"Your last name, Limon, it means lemon, right?"
"No," says Zeek. "It means lime."
"Isn't that lima?" I ask him.
"I'm Mexican; I would know."
I'm pretty sure I'm right, but I let it slide. At the Mexican restaurant, days later, Tara brings it up again, smiling coyly over her margarita. The margaritas there are pretty strong, and that's mostly why we go, although I enjoy my pork and bean burrito. The service is pretty good too. The waitress smiles warmly and puts her hand on my shoulder. "Weren't you just here on Saturday?" she asks. Wow, she even remembers us... and yes, yes we were.
Meanwhile, Zeek's cheeks are flushing. "You guys are wrong! It means lime."
"Then how do you say lemon in Spanish?" Tara asks.
"Lemon," says Zeek, laughing, licking the salted rim of his glass.
As we tipsily pay our check, I say to the waitress, "Can I ask you a question? How do you say lemon in Spanish?"
"It's limon," she says.
"Told ya so!" Tara and I both shout out to Zeek, turning to smack him but hitting each other instead.
"Where did he go?" she asks. "He was right here!"
Zeek reappears a second later, he had returned to the table to leave a tip and perhaps mourn the fact that I was right and he was wrong. Zeek's last name, like the car he drives, means lemon.