Heart Breaths by KK Hendin Page B

“It drives my dad crazy, because pastelitos aren’t supposed to be dinner foods. They’re dessert. But Noie likes them, and loves eating dessert for dinner, so I don’t care.”
    “Hey, if she eats it, it’s dinner,” I said, remembering the ridiculous stories I’d make up to get Devi to eat sometimes. “But seriously. This is delicious.”
    “Thanks,” he said, cutting up Noie’s pie into pieces before turning to his own. “I kind of learned on the job.”
    “Your mom didn’t help?” I asked, puzzled.
    “They only moved here six months ago,” he said.
    Six months ago?
    “From where?”
    “Further inland,” he said.
    “And you lived here already?” I asked, just trying to get a better picture of what happened. He nodded.
    “Yup. I moved here around a year before Noie was born.”
    “Since I was born!” Noie repeated, banging her fork against the side of the plate. I smiled at her as she started babbling, telling us both about what happened with her that day when she was at Grandma’s.

    “Mama, Mama, Mama!” she yelled, racing into the kitchen where I was stirring the pot of macaroni.
    “Yes, Devi?” I asked, reaching down to kiss her head.
    “Mama making supper?” she asked.
    “Mama’s making supper,” I agreed.
    “Daddy?”
    “Daddy’s on his way home,” I said. “From work.”
    “From work!” she repeated happily. “From work!”
    “Daddy’s home!” called a voice.
    “Daddy!” shrieked Devi as she ran as fast as she could toward the front door of our little apartment. “Mama, Daddy’s home!”
    Ravi walked into the kitchen, holding a giggling Devi. “Hey, Mama,” he said, leaning over and kissing me.
    “Hey, Daddy,” I answered, giving the macaroni one last stir.

    “You okay there, Maddie?” Gabe asked.
    I shook my head, trying to shake off the memories. “Yeah, just spaced out for a second there.”
    “Spaced?” Noie asked.
    “Spaced,” I agreed, smiling at her. It’s okay, I told myself. It’s okay.
    The rest of dinner went without incident. If Gabe noticed the drop in my appetite, he didn’t say anything.
    “Bedtime, Miss Noie,” he said, after the table was cleared. “Say goodnight to Maddie.”
    She ran over to me and threw her arms around me. “Goodnight, Maddie,” she said, pressing a sloppy little kiss on my cheek.
    “Goodnight, baby girl,” I whispered, inhaling the smell of little girl.
    “I’ll be back in a few,” Gabe said, Noie propped on his hip. “Don’t do the dishes.”
    I smiled. “Friends let friends…” I began.
    “No,” he said. “Friends do not let friends wash their dishes the first time friends come over.”
    I wandered over to the couch, taking another look around the room. There was a photo album lying on the coffee table. Overcome with curiosity, I reached over and picked it up, hearing the murmurs of Gabe’s deep voice and Noie’s little one.
    The first picture was of Gabe in the hospital, holding Noie. God, they both looked so little. Well, Noie looking little made sense. But Gabe? Gabe barely looked like he was old enough to have graduated high school, let alone become a dad.
    Not that age ever stopped anyone from becoming a dad, I reminded myself.
    The pictures progressed—more of Noie than of Gabe. There would be an occasional picture of the two of them, but mostly it was pictures of Noie as a baby. She was beautiful. I swallowed the traitorous lump that appeared again.
    “Noie calls that her picture book,” Gabe said, settling down on the couch next to me. He yawned widely.
    “Do you want me to leave?” I asked, watching him yawn. I remembered those days after the baby went to sleep, when all I wanted to do was curl up on the couch and sleep.
    “No, stay,” he said. He yawned again. “Sorry, just comes with the territory.”
    “You sure?”
    “Positive.” He smiled. “I never turn down a chance for adult conversation. Especially not with pretty café waitresses.”
    “So, you used to hang out