“Beto!” Valeria’s happy cry echoes through the tiny house as we enter. “You’re here!”
She’s in the kitchen holding out her arms for a hug. Valeria is five years older than my brother, ten years older than me, and she’s always treated us like her children.
“Hi, Beto.” Lola is her oldest daughter. She’s at the bar arranging tortillas in baking dishes. “Hey, Carmie.”
“Hey.” I go to where she’s standing. “Need some help?”
“Sure.”
“Damn, I’m hungry.” Beto steps over and steals a pinch of shredded cheese.
The kitchen smells like sizzling chicken and steak and tomatoes and peppers. The whole place is mouthwatering.
“Get a drink out of the cooler and go see your uncle.” Valeria is beside me, pulling down plates. “We’ll be ready in ten minutes.”
An hour later, we’re all on the side patio of my cousin’s house, bellies full of enchiladas and guacamole and pico de gallo and so much good food. I’m leaning against the wall of her brick patio under a stream of white twinkle lights. It’s beautiful, and I’ve got to go inside and pack my things and call Deacon. The men sit at the table finishing their drinks, and it’s so familiar, a life that brushed past me like an echo.
“At some point, Beto, you have to make peace with the world.” Uncle Antonio pulls on his cigar.
Uncle Antonio owns a used car dealership and makes a good living. Valeria owns this house off what her father earns, and she doesn’t have to work as a nurse. She just wants to.
Her husband was a Marine who died in Afghanistan. She keeps his American flag in a glass case on her mantle.
“Don’t be like your father, driving everyone away.”
My uncle’s words catch my attention. I barely remember my father. Mamá left him when I was so little, and while they never divorced, they never lived together again. All Mamá ever said was she couldn’t be like him, vengeful, bitter.
“I can make peace with a world where justice has been served.” My brother’s hand is on a tumbler of Mezcal.
“That’s not how the world works, my son.” My uncle tilts his tumbler of whiskey back and forth. It’s the same glass he’s had all night. “At least not the real world.”
Valeria and Lola have cleared away the plates and serving dishes, and they’re inside finalizing plans for Lola’s quinceañera on Saturday. I had planned to bring Deacon as my date, so I could introduce him to everyone as more than a friend, show them he’s good and not our enemy.
Now I’m worried my brother will cause problems.
“It’s how the real world should work.” Beto seems relaxed, but his voice has an edge in it. “It’s how my world works.”
“Such attitudes lead to trouble.” My uncle’s eyes level on my brother, and anxiety is sticky in my chest. “We’ve had enough violence to last a lifetime, Roberto.”
My phone buzzes in my pocket. It’s been buzzing with texts from Deacon all through dinner, and I’ve been sneaking replies, doing my best to hide my smiles. I’m so happy he’s home.
Meet me at the park at ten? His latest text sends a flutter in my stomach. I want to see him. I want to kiss him and hold him.
During the summers, Deacon and I would meet at the park just down from Valeria’s house, then he’d drive us to the Yellow Rose lookout tower just outside of town.
It’s a beautiful old stone structure on a hill overlooking a lake.
When I don’t reply, he texts again, Park… ten.
My chest clenches, and I ache for him. I wish I could touch the number and call him, let him hear my voice so he can know how I feel…
Instead, I tell him what’s happening, I’m moving to my brother’s tonight.
Where?
Lakeside. Not sure the address. Will send when I know.
I can only imagine his surprise at this news. I’m still surprised, but I can’t linger. In the kitchen, Valeria and Lola are at her laptop looking at photos on Pinterest. Valeria’s baby daughter, four-year-old Sofia pushes between them, doing her best to be a part of what’s happening.
Lola pushes her back like an annoyed big sister, so I swoop Sofia onto my hip so she can see over them. We watch a minute, then I kiss their heads.
“I’d better get packing.” I’m about to put Sofia down when she squeezes me tighter.
“I can help!”
“Okay, little monkey.” I’ve taken care of Sofia since she was a baby, since the day she emerged in the delivery room, and I was there holding Valeria’s hand. It’s possible I’ve spoiled her a little… although not enough to be bad.
“I don’t want you to go.” She puts her light brown head on my shoulder, chewing on her thumb. “I’ll miss you, Cee-cee.”
“But you’ll have your own room. No more sharing with Lola.”
“I don’t want my own room.” Her little voice is so sad, it tugs at my chest, but I know there’s no turning back from this.
“You’ll love it! You can decorate it however you want. It’ll be special.”
The small room where I spent the past eight years is not special. It’s decorated in the same pale green and pink flowers Valeria put here before I arrived. The twin bed where I slept is covered in a quilt, and the only decorations are my mother’s photos. I have two hung on the walls, but the rest are stored away in albums.
I deposit my little cousin on the bed, and she looks up at me with wide eyes. “Are you scared to live with Uncle Beto?”
Beto’s not her uncle, but I don’t bother correcting her. I’m sure it’s what Valeria told her to call him.
“He’s my brother.” I give her caramel ponytail a gentle tug. “I’m not scared of my brother.”
I am annoyed at being passed around like a football. I wish I’d have gotten a little forewarning about his plans, but that’s not something I can get into with her. I’ve made my choices, and my choices have left me with very few options financially.
“Maybe one day soon I can get my own place.” If I win that award.
“Mamma says girls shouldn’t live alone. She says it’s not safe.” Sofia watches me pack, and I keep my opinions about Valeria’s old-fashioned notions to myself.
Loading my toiletries into a backpack, I heft it onto my shoulder, catching Sofia’s hand and rolling my suitcase to the kitchen. It seems I should have more than one suitcase after eight years, but I grew up simply. I haven’t changed.
“I’ll come back for the rest of my art supplies tomorrow.”
“I’ll bring them over in the morning.” Valeria smiles up at me from where she sits at the table beside her daughter. “Is that all you have?”
“That’s it!” I deposit Sofia into the chair beside them.
My cousin stands, pulling me into a hug. “It’s going to be strange not having you here.”
“I’ll have my own room at last!” Lola bounces in her chair, and Sofia falls back, crossing her arms.
“I will, too.” Her voice is pouty.
I turn to Valeria. “I didn’t know Beto’s arrival would change so many things.”