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PROLOGUE
I almost knock over a little old lady in my frantic rush to get into the café to get my girl some arroz con leche.
I make Ana pronounce it to me twice over the phone before I feel confident enough to order it by myself.
“Hayden, I could have just come with you,” Ana says into the phone, her normally smooth and beautiful voice now raspy.
“No, you’re disgustingly and adorably sick,” I say as I hold the door open for the old lady who is now purposefully taking her sweet time exiting while simultaneously glaring at me. “You finally have an appetite after a week, and I’m getting you your favorite treat!”
“Thank you, amor,” she says gruffly, and I can hear the smile in those words. “This is why I love you.”
“Because I buy you sugary Spanish sweets?” I laugh.
“Well, what else are you good for?”
“Not much.” I sigh.
“I disagree,” she argues and laughs a bit, which turns into a nasty cough that she can’t seem to shake. Even though her fever is gone and her color has started to return, the cough remains. The flu has been rough this season.
“Okay, okay, woman. Let me get this so I can get back to you!”
“Okay, thank you! See you in a bit.” We hang up and I pocket my phone. The spacious Spanish café is extremely warm, both in temperature and decor. Framed photographs in different shades of wood cover almost every inch of space on the deep orange walls. The dark wooden exposed beams that run the length of the ceiling hold strung Edison bulb lights that give the ceiling a cozy glow. There are decorative signs mixed in and around the framed photos in both Spanish and English that seem to all say something nice about family and eating, and how both are better when you do them together.
Walking towards the counter I take note of the colorful pastries and treats that fill the display case and wonder if I should get a few other things for us to eat tonight.
“How can I help you?” the guy behind the counter asks as I approach him. He looks close to my age, maybe a little older.
“Can I please get some arroz como leche?” I ask confidently, tucking a stray wavy piece of blonde hair that fell out of my hair tie behind my ear.
The guy smiles. “Sure, man. But uhm, it’s arroz con leche,” he corrects politely. I hang my head in embarrassment.
“I even practiced several times in the car,” I joke.
“Hey, I give you credit for trying. Most people who don’t speak Spanish just point until I can find the one they want,” he says while he packages up the clear plastic container full of what reminds me of rice pudding, only better.
“Thanks for making me feel better, I appreciate it.” I sigh. “If my girl was here, she would be laughing and making fun of me.”
“She sounds like a keeper.” He laughs. I hand him my debit card and he takes it, running it through the payment machine.
“Oh God, that’s for sure. She’s incredible,” I say with a smile. “She’s not getting rid of me.”
He hands me a receipt to sign. “Lucky man. Have a good night.”
I sign it before grabbing a few bills out of my pocket and dropping them in the tip jar. He hands me the brown paper bag, folded at the top. “Thank you! You too, brother.”
ONE
NOW, SUMMER
“Ana?”
I’m jerked back to my current cold and depressing reality. The scratchy fabric of my therapist’s couch grounds me and brings me back from the flashback. My fingers find that loose thread on the corner near my right knee. I pull on it and twist it around my pointer finger, focusing on the feeling of the string digging into my finger. I remind myself that I’m here. Too often I find myself living in the past. It seems to be the only place where I find joy, however fleeting that may be.
“Ana?” Naomi repeats. I turn my eyes to look back at her. Her dark brown hair, sprinkled with strands of grays, is pulled back away from her warm face.
“Sorry,” I answer.
“It’s okay,” she says. “Where did you go?”
