“Hey, Compa!” he greets me before walking around the car and whistling. “Damn fool, I heard you were fixing up La Pepto Bismol, but I didn’t know you were restoring it too.”
Greñas looks at me and scowls before walking past Juan Carlos and back into the front office.
“Did I say something? ¿Qué trae?” Juan Carlos asks, watching Greñas leave.
My brother never liked Juan Carlos. He held a grudge longer than I did, and he thought it was his job to take on anyone who wronged someone in our family.
“Nah. No hay pedo. You know Greñas, he always gots a stank face.”
I stick out my greased hand, and Juan Carlos puts his in mine for a quick handshake. It had been a while since I saw him. The last time he came to the house, I used a play from Isa’s How to Avoid Someone handbook, and told Junior to tell him I wasn’t there while I hid in the back. It was an attempt to avoid talking about Isabel, but that was going to be hard with La Pepto Bismol catching his attention.
He moves to check the inside, where I’ve installed all-new black leather vinyl.
“Damn, you did all this?” he asks, letting out another low whistle. “Nice to know what Isa’s doing with my child support checks.”
My blood boils at his commentary. He doesn’t think I know, but he hasn’t paid fucking child support in the last six months. I really had no reason to be friends with this punk, but I cared about Isa and Junior. That’s the only reason my fist doesn’t find his face right now.
“Y Junior?” I say, looking around for my godson.
“He’s visiting my mom. She hasn’t seen him in a minute, so I figured I’d let them hang out. She should be dropping him off here soon.”
Which means he likely didn’t spend any time with Junior this weekend and passed him off to his mom. It always pissed me off how he did that, like Junior didn’t notice, but I knew for a fact that he did.
“Have you seen Isa?” Juan Carlos asks.
“Ya, she’s been helping with Dolly’s quince.”
“Junior said that. We haven’t really talked since, well, you know, that whole accident.”
“Accident?” My brow arches. Heaccidentallyslipped and fell into another girl’s pussy?
“Ya fool, I didn’t intend to get caught.” He laughs.
Like it’s something to laugh about, I want to hate him for what he did, but I remember what Isa told me. It was her way out, and I can’t say I’m not happy he fumbled her, too. I just wish he had never had the chance in the first place. My fists clench at my sides, desperate to swing and hit him in the face.Accidentally.
“What? Did I say something?” Juan Carlos says after the silence brews between us longer than he’s comfortable with.
“Do you know how fucked up that sounds, man? Isa and Junior are still messed up from the whole thing. If you took more than ten minutes to spend with your son, then you’d know how much he is hurting.”
“Ey. ¡No te pasas de vergagüey! I don’t know what Isa is going around saying, but she has a monthly check in her hand every month, not a day late,” he says.
Typical Juan Carlos worries about what’s being said versus the reality of what’s happening. I don’t bother to answer him. Even if he had been paying child support, I don’t think he has the brain space available to process how money doesn’t equal fatherhood. I walk to the large sink in the corner, turn on the faucet, and rub my hands together.
“Is everything good? Why are you coming at me like that?” Juan Carlos asks, following me to the sink.
“What did you come here for? You asked me to help you with Junior and this whole weird custody agreement, but in the last year, you’ve picked Junior up three times,” I say, holding up three digits to his face.
“I told you?—”
“No. I’m not done,” I calmly say, pinning my eyes on his.
The words come out much calmer than I feel becauseinside, the rage is increasing. “That means in the last year, I’ve spent every weekend with your son. I’ve got to know him, see what a good fucking kid he is, and I know he’s hurting.”
“You think I asked for this? You think I wanted to be strapped down with a kid at sixteen? I’m so fucking tired of going to work, day in and day out. Why does all my hard-earned money go to raising a kid I didn’t even want?” he yells. The blow not just hitting me, but also Junior, who walked in at the worst time.
“You didn’t want me?” he asks, tears swelling in his eyes. Juan Carlos doesn’t even look back to apologize, but instead drops his head. Greñas wraps an arm around Junior and pulls him back into the office.
When Juan Carlos looks back up, I can see the hurt in his eyes, but it does nothing to settle the anger coursing through me. I clear my throat and keep my eyes sharp on his.
