An elderly couple dined on a whole fried fish baked in a tomatillo sauce in one corner. At the same time, a family with young kids munched on ceviche tostadas by the terra-cotta chimenea. In the heart of Barrio Logan, Las Pescas was more than a home for her; it was a community for her people.
Which was why, when she’d found out that her landlord, Señor Gomez, had decided to sell the property so he could retire and movenear his kids, she sprang into action. He owned the entire block, and the buildings were for sale—she refused to allow a new owner to come in, triple the rent, and force all the stores out. Or even worse, not even give them a chance to pay the increased rent. They could kick out all the tenants, renovate the building, and lease it to corporate establishments. Lately, it was an all-too-familiar scene in Barrio—just last year the local bodega had been taken over by a big-box grocery store. Barrio Logan was now hip and ripe for gentrification. But the residents didn’t want another chain store—they wanted to preserve their neighborhood.
Julieta had already applied for every small business loan she could find and had even made some calls to investors who were frequent customers of her restaurant. Señor Gomez had said the starting bid for his strip of buildings was eight million dollars! Julieta couldn’t even fathom that type of money. Sure, there was a possibility that the new owner would allow her to stay open, but it was doubtful. Last year, an investor bought the land a street away, terminated all the leases, and built new condos. If Julieta could buy the entire block, they wouldn’t have to close. Las Pescas had been around for twenty years. And since Julieta had taken over a few years ago, they were actually profitable. Now the restaurant had dedicated YouTubers and other influencers regularly posting pictures of their grub.
But none of that mattered if the building was sold and the new owners wanted to replace Las Pescas with a chain.
So far, nothing had panned out.
The sale hadn’t been finalized yet. But she couldn’t fret about that now, anyway—she had to cook tonight in Old Town for the Day of the Dead party. If she could garner enough good publicity, maybe that would attract an investor to save her restaurant. After all, she had beaten out one hundred other taco vendors for this prime location at the event by being voted San Diego’s Best Tacos. Though the kioskwould be small, the hut reminded her of her mamá’s original stand in San Felipe. It was kismet.
And she had been so wrapped up with this crisis that she hadn’t even been able to properly celebrate the holiday.
Today was her first Day of the Dead without Papá. Día de los Muertos had always been her favorite holiday. As a girl, she loved helping Mamá set up the offerings for their deceased relatives—the liquor to quench their thirst after a long journey back to the living world, the toys for the younger children who had passed, the bread of the dead that was topped with skull-shaped mounds, which were sometimes in a round pattern that represented the circle of life. Day of the Dead was not Mexican Halloween—this celebration was full of joy and remembrance, honoring the loved ones who were no longer here on earth.
Tears welled in her eyes as she tended to the altar that she’d built for her beloved papá in the corner of the restaurant. She had spent hours preparing the ofrenda—from picking the finest marigolds to baking the pan de muerto to hand-dipping candles in his honor. She’d even placed a pack of cigarettes and a shot of tequila on his altar, despite Mamá’s objections. Smoking and drinking may have killed Papá, but she’d be damned if she didn’t offer him some comfort in the afterlife.
Mamá yelled at her from the back door. “Julieta! ¡Vámonos!”
Julieta gulped. Mamá’s silver-streaked black hair, normally pulled back in a tight bun, was long, loose, and wild under her lace veil for the holiday. For a moment, Julieta’s childhood fears of being kidnapped by La Llorona sprang to her mind.
Julieta grabbed her chiles and loaded them into the back of her catering van with the rest of the ingredients as Mamá climbed into the driver’s seat. Julieta joined her in the van, and they set off toward Old Town. Mamá shot her a disapproving glance. “Where is your costume?”
Julieta sighed. “In the back. I don’t see why I have to wear it. I’m working here, not picking up men.”
It was Mamá’s turn to sigh. “Julieta, it’s Día de los Muertos. Show some respect to the dead. Like your papá.”
Julieta looked out the window toward the water. “Fine. I’ll change when I get there.”
“Gracias. I’ll do your makeup. It will be nice to see you wearing something besides an apron and flour.”
Julieta read the subtext loud and clear.Perhaps then a nice man might notice you.
“Amá,” Julieta sighed again. “Men my age are only interested in hookups. No one writes poems or sends flowers. They don’t serenade women, like Keanu Reeves did inA Walk in the Clouds.”
“Your papá did.”
Julieta’s heart ached. How had it already been almost six months since he’d died?
“Yes, he did. I wish I could find a man half as good as him. I miss him.” She closed her eyes and pictured his smile. She could almost hear his laughter bellowing through the movie theater on their weekly film dates. Though the memories of Papá were bittersweet, they still brought Julieta joy. She opened her eyes and saw tears in her mamá’s. A lump grew in Julieta’s throat.
What would it be like to have a love like the one her parents shared? Papá had bought Mamá flowers every week until the end. And Mamá always made sure to make his favorite flan once a week. How had they possibly kept the spark alive for so many years?
Julieta doubted that she would ever know.
The only songs men sang these days were on TikTok. And even those were lip-synched.
Romance was dead.
They pulled into a crowded parking lot in Old Town. Luckily,they had a reserved parking spot, because the place was packed. Even so, that didn’t stop a bum from trying to scam them to pay a parking fee. Mamá tossed him a twenty to ensure he wouldn’t key their vehicle. Julieta reluctantly squeezed into the back of the van and changed into the Day of the Dead costume that Mamá had hand-sewn for her years ago. Despite her reluctance to wear it, she did love the ornate, formfitting white bridal gown, with accents of black and red lace. Unfortunately, the neckline was cut low, revealing Julieta’s ample cleavage, which she usually kept safely hidden under salsa-stained aprons.
Julieta hopped out of the van and did an obligatory swirl for Mamá, who clapped.
“You look so beautiful.”
“Well, this is probably the closest you will ever get to seeing me in a real bridal gown, so you might as well enjoy it.” And Julieta wasn’t lying. She would be thirty next year. She had long given up any hope of ever finding her soul mate.
Mamá shook her head. “Well, with an attitude like that, you’re probably right.” Though she was in her early sixties, she didn’t look a day over forty. She was petite and curvy, and her beautiful brown skin was smooth. She had minimal lines around her eyes, which she swore was due to her daily use of eye cream. Despite Mamá’s outside appearance, Julieta constantly worried about her health. Mamá had lupus, and even though they had health insurance, if the building was sold, Mamá’s medical bills would be a huge financial burden they may not be able to afford.
