Page 75 of Savage Saint

“No, but Juan three streets over heard from his brother-in-law that⁠—”

“That’s neighborhood bochinche.” It comes out harsher than I intend, and I soften it by bumping his side with my shoulder. I also give him my soda to pay for. That’s his tax for making me defend my kidnapper. “Let’s be better than that, Dad. You know those people need something better than gossip to fill their days.”

His brows shoot up. Mine do, too.

I also tack on a sweet, innocent look that he doesn't buy, but he chooses not to call me out on. “Dios mio, Genesis. We’re not that bad.”

“Just worried about your soul, Dad.”

His response? He mutters something under his breath while carrying the beer toward the register. True to his word, he keeps the conversation light with the owner, promising to send Dani with a bowl of sancocho over before paying and guiding me out the door.

I smile and follow.

I won, but there’s a small part of me that doesn’t feel victorious.

Why did I defend him?

By the time I take my last few bites, I’m done.

Finished. Stick a fork in me. Possibly deceased kind of done.

Setting my spoon down, I pat my stomach with one hand, groaning as I lean back in my chair. “That extra chin was a mistake. Huge.”

Dad takes a long sip of beer before setting the bottle down. “I told you not to eat more after the first full bowl.”

“You also looked offended when I almost changed my mind and didn’t eat it.”

“Because you barely ate.” His defense makes zero sense.

“Dad, I had a near-overflowing bowl plus another ladle. I’m stuffed.”

“It was a small bowl.”

“For you and Dani, maybe. I can’t.”

“Hey! It’s called a growth spurt, sis.” My brother calls from across the table; he’s on his third bowl. “Not my fault you stayed stuck at five-feet-almost-nothing. Us tall people need the extra calories to survive.”

He’s five foot nine. Not that tall.

My eyes narrow. I really want to medically correct him, but at thirteen everything is funny, and I’m not about to kill his fun. Especially when he snorts.

Mami joins him; she giggles while shaking her head, already standing. “You wanted that extra chin-chin, mi niña. It’s on you.”

“I was weak.”

“Greedy,” Dad interjects, and I groan again. “Take a walk. You’ll be fine.”

I close my eyes, head falling back against the chair. “I’m officially in a food coma.”

“How about a cafecito, instead?” Mami asks.

Immediately I sit up and look at her, wide-eyed and all smiles. “Yes, please.” Because there’s always room for coffee. “I’ll help.”

“I got it.” Before I can push myself up, Dani is already out of his chair, collecting the dishes and stacking them together. It takes him three trips to get everything back to the kitchen, then I hear the sink turn on. Hear his horrible singing as a popular dembow starts playing on the radio a minute later.

“He volunteered?” I say to myself, but still stand up to wipe the table off and reset Mami’s original table setting. She’s always liked fresh flowers and keeps a large vase full of roses on the table—a habit since as far back as I can remember.

Once everything looks good and is put away, I sit back down in time for her to come back carrying a plate with cookies—not the dessert I was originally promised—and three little cups of espresso. “Here you go.”