Where were the cancel culture vultures now? I’m pretty sure garden is slang for something else. Or maybe this is just another grudge I’m holding. Against a song. A song with the repetitive lyrics, “¿Quieres bailar?”—a constant reminder that I was never brave enough to ask Isabel if she wanted to dance.
“Are you okay?” Isa asks.
“Ya, I just love this song.” I fake a smile, and she rolls her eyes before wrapping her arm through mine. I still at the lightness in her touch.
“Oh wow. You weren’t this buff the last time we did this.” She jokes, squeezing my bicep.
“A lot has changed, Isabella,” I say, shooting her a wink.
It takes an hour and a half to teach the kids the basic steps of the waltz. When it’s over, Isa talks with the parents who come for pick up while I wait for Dolly by the truck, doing my brotherly duties to make sure she doesn’t try sneaking off with Peso Pulga.
“Is this your ride?” Isa asks, walking with Dolly and Junior toward my truck.
“La Mamalona!” Junior blurts out.
“La qué?” Isabel says, looking at me while Dolly and Junior jump in, slamming the doors.
“You know, si quema cuh,” I say with a smirk.
“Please never say that again,” Isa says with a straight smile.
“Junior!” she calls toward the truck and waits for Junior to roll down the window. “Junior, please behave yourself.”
“Nino, tell her what an angel I am,” Junior says to me.
“Lucifer was an angel, too.” I tease.
“Is my mom coming for Fun Friday?”
“Fun Friday?” Isa says, tilting her head toward me.
This is what I mean by Junior’s oversharing problem. It’s cool when he’s explaining how his mom put up a viral clip of his dad caught in the act of cheating, but not cool when he’s spilling my secrets. He has snitchism. Homeboy can’t tell a lie to save his life, but he takes it a step further by snitching on himself.
“What’s so fun about Fridays?” Isa asks, turning her head back to Junior, whose eyes widen before he rolls up the window.
You know the saying takes one to know one. That’s how Iknow about snitchism. I currently suffer from it myself, hence why I sing like a fucking canary about our situation.
“Sometimes Juan Carlos doesn’t show,” I explain.
“How often is sometimes, Manuel?”
Fuck, we’re back to government names. Isa crosses her arms over her chest. Those beautiful brown eyes that were full of laughter moments ago, now shooting daggers through me.
“Lately, the last few months it’s been every Friday,” I confess.
“EVERY FRIDAY?”
“Aye.” I shush her and move in front of her so her view of the truck is blocked. “Hey. Listen. Junior doesn’t notice anymore, not since I made up Fun Fridays. We play video games, order pizza, sometimes my family does a game night, or Dolly and her friends invite him to the movies.”
“Why didn’t you tell me?” Her shoulders drop, and her hands fall to her sides.
“I tried. You were hiding from me!” I exclaim. She was almost willing to fake her own death if it meant avoiding me.
“And besides, I didn’t want to embarrass Junior. I invented Fun Friday to cheer him up,” I say, intentionally leaving out the part about him crying the first time it happened.
“Oh my God, I’m such a shitty mother,” Isa says, her hands cupping her face. I grab them and pull them down.
“Hey. No. You’re the best mom, Isa! Junior told me you were studying for your degree, and I figured you could use that extra time for yourself. I should have been more persistent, but I enjoyed his company. He keeps me young. I look cool with my younger clients cause I know words like “sus” and?—”
