“I get that. But I also want you to know whatever happened is between you and Juan Carlos. Don’t shut me out. I’m here for you and Junior. Anything you need.” The concern in his eyes is genuine.
“I appreciate that,” I reply.
Seeing the timing of our reacquaintance as the best opportunity, I light up and smile at him.
“Hey! I’ve been meaning to ask, is there any way I can bring my dad’s car into the shop and get a quote?”
“La Pepto Bismol?”
“Yeah. Desmond and I want to fix it up and sell it. Help mom with some of the doctor expenses,” I explain.
Manny shakes his head and thankfully, doesn’t overwhelm me with questions on life since my father passed. That had been the last time we saw each other, at my father’s funeral.
“Greñas and I can head over tonight and check it out,” he offers.
“Really?”
“Yeah. Anything for Don Charras,” Manny says before walking off.
Not before he gives me a wink. A wink that ignites an unfamiliar feeling of excitement in me.
I finish up my workday and pick up Junior from school. The moment we are in view of the house, I can’t help but notice the way his eyes light up.
“My padrino’s here?” he says, looking at the red truck parked at the curb.
“He’s gonna help me with your Abuelo’s car,” I say.
Before I even stop the car, Junior opens the door and rushes out.
“Junior!” I yell, and he flashes me a playful smile.
It’s the mischievous one he’s had since he was a toddler. The one my dad swore he got from me. It was the smile that made me forget he was in trouble and made my mother worship the ground he walked on. He jogs toward the garage, where La Pepto Bismol has been relocated.
I finish parallel parking at the curb where the car had been rotting for years. When I look back out the car window, I can’t help but notice the way Junior greets the men. He high-fives Manny’s younger brother, Greñas, and fist-bumps Desmond, but he hugs Manny. A side hug. What the kids called a bro hug, but a hug all the same. My mouth falls open. Junior wasn’t unaffectionate, but I could count on one hand the times I saw him hug his own father.
Juan Carlos was not necessarily a bad father. He worked a lot and provided a roof over our heads and food on the table. I respected him for that. I knew going into our relationship that Juan Carlos had an estranged relationship with his father, and later I would see how that made him insecure as a fatherhimself. It was a generational cycle that he was trying his best to break, but sometimes he fell flat on showing affection.
Manny laughs at something Junior says and messes up his hair before wrapping an arm around him. Junior’s wide smile and laugh grip me in a clutch at the sight. I’ll never forget the sadness that had been etched upon his face a year ago, when it was just me and him driving a U-Haul, with everything he ever knew in the rearview mirror.
“Hey, Isa!” Desmond calls out when I exit the car.
“Junior, inside. Homework.” I say, approaching the garage.
“But Ma, my nino is here.”
“No, mijo, your mom’s right. School first,” Manny says, nodding at him. By some miracle of God, he listens. Surprised as he grabs his bag and heads inside, I turn to look at Manny.
“Y este milagro?” I ask.
“He’s a good kid,” Manny shrugs before taking a drink from the beer he’s holding.
The hood of La Pepto Bismol is held up, and Greñas and Desmond are deep into a conversation of their own.
“Hey, Isa. Can we talk?” Manny says, nodding to the oak tree in front of the house.
It’s the same tree we used to meet at before riding our bikes to school together.
“Ya. What’s up?” I say, following behind him.
