Julieta poked her head in the kitchen and told the cook that she’d be right back.
Then she took Rosa aside. “Rosa, Mamá and I are taking a walk. If those men come back, tell them we are unable to serve them. And then text me.”
Rosa nodded, and then her eyes widened. “Okay, but dímelo. Did you hook up with that guy? He’s so fucking hot.”
“Rosa! Who cares if he’s hot? He’s a Montez.”
“So, you did sleep with him?”
Julieta grasped Rosa’s shoulders. “No, I didn’t.” But Julieta had wanted to.
Rosa tossed her curled black hair. “Well, you should’ve. I would’ve. What a waste.”
Julieta leveled Rosa with her eyes and turned to Mamá. “Okay, let’s go.”
Mamá pushed open the glass door and strode onto the busy main street.
Julieta was right behind her. And the first thing she saw was Ramón’s guacamole-colored McLaren, but luckily, no sign of him. Where was he? Terrorizing another one of the shops he was going to destroy? Ay, Dios mío. Had he no shame flaunting his sports car here, knowing that he was going to buy their building and send panic through the community? A small crowd had gathered around the vehicle, and one chica, who was dressed up like a fifties-style pinup complete with salsa-red hair, was even posing for pictures in front of Ramón’s beloved McLaren. The residents of Barrio Logan were car connoisseurs. One of Julieta’s favorite events was the biweekly La Vuelta Lowrider Cruise. Classic cars would line the streets, music blasted from the radios, and drivers would bounce their automobiles, defying gravity.
Julieta loved her town.
She greeted everyone she passed on the block. Children from the local day care slid down the slippery slide at Chicano Park. Toddlers’ laughter rang through the air, and Julieta smiled. She would often make the local kids bean and cheese burritos for lunch. Many of their parents couldn’t afford food and their siblings’ only meal of the day was at the local elementary school. But the people in the community always took care of one another. No matter what.
What would happen when they were all displaced?
Julieta and Mamá stopped at a fruit vendor, and Julieta indulged in some fresh mangoes with chamoy and Tajín. Mamá ordered some sandía with chile and limón. They grabbed their cups of frutas and sat in the park under her favorite mural that had the wordsLa Tierra Miapainted above a Mexican worker wielding a pickax.
Chicano Park was the heart of her community. Nestled under the Coronado Bridge was the most magnificent artwork. It was full of historic Chicano murals featuring Mexican-American leaders. The scent from the dream sage in the herb garden mingled with the sweet smell of her mango. A little girl’s ball bounced and became stuck between the bronze legs of Mexican revolutionary Emiliano Zapata. Joy flushed through her. She remembered coming here every week with her parents. This place was the brightness in their concrete jungle. She had been pushed in a swing here, learned how to ride a bike here, and had even had her first kiss in this very park. This place was glorious. And since it was a historical landmark, it was the one area that the gentefiers could never take from them.
“Okay, Mamá. Spill.”
Mamá exhaled. “I had just convinced my papá to let me open a small taco stand of my own. He had a bigger restaurant down the street, but I wanted a simple menu. Fish tacos and beer. It was slow at first, because most of the gringos didn’t want to try fish tacos, but business had picked up. One sunset, this young man stopped by and ordered two tacos and a beer. He was so handsome. His son looks just like him, but Arturo’s skin was darker, and his hair was longer. He was a surfer”—Mamá gave a wistful sigh—“and he didn’t wear a shirt.”
And Ramón had told her he was always a surfer—just like his dad. What would Ramón look like shirtless? His body had been sofirm against hers... Would his abs be chiseled into a six-pack? His chest warm and kissed golden-brown from our ancestors? She bet he had a sexy happy trail that led down to his—
No, Julieta.She had to stop thinking about him that way.
Mamá continued. “He loved the food and asked me out. Of course, I said no. Your abuelo was very strict and didn’t want me to get used by an American man. He was worried that if Arturo loved me and left me, no man would ever want me again.”
That was pretty misogynistic of him, but Abuelo lived in a different country and a different time. She had fond memories of him. He always wore a hat and would give her candy when her parents forbade it.
“So you snuck out?” Julieta asked.
Mamá shook her head and took a bite of the watermelon. “No, I didn’t. I agreed, and Arturo came and met my father. We had a chaperone, my Tía Viola, accompany us on our date. And wow, was Arturo a charmer. He taught me how to surf and would read poetry to me. He sang to me on the beach. I loved him.”
Poetry and music sounded heavenly. Ramón quoted Shakespeare and had even offered to teach Julieta how to surf. Like father, like son. “So dreamy. What happened? He seems perfect.”
“He was. We spent two weeks together, and he had to go back to San Diego to graduate. He promised to return when school was out. I waited for him, and he never came. I finally had to accept that he would never come back. So, I forced myself to move on.” She paused, her face turning warmer. “Your father had always loved me. He had been my best friend, and my family adored him. I finally realized that I loved him too—that our friendship was stronger than any fleeting, irresponsible passion. The basis of a lifelong partnership. He asked my papá for my hand in marriage. My father was thrilled, and we wed.”
Julieta pursed her lips. Mamá’s relationship with Papá was like Julieta’s relationship with Pablo. Strong, steady, based on similar values and upbringings, not lust and liquor. And her parents had been so happy together.
“Well, you definitely chose the right man. I’m selfishly glad Arturo didn’t come back, or I wouldn’t be here.”
Mamá held Julieta’s hand. “Me too, mija, me too.”
Julieta still had unanswered questions. “But why do you think he stole the recipe?”
“I don’t think he did, mijita, I know! I had it in a recipe book. And then it was gone. Poof. Vanished.”
