“So, not charging you for my labor, the parts for the vehicle would be around $4,000,” he says.
Shit. I don’t like that, but it’s still less than I was quoted elsewhere. I swallow, the tension creeping up the back of my throat.
“Okay. Can I make payments?”
“I was thinking we could trade services,” he says, lowering his voice. I take a step back and point my eyes at him.
“What the fuck, Manny?”
I didn’t take him for that type of person. Immediately, his eyes widen, and he shakes his head.
“No. No. No. Not like that, Isa. Fuck,” he says running a hand over his face. “No. I need someone to help me with Dolly’s Quinceañera. Mom’s trying to cut corners on finances by teaching thevalsherself. And I don’t know if you know, but my mom was diagnosed with Parkinson’s disease a few years ago. If you could step in and take over, I’ll cover the cost of the car. You’d still want to paint it, but overall, I could get it running in the next month, working on it during the weekends.”
“You’re going to pay me $4,000 to teach thevals, Manny? No. I can’t do that.”
“No. I’m trading you because that’s what friends do.”
I let out a sigh and look into Manny’s eyes before I nod. When he spits on his hand and offers it to me, I cringe. There’s no way in hell I’m going to shake it, but I’ll take the offer. What’s the worst that could happen?
4
MANNY
Where’s cancel culture when you need them
You ever hold a lifelong grudge against your best friend? I know I did. Sure, overtime I thought I had let it go but being here listening toEl Vals de las Mariposaswas triggering some deep fucking wound inside me.
Let me explain something to you. I was a shy kid. First of all, I hit puberty late. So, while guys like Juan fucking Carlos were talking like Arnold Schwarzenegger, I still sounded like Peewee Herman. Second, I was a little chubby. Turns out having a mom who could cook the best meals, and older sisters who could bake, was my fucking downfall.
I had a good sense of humor, so I never lacked friends, but I was constantly friend-zoned by girls that Isa would try to set me up with. Isa and I had been friends our whole lives. Our fathers had become friends, sharing a common interest in cars.
I used to think Isa was kind to me because of our father’s friendship, but that was just who she was. Unfortunately, a young, naïve version of me fell in love with her by the time we were in third grade. The year she beat up Scotty Valdez for calling me chichi man. A name that would still hurt if I hadn’tseen him a few months ago, balding and missing several teeth. Another grudge I was holding.
Over the years, my feelings for Isa would intensify. When she asked me to be her chambelan for her quinceañera, I knew it would be the right time to make my move. That’s when I started obsessing over the plan. I was going to confess my love to Isabel Sandoval. The only part I didn’t see coming was that while I was in the bathroom hyperventilating from my anxiety, Juan Carlos was asking Isa to dance.
Juan Carlos had been the new kid at school that year. Homeboy was fifteen with a fierce mustache. He could style his clothes, didn’t cough when he smoked cigarettes, and when they played soccer, he could take off his shirt and not have B-cup chichis. All the girls were in love with him. I didn’t stand a chance.
He refused to let Isa sit down after that, and his charm affected her. The blow to my heart was when she asked me, “Do you think he likes me?” Talk about heartbreak.
I played NB Ridaz on repeat for the next month. I was forced to hang out with Juan Carlos when they started dating. There was still a small chance I could be the rebound, and I was willing to take it. Since I didn’t have any real male friends, though, it didn’t take long for Juan Carlos to trap me into his suavecito façade.
He included me in on things, invited me to his house to play video games, and gave me a renewed sense of belonging. I got popular, learned a shit ton about girls, and people stopped calling me Chichi Man. Six months later, I had finally hit puberty and got my first kiss from Becky Cisneros.
I earned my bro-card, gained a new best friend, and even though my heart still longed for Isa, I could let the fantasy of us being anything more than friends go. Everything was great.
Then Isa got pregnant. Internally, I hated Juan Carlos, what he had taken from her. The way her whole fucking life shifted after that while his remained the same. I watched thegirl I used to know isolate herself from her friends and parents. She had to switch schools to accommodate her growing belly, while Juan Carlos continued to attend parties and parade around the high school.
Needless to say, I was still holding on to the anger of not just everything he took from me, but also from her. I watch as that same girl, now a woman, makes her way across the grass to where we are sitting at the pavilion. She’s wearing a pair of black cargo jeans and a plain white tee with her hair pulled up. Still as beautiful as she had always been.
She was far from the same person I grew up with, but something still itched inside me to know her. A hopeful part of me wants to see who she became after everything life has thrown at her. A foolish fan who had been cheering her on from the sidelines, I indulged in every story Junior overshared with me. The kid had a problem with oversharing details. I knew she would want him to keep some private, but I couldn’t help wanting the gossip.
“Nino! Look what I brought you!” Junior says, running up from behind Isa.
I look down to see his thumb and index finger make an O shape while his other three fingers are fanned out against his jeans.
“Ay Cabrón!” I wince when he punches me in the gut.
“Junior! Sorry. Are people really still playing that game?” Isa asks, closing the distance between us.
