Jose Barragan was a legendary Argentinian soccer player who had lived as big off the field as he had in real life.
I would know. “He was my mom’s dad.”
The silence in the car was no great shock to me.
“LaCulebrawas your grandfather?” he asked me gently. The Snake. My grandfather had been called The Snake for a dozen different reasons by millions of people.
“Yup.” I didn’t say anything else because I knew he was going to need a second to process it.
LaCulebrahad been a star. He’d been the king of a generation way before mine. He’d led his country to two Altus Cups; he’d been a superstar in a time before technology and social media. My mom’s dad had been a sport’s shining star, their flesh and bone trophy.
“Does anyone know?” he finally asked, that creepy calm silence still ringing in my ears.
“Yeah, a few people do.”
Another pause. “No one has ever said anything to me about it.” I could see him out of the corner of my eye shift in his seat. “Sal, why is it a secret? Do you understand how much money you could make off endorsements?”
Cordero had asked the exact same question. The only difference was, Cordero was an asshole only trying to make himself look better.LaCulebra’s granddaughter on his team? Especially when he came from the same country? He immediately saw dollar signs, but I wasn’t about to let him exploit me or my family. I’d never figured out how he’d found out, but it hadn’t mattered. No meant no.
“I wouldn’t want to put my mom through that,” I explained. I squeezed the steering wheel a little tighter. “Did you ever meet him?”
“Yes.”
“So you know he wasn’t the nicest man in the world.”
His lack of a response was more than enough.
“Rey, I met him maybe ten times in my life. I saw him on TV more than in person. He told me once when I was eleven that I was wasting my time with soccer. He said people didn’t like to watch athletes that were women. He told me I should be a swimmer or a ballet dancer. Fuckingballet. Could you imagine me in pointe shoes? When I was seventeen, he showed up to the U-17 game I was playing with the national team and tore apart my game afterward. When I was twenty-one, he came to the Altus Cup match and asked me why I didn’t play for Argentina instead. Nothing was ever right or enough for him.
“That was just him. From what I’ve heard my mom say, he was a really shitty father and a worse husband. Supposedly, he’d hit my grandma when he wasn’t cheating on her. My mom wasn’t a fan of his, and I know she blamed soccer for his behavior. I don’t blame her. She met my dad on vacation in Mexico; they got married and moved here. The last time I saw him, he called my dad a stupid Mexican and told my mom she wasted her life marrying someone so beneath her.
“I love my dad, and I owe my parents everything. They’re the hardest working people I’ve ever met, and I don’t appreciate anyone talking badly about them. When my mom says something unsupportive, I try to be understanding that my mom hates that my brother and I play soccer. She can’t stand that we took after him.
“Once my agent did try to sell me to a company by telling themLaCulebrawas my grandfather. You know what they told her? If I was his illegitimate daughter’s daughter, they’d want me. Or if I were anything but Hispanic, it’d be a story. They made it seem like I cheated to get to where I was, like his genes and my Hispanic heritage immediately gave me an advantage. As if I didn’t bust my ass day after day, working harder than my teammates to improve.”
I took a calm breath and blinked back the tears of frustration. It had been so long since I had made myself feel so small. “I’ve had to work twice as hard as everyone else to prove to myself that I didn’t get here because he’s my mom’s dad.
“I’m sorry I didn’t tell you sooner but”—I shrugged—“I just… I want to be me. I want people to like me for me, not because of who my brother or my grandfather is, or what I freaking wear. I would have told you eventually. Someday.”
In the five minutes it took from that point until we were pulling into the parking lot of the family-owned restaurant, Germany didn’t say a word. I was familiar enough with him to recognize when he was pissed off or annoyed, and I couldn’t sense either of those emotions from him. He was simply silent.
I didn’t feel like talking about it much anymore either, so I didn’t force the conversation. Talking about that old man always gave me indigestion and a heavy heart. It really nailed home how lucky I was to have the people I had in my life.
We didn’t speak to each other as we met up with my family; they were waiting by the entrance. We didn’t say anything as we walked into the establishment and took two seats next to each other. My dad was seated at the head of the table, my mom on one side with Ceci beside her and her friend at the opposite end.
“What would you like to drink?” The waiter had started with my mom and made his way around, getting to Kulti before me.
I’m not positive what I was expecting, but it wasn’t “Water.”
“And you,señorita?” the waiter asked me.
I’d been planning on getting a margarita because that was usually my treat, but I had a possible drinking problem sitting right next to me, and I was driving. “Water too, please.”
My mom started talking about one of her brothers calling earlier to wish Dad a happy birthday and how he was planning on coming to visit within the next month, when the waiter came back with our drinks and to take our orders.
“For you?” he asked Kulti. The jerk off did it.
“Tacos,” he paused dramatically, and I had to be the only one that really caught it, especially when he knocked his knee into mine beneath the table and shot me a side look, “alCarbon.”
