“We’re discussing how we can help the homeless. Do you have any ideas, Ramón?”
Ramón had to physically stop himself from rolling his eyes. His mom always got herself involved in some cause to raise money, but it was more an excuse to plan a gala than to truly do charity work. “I don’t, actually. Though in Texas they have a plan where they provide housing and pay them jobs to clean up the city that seems to work.”
“Oh, that is interesting.” Mrs. Camarillo’s face was pulled so tight from her latest face-lift that she reminded him of a cat. She took a sip of her mango mimosa and narrowed her sights on Ramón. “Are you seeing anyone these days, Ramón? You know, Sarita just graduated from USC. Top of her class! She’s training to be a real estate agent at Berkshire Hathaway. Maybe you could take her out sometime?”
Breathe, Ramón, breathe.
The last thing Ramón needed was to be set up with Mamá’s friend’s daughter. Sarita was pretty, but full of herself. She had a viral following online. If Ramón went out with her, every detail of their relationship would be set to music and captioned while tagging sponsored businesses.
Maybe he should set her up with Jaime.
“Tell her congratulations, Mrs. Camarillo. But I just met someone.” That wasn’t actually a lie—hehadmet Julieta. Too bad she told him she never wanted to see him again.
Mamá dramatically placed her hands on her face. “This is news to me, mijo. Who is the lucky lady?”
Great. Here we go. This was Ramón’s fault—he shouldn’t have tempted her.
Mrs. Alvarez piped in. “Yes, please tell us. Do we know her? Is it Mrs. Lopez’s daughter? Her maid told my maid that she just broke up with her fiancé. He was a doctor, but supposedly he left her for his nurse! Can you imagine? Anyway, she’s always had her eye on you.”
Yeah, they were practically promised to each other by their parents after Ramón had been her chambelán at her quinceañera. “No, she isn’t. The woman I met is a chef.”
Mamá’s eyebrow fought through the Botox and miraculously lifted. “Where, Ramón? Have I dined at her restaurant before?”
“I doubt you’ve been there. It’s a sea-to-table taquería in Barrio Logan.”
A look of horror flashed on Mamá’s face. “Barrio Logan? How on earth did you meet this woman?”
Mamá was such a snob. Had she forgotten how she spent her youth picking garlic on the farms in Gilroy? “At the Day of the Dead event. She was cooking. Oh, and we finally closed that deal down there.”
The other ladies nervously sipped their beverages and stared at Mamá, who scrunched her face. Ramón couldn’t help but take pleasure in her misguided embarrassment.
“Ah. Now I see. It’s that father of yours.” She turned to her friends. “Arturo was always obsessed with getting a restaurant in Barrio Logan. I could never figure out why—it was probably because he used to hang out with those radicals in the Brown Berets when he was in college.”
Ramón laughed and tried to imagine Papá, who spent his days off work playing golf here or sipping mint tea in his La Jolla mansion with a full staff of maids and gardeners, chanting about Brown Power and protesting in Chicano Park.
“Actually, I love Barrio Logan. And this chef is truly gifted.”
Mamá dramatically fanned herself with her napkin. “Really, Ramón. Get ahold of yourself. You’re in your late thirties. Your fun days sowing your oats with wild girls should be behind you. You should start thinking about your future. I would like grandchildren one day.”
Why? To ignore them, too?
Time to go. “Well, nice seeing you all. I have to order before tee time.”
He hugged Mamá and then waved goodbye to the ladies. Then he returned to his own table and ordered his breakfast.
Ramón checked his email on his phone, but he still didn’t see any reply from Julieta. Would she change her mind? He couldn’t blame her if she didn’t, but he hoped that she would accept his offer and that he would have an excuse to see her soon.
His eggs arrived quickly. They were perfectly poached, but the hollandaise was bland. No originality in these Eggs Benedict and most definitely no heat. Ramón doused his with Cholula Hot Sauce, but that didn’t fix the underlying issue. The dish was tasty, but he was certain that Julieta’s version was better.
After he finished eating, he made his way to the golf course. He ran into a couple of buddies and joined up with them. As he teed off over the ocean, Ramón took a hard look at his privilege. He didn’t want to end up like Papá, alone and miserable, and he definitely didn’t want to end up like Mamá, bitter and pretentious.
He wanted what he had seen in Julieta’s restaurant the other day. Authentic laughter and closeness.
But Ramón didn’t have a clue how to get that.
Chapter Thirteen
The last customer finally left the restaurant, and Julieta couldn’t help but blink back tears. How many more nights would Las Pescas be open? Would she be able to say a proper goodbye to her customers?
