Perfection

42 Days Before, 452 Days Until

Sam

"Riley, you can't answer the door without me!" I said as I made my way around the corner of the counter. I've had this conversation with her a couple of times and I'd about had it with her answering the door. She's five. "Riley—Oh! Alexia." I turned to the clock on the wall. "You're early."

Her caramel colored eyes met my green ones.

"Punctuality is important to me." Her smile was soft. "But yes, I am really early."

"Where's your doggy?" Riley's question pulled our eyes off of each other.

"Well," Alexia pulled at her jeans before she squatted down. "Nala stayed at home. En mi casa. But maybe you can come see her sometime."

"Really?"

"Why not?" Alexia had a smile on her face.

Before I could interject something—anything, Alexia was shaking my daughter's hand like they had made some sort of deal. I walked up behind my daughter and gently tightened her ponytail.

"Why don't you show me your favorite stuffed animal while I talk to your mom."

"Okay!" With that, Riley took off. She'd never been so compliant with me.

"So," Alexia stood up and shut the front door. "Hora de la clase de español."

"I guess you're right. So, how does one learn Spanish with you?"

"Well, I'm going to teach you Spanish the way I was taught most languages."

"And that's by?"

"Cooking."

"Cooking?"

"Sí. Do you mind if I take my jacket off?"

"No, go ahead. Make yourself comfortable."

"Gracias." Alexia slipped her black leather jacket off her shoulders. "Mi padre passed when I was eighteen, and I had been in football already, but I hadn't been making much from it." I followed her into my kitchen. "He could cook and he did it well."

"Did he write the recipes in English?"

"No, Catalan. Which is similar to Spanish, but obviously to me, it's easier. But through his recipes, my mother found a love for cooking and so did I. My younger sister, Alba, hates cooking, but would sit in the kitchen with us. One day, Alba told us she wanted to learn English."

"How'd you do it?"

"Well, through cooking. Alba would play some song we know in Spanish or Catalan that would be in English, and we began translating it. Madre would order simple foods, like brownies and cakes because they always have Spanish on the back, from an English-speaking country, and we'd make them through trial and error. The only difference between you and I is you have someone who fluently speaks Spanish, Catalan, and English helping you. I didn't."

"What are we making first?"

"Do you have brownies?"

"Ironically, I do." I opened the small pantry and pulled out the box of brownies.

"Primer paso," Alexia picked up a roll of tape off the counter. "No inglés."

I rolled up my sleeves, a smile tugged on the corner of my lips.