when the doorbell rang.

Josh. Why did I feel nervous?

I let him in, and he stepped just past the doorway, looking around like everything had changed since the last time he was here. Maybe it had.

“You look different,” he said.

I shrugged. “Took a shower.”

He smirked. “Yeah, but...I dunno. You just look…different.”

I felt my face go warm again. “Maybe it’s the shirt.”

His eyes glanced past my shirt. “Maybe.”

We stood in the living room for a second, not sitting down, not going to the kitchen, just standing.

Then Josh said, “So, uh...Gary's been running his mouth.”

I tensed. “What about?”

Josh hesitated. “He’s telling people you’re my girlfriend.”

I blinked. “What?”

“He says you were spying on him in the bathroom. Says you ‘bit him’ and you’re my girlfriend.”

“He…?” I couldn’t repeat what Josh had said, not even as a question.

Josh scratched the back of his neck. “He says...you look like a girl.”

I didn’t know what to say. My whole body tensed up.

Josh looked at me. “Do you care what people think?”

I opened my mouth but didn’t answer.

The silence was heavy, like the thick tule fogs we get in winter. We stood there with it swirling around us, uncertain what came next.