Nutty Bunuelos

 

 

 

Nutty Bunuelos

 

 

 

Two platters landed on the coffee table with a clink, the unfamiliar aroma introduced into the air, double, steaming round loafs of dull yellow-brown with sprinkled nuts on top.

 

"What in the world is this? Where's my pecan pie?" Mr. London raised his grumpy eyes under the unruffled grey brows. His wife stood by the grandfather clock with a sweet smile, Angelo beside her with wringed fingers and a slightly unsure expression.

 

"These are," he took a breath, "bunuelos, Senior…with nuts. Please, give it a try."

 

London raised both eyebrows, averting to his mother, "This was Angelo's idea," she pleasantly said, "and I did not regret postponing your father's favorite tonight. Have a taste! You won't regret either."

 

"Are you sure it's fit for human consumption?" London asked in artificial concern. Angelo shot him a frown and clouted the back of his head with the kitchen towel on his shoulder. Surprisingly, the silent third end by the crackling fireplace had already lifted the platter, eyeing the contents curiously. But there was no way, Angelo thought, that old man would taste his food without an ill-intention behind the grumpy silence.

 

The doorbell rang, as Mrs. London pulled the golden knob, a sunny feminine figure dressed in contrasting bright colors greeted, impatient to step in, around the mischievous age of sixteen, a classic red head with freckles, and a smile directed especially at the right corner of the sunset colored living room, where London sat.

"Ah, Annie," Mrs. London warmly greeted, "How are you?"

 

"Thanks, Mrs. London! I brought you this." she said, the twinkle in her eyes still yearning for the right corner.

 

"Oh, thank you! Come in, dear."

 

Angelo had taken off the obviously feminine apron, the sweet scent of the dessert caught in his skin, his feet aimed at the inviting seat neighboring London's, who met the younger boy's eyes with a smile "Look," he said tilting his chin.

 

A clear platter sat before Mr. London's empty seat, with only a gleam of oil and a few crumbs reflected the twilight colors of the fireplace.

 

"Talk about miracles." London chuckled.

 

"That's impossible!" Angelo thought out loud, chuckling, "Ah--I'm sorry," he retreated, "I didn't mean that, he's your father--"

 

"And a difficult old man." London lightly shook the boy's shoulder with one firm grip, "Angelo, you don't need to be so civil." His hazel eyes did not smile but they made Angelo shiver.

 

"Jack!" two thin arms slithered from behind the sofa, seizing London's chest, "Is it true!?" she dramatically inquired, "Is it true you married someone other than me?"

 

"When did I ever agree on marrying you?" London calmly argued, the girl whining a 'but…" in response, "besides, isn't it a bit cold for you to be wearing this?"

 

Annie softly laughed, feeling flattered, "I thought you didn’t notice." her half-exposed chest beneath the plain, black tank top cuddling against the back of his neck. Angelo blushed awkwardly.

 

"Angelo," London motioned him with an open palm, "this is Anna-Mary, the very typical girl next door."

 

"Hello, Anna." Angelo politely said feeling like he had rushed a step ahead as his kind black eyes bumped into her unreadable coffee-brown ones above the freckles.

 

"Hi!" Annie's head slightly tilted and her lips broke into a grin as she childishly waved at him.