shoulders shrugged.
My eyes stretched wider. “Are you insane?”
“Eddie’s dad wants him to open an office in San Diego.”
The room fell silent.
“Oh.” I leaned back. The reality of her news began to wrench inside my stomach, kind of like the wet tissue between her hands.
Her eyes lowered again and she focused on her hands, twisting the ratty tissue between them as if she was trying to create origami. She sniffed. “And he wants him to move there…in two months.”
“Move. San Diego?” It seemed so far.
Kathryn nodded. Her bloodshot blue eyes looked across at me helplessly. She looked even worse than I felt.
“Well…what are you going to do?” More goose bumps raced up and down my spine.
“I don’t know, Grace. I wanted to talk to you first. I don’t know what I should do.”
The room grew so silent that I could hear the hum of the refrigerator in the kitchen. The coffee pots paused from gurgling and hissing as if they too waited for my answer. I knew that I should tell her what she wanted to hear but the right words lodged in my throat. I didn’t know whether I felt guilty for not telling her to go or selfish for even thinking it.
But there was only one answer. She had to go. I didn’t have to like it, but it was what she wanted. It was what I came back to tell her. I needed her to hear me say the words.
Before I could respond, someone rapped on the front door, jolting us both upright.
“It’s probably just Charlie.” Kathryn wiped her nose with the back of her hand. “We better get back to work.” She stood, avoiding my gaze.
“Let’s talk later? Please?” There was so much I needed to tell her.
But Kathryn barely acknowledged my existence before turning for the door.
It was another busy day.
Chapter Eight
Carlos
Elena stood over a silver mixing bowl, stirring together two cups of flour, three teaspoons of baking powder and a pinch of salt, like she’d done a hundred times before. The spoon scraped against the sides of the bowl and filled the inside of our pink stucco house with a hauntingly rhythmic tune.
As usual, Pop sat silently in his bedroom either pretending to read or staring at a faded photograph of Mamá that had probably become worn around the edges from fingering it every day, every hour. When he wasn’t holding it, he slipped it inside the family bible. I hoped the smells wafting from the kitchen would coax him out of his room for a little while.
From time to time, Elena glanced over at me as I studied at the kitchen table. I knew her well enough to know something weighed on her mind.
“Saw you talking to Grace today.” She tried mock nonchalance but I knew her better than that.
I exhaled, forcing myself to concentrate on Commercial Litigation . In my periphery, Elena added shortening to the bowl while my eyes glazed over case law, mostly because I thought about Grace too, more than I wanted. And if only we had more than one table in the whole house where I could study. I really should have stayed at the library.
Elena gave up waiting for me to answer her. “Anyway, I really like her. She’s nice. Pretty, too.” She poured a half cup of steaming water into her mixture. “Not like the girls you usually date.” She smirked.
“Uh-huh,” I mumbled before I remembered to turn a page in my book.
“Anyway, I think you should ask her out.” She removed the mixture from the bowl and placed it on a lightly floured surface next to the kitchen sink.
I looked up from my book and leaned against the back of the metal kitchen chair. “Oh, you do, do you?” I teased. Elena never gave up when it came to my mostly nonexistent love life. But she was always trying to set me up with Mexicanas , so this was a first.
“Sí, I do. I really do,” Elena said, unfazed. She picked up the dough with both hands and began to knead it. “I think you two might have a lot in common.”
“But you don’t even know her.” I rolled my eyes before pinching the bridge of my
My eyes stretched wider. “Are you insane?”
“Eddie’s dad wants him to open an office in San Diego.”
The room fell silent.
“Oh.” I leaned back. The reality of her news began to wrench inside my stomach, kind of like the wet tissue between her hands.
Her eyes lowered again and she focused on her hands, twisting the ratty tissue between them as if she was trying to create origami. She sniffed. “And he wants him to move there…in two months.”
“Move. San Diego?” It seemed so far.
Kathryn nodded. Her bloodshot blue eyes looked across at me helplessly. She looked even worse than I felt.
“Well…what are you going to do?” More goose bumps raced up and down my spine.
“I don’t know, Grace. I wanted to talk to you first. I don’t know what I should do.”
The room grew so silent that I could hear the hum of the refrigerator in the kitchen. The coffee pots paused from gurgling and hissing as if they too waited for my answer. I knew that I should tell her what she wanted to hear but the right words lodged in my throat. I didn’t know whether I felt guilty for not telling her to go or selfish for even thinking it.
But there was only one answer. She had to go. I didn’t have to like it, but it was what she wanted. It was what I came back to tell her. I needed her to hear me say the words.
Before I could respond, someone rapped on the front door, jolting us both upright.
“It’s probably just Charlie.” Kathryn wiped her nose with the back of her hand. “We better get back to work.” She stood, avoiding my gaze.
“Let’s talk later? Please?” There was so much I needed to tell her.
But Kathryn barely acknowledged my existence before turning for the door.
It was another busy day.
Chapter Eight
Carlos
Elena stood over a silver mixing bowl, stirring together two cups of flour, three teaspoons of baking powder and a pinch of salt, like she’d done a hundred times before. The spoon scraped against the sides of the bowl and filled the inside of our pink stucco house with a hauntingly rhythmic tune.
As usual, Pop sat silently in his bedroom either pretending to read or staring at a faded photograph of Mamá that had probably become worn around the edges from fingering it every day, every hour. When he wasn’t holding it, he slipped it inside the family bible. I hoped the smells wafting from the kitchen would coax him out of his room for a little while.
From time to time, Elena glanced over at me as I studied at the kitchen table. I knew her well enough to know something weighed on her mind.
“Saw you talking to Grace today.” She tried mock nonchalance but I knew her better than that.
I exhaled, forcing myself to concentrate on Commercial Litigation . In my periphery, Elena added shortening to the bowl while my eyes glazed over case law, mostly because I thought about Grace too, more than I wanted. And if only we had more than one table in the whole house where I could study. I really should have stayed at the library.
Elena gave up waiting for me to answer her. “Anyway, I really like her. She’s nice. Pretty, too.” She poured a half cup of steaming water into her mixture. “Not like the girls you usually date.” She smirked.
“Uh-huh,” I mumbled before I remembered to turn a page in my book.
“Anyway, I think you should ask her out.” She removed the mixture from the bowl and placed it on a lightly floured surface next to the kitchen sink.
I looked up from my book and leaned against the back of the metal kitchen chair. “Oh, you do, do you?” I teased. Elena never gave up when it came to my mostly nonexistent love life. But she was always trying to set me up with Mexicanas , so this was a first.
“Sí, I do. I really do,” Elena said, unfazed. She picked up the dough with both hands and began to knead it. “I think you two might have a lot in common.”
“But you don’t even know her.” I rolled my eyes before pinching the bridge of my
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