Los Angeles is big, but once you get into the smaller neighborhoods, everyone knows one another. The taqueria we’re inside has been here my whole life. Over the years, new generations take over the family business. The kid I remember getting yelled at for playing in the abandoned parking lot across the street is now yelling at his own kids.
“You really like Horchata.” I observe the half empty glass in front of Alma.
“I am a self-proclaimed Whorechata,” she laughs. “But also I think it’s a phase. I like experimenting and making different drinks. A few months ago I was obsessed with Mazapán lattes.”
She pulls out her phone and shows me a picture of a latte she made and photographed around the Mexican candy. I make a mental note to stalk her social media later. She’s so close to me I can take in that sweet smell of her again. I push back a curl that falls loose between us and she looks up.
“Anyways,” she says nervously, “I have this life dream about opening up my own coffee shop one day.”
“I like that dream. What would you call it?”
“I was thinking something like ‘Chisme’.” Her face lights up when she talks, and I’m consumed by it. “I’d make all thebaristas wear an apron, and instead of calling them baristas, I’d call themchismosas.”
“Oh, you could call it aGringoinstead of anAmericano,” I add.
“Picasso—I like it.” She shoots me with a finger gun.
“Manifest that shit,mija.” I whisper in her ear.
She pulls back and smiles. My heart feels all fuzzy and shit when she looks at me the way she is right now.
“You think you’d need a cook for your café?” I ask.
She smiles. “Why? You wanna run away with me, Bruno?”
“Always.”
I hold her gaze long enough to watch the way her eyes soften. The moment she realizes her mask is coming down, she looks away, pretending to watch the kids outside playing.
“Okay,” she agrees after a beat, her voice lighter, teasing again. “You can be my chef. Only cause you and I know damn well Texas ain’t got shit on Cali food.”
“Nah, we ain’t fucking with no Tex-Mex bullshit atChisme.”
“For real. Thalia swears Whataburger has In-N-Out beat, but I told her it’s cause she’s not ordering right.”
“I tell Adrian the same thing. Putting an onion ring on a burger is diabolical if you ask me. You know that fool be eating Whataburger like four times a week?”
“Really? That’s hilarious. I’m surprised Mireya doesn’t get on his ass about clogged arteries like she does when she tells me to drink less caffeine.”
“I don’t think she knows. He makes us hide the bags.”
Alma laughs, and I’m glad we can have an easy going conversation for the first time. We have a lot of obstacles to face in the next few days, but it will be worth it. This is a preview of how easy life can be once we get the demons she is facing out of the way.
Chapter 25
Efren
There’s no nostalgia when I walk into my childhood home. My last memories are of Angela and Bud’s marriage crumbling. Angela stopped caring about me after Esteban died. Bud, on the other hand, clung to me because I was all he had left. I almost preferred Angela’s cruelty to Bud’s neediness.
There’s a strong smell ofFabulosofrom the weekly cleaners Angela pays, but there’s no cleaning that can remove the ghosts that still haunt this house. All the rooms look exactly the same as the day Bud and I left.
Alma was worried about what Angela would say, but she is nowhere to be found. Both her and Bud can’t be inside this house, and yet neither of them can let it go.
For the last two days, Alma has refused to go into Esteban’s room. She won’t sleep in it, but she also doesn’t want to sleep with me in my old bedroom. Instead, she’s stays up binge watching some cringey show about a girl who falls in love with two vampire brothers—ironic to say the least.
I stay up with her until her eyes get heavy and her breathing stills. Then I watch her, waiting for a nightmare or memory to strike, but it never does.
“Open the windows!” she calls from the living room.
