“Jefe. It’s that guy again, he’s here to see you.” Miguel says.
I curse under my breath.That guyis persistent, I’ll give him that, but why today? Of all days, why did he need to make a trip up from Houston today? I take my time dicing the rest of the tomatoes before I look up at Miguel, who is still standing there staring at me.
Miguel glances at the black onyx ring with the gold skull on my wedding finger. The one I took only because Alma had begged me, and it was the only way I could mend things forAlma and Genesis. Unfortunately, it was also a symbol to men like Miguel of my past.
When Alma and I openedChisme, our first year in Corpus, neither of us received any handouts. Just a dream to start something that would give back to the community. We worked with the local and surrounding prisons and rehabilitation centers to give people second chances.
Miguel, like many others we hired were here looking for a second chance. At fifty, there were little to no opportunities available to him as a felon, but he made it work. He ranChismewith pride, cried the day we promoted him to manager, and has been a mentor to so many who have come in after him.
“Tell him I’ll be out there in a minute,” I tell Miguel.
I’d be a hypocrite if I said I believed in second chances but denied my sperm donor the same. Life was too short to keep holding a grudge. Washing my hands, I reenter the coffee shop, walking to the dining section while greeting several of our regulars before spotting Patricio in the corner booth.
“El Gringo?” I say nodding to the cup as I slide across from him.
“Nope. This, I was told, was the Banana Loco.” He smiles.
Alma had created the drink menu, while I had created the food menu. The Banana Loco was a blend of banana, piloncillo, and caramel. Patricio looked like the kind of guy who turned down anything full of sugar or even joy, for that matter.
“So what did you want?” I say bluntly.
Patricio takes a sip of the coffee and looks down at the ring on my finger. He had given it to me with the only condition that I would give him the chance to get to know me. A losing deal considering what he gave up for monthly check-ins with me in this corner booth.
Somewhere after the sixth month of just staring at eachother in awkward silence, I began to actually communicate with him. After having the twins, I realized I didn’t want to harbor any feelings of resentment toward Patricio. I didn’t know how to have a relationship with him, but if he was willing to make the effort, I’d meet him halfway.
“I found this.” He says, reaching into his back pocket and pulling out a small prayer card, and handing it to me. “It was your mother’s. She had given it to me before I left Tijuana.”
“Thanks,” I reply, taking the card.
“Maybe you can give it to one of the girls,” he suggests.
Patricio had yet to meet the girls. I had been more than stubborn about it, but he never pushed and was content with the pictures I’d offer to show him on my phone. But today felt different. Something was pulling at me to extend the olive branch.
“Have you ever been to a cookout?” I say, looking over the man’s prestige suit.
“A cookout? Like a Carne Asada?” he says, his face lighting up. “It may not look like it right now, but I can get down at a cookout.”
_______
I stop at the gas station to grab some beer before making my way to Isabel and Manny’s house. Patricio sits beside me in the passenger seat, loosening his shirt and tie. If he’s nervous, he doesn’t show it, just a tight smile as we pull up into the driveway parking behind the pink car. There’s music already playing from the back.
“Ey Efren! ¿Quiubo homie?” One of Manny’s cousins greets me, and I pass off the beer to him.
The backyard is set up with several tables all full of families gossiping, a dance floor, and solar powered lights hanging. Off to the side is Manny at the grill with Junior,giving him a lecture on how to grill carne asada. I spot Alma sitting at the table with Bud, Isabel, and Soccoro. She looks up smiling, before her eyes shift to the man behind me.
Alma had been the one to encourage me to make amends with the Consuelos. Every time she went to Houston to see Raquel and Ignacio, she would invite me, but it was never the right time.
“Hi, Kitten,” I say, planting a kiss on her cheek.
“Hi.” She says, smiling. “Patricio, Hi. It’s nice to see you. Here, sit down.”
Patricio greets Alma and takes an empty spot next to her, leaving me the spot between Alma and Bud.
“How are you feeling, Pa?” I say, tapping Bud on the shoulder.
“Mijo.” Bud sits up straight, his eyes shifting from Patricio to me. “Todo bien.”
“Hi, I’m Patricio. I don’t think we’ve had the pleasure of meeting.” Patricio extends his hand, and Bud takes it in his.
