He sniffled. I knew he was crying. “Wish I’d realized that with more time on the clock but—”
“We stillhavetime on the clock, Dad.”
My mother let out a huge sob, and covered her mouth trying not to ugly cry. Marcus was seated with his arms folded and a smile on his face.
* * *
Abuelita walkedup the steps of the front porch where my father and I sat on the porch swing. She was carrying a basket of something.
“Momma, why didn’t you call and have one of us come over?” Dad said.
“Because you’ve got less time on your ticker than I do, Antonio. So shut your yap and let me bring over my fried chicken.”
“Oh, shit, Abuelita, are you serious?” I gasped, just as the smell hit my nose. “You are!”
“Do I smell fried chicken?” Marcus called from behind her, walking up with our bags. “Oh, God, Maria, tell me that’s really homemade fried chicken?”
“I put it in the buttermilk this morning.”
“Praise Jeebus,” he mumbled.
I pulled the door open for the two of them, and watched as my grandmother made her way to the back of the house. I held up a finger to have Marcus wait, and I smiled.
“Oh, Momma! Yes!” my mother yelled from the kitchen.
“No one makes fried chicken like Abuelita.” I smiled.
Marcus laughed, dropping a quick peck on my lips and headed inside. My parents had insisted we stay with them through the weekend, and when I had seen they hadn’t left my room with the single bed and sailboats and had instead painted it neutral and put a queen in it—I realized they really were trying. Maybe more than trying.
“Who do you have taking care of the pumpkins?”
“Rider is supposed to, but he’s not exactly good at it. Momma has some neighbor boys she pays. She loves that patch. And honestly, so do I and your mother. It’s not just income. It’s a tradition.”
“Does it bother you that you can’t work it?”
“Some days. Other days, I’m glad for the porch and a cold beer and the chance to just sit.” He sighed. “How’s your shoulder?”
“Oh, long healed,” I answered. “I got to a clinic and had them help me out. Took a lot of the money I had saved, but I got it straight.”
“Are you set there in New York?”
“Great apartment, great coworkers, two cats, one dog, and a boyfriend.” I smiled. “That’s about as good as it gets.”
“He treats you right?”
I nodded. “Yeah. He does.”
“Good.” He patted my knee.
“The prodigal son returns.”
We both turned and found Rider mounting the steps to the side of the porch. He had a scowl on his face, and he was filthy from whatever he was doing.
“I came to make peace with my father, Rider. I have no beef with you.”
“Did you let Mom slaughter the fatted calf?”
“Rider…” My father shook his head.
