Gracias, DiBlanco.
Luca
Always, cucciola.
“Are you ready for Zumba?” Abuela asks in Spanish, fist-pumping the air as I meet her near the entrance to Parque Turia.
I smile at her colorful and warm workout clothes and glance down at my black spandex. “Apparently not, Abuelita.”
She chuckles as she kisses my cheeks. “How’s your new place?”
“It’s fine,” I reply, hugging her.
Abuela sighs. “Carla, hija, tienes que hacer tu vida.” Carla, you need to make your own life. She says it with warmth and humor, but I understand her point. I can’t wallow in my disappointment and shortcomings forever.
“I know,” I reply.
“Pues hazlo, Carlita. Saberlo no basta.” Then do it. Knowing isn’t enough.
I nod. Leave it to Abuela to give me the tough yet tender love I need.
Satisfied, she pats my back. We enter the park and walk toward the bridge to join her Zumba class. Abula recounts every detail that occurred in the most recent episode of her guilty pleasure, the reality television show, La Isla de las Tentaciones. Essentially, Temptation Island.
And while this was once a secret between Abuela, Ale, and Rafa, Marlowe accidentally spilled the beans, making it an entire García family affair. I’m waiting for Ale or Rafa to start a family WhatsApp thread for it.
I nod along, half listening to Abuela’s account of the couples and the solteros, the singles, but my attention catches on the soccer field as we approach the bridge. Squinting, I note the fluidity of the players on the field—dribbling, passing, scoring.
And then, I grin.
“It’s El Tanque!” I laugh, pointing to the massive player, my old school buddy, Luis, who now plays for the Segunda Division, or B League, team in Valencia.
Abuela pauses and squints in the direction of the field. “Hm. No está nada mal…” She glances at me. “Para ti, claro.” Not bad at all…for you, of course.
I laugh and swat her shoulder. “He’s an old friend. A buddy from my school days.”
“Si tú lo dices…” She raises an eyebrow. If you say so.
“I do,” I murmur, biting my bottom lip.
“Anda, ve a saludarle.” Go on, go say hi to him.
“But we have Zumba…”
Abuela chuckles and shakes her head, turning toward her Zumba class and waving to me without bothering to turn around.
“I’ll be right back!” I call out to her retreating figure.
Then, with more gusto than I’ve felt in weeks, I turn toward the field and jog over.
El Tanque grins as soon as he spots me. “¡Mira quién es! La Pulga.” Look who it is. The flea. He spreads his arms wide as he drops my secondary school nickname and switches to English. “Thought you forgot about us.”
I laugh, shaking my head. “I could never forget about you, El Tanque.”
He chuckles, winking at my teasing tone.
Risitas, the class clown of my graduating year, snaps the ball off the top of his laces and catches it in his hands. “What about the rest of us, Pulga?”
“I missed you all,” I admit, throwing my arms wide, encompassing the group of guys I’m now mentally clocking—Capi, our group organizer, Guapo, the pretty boy that won rey de la fiesta, the king of our end-of-year party, and El Mago, the magician. I tilt my head to the side, biting my bottom lip. “Got room for one more?”
