“I don’t know, is it? How much are you raising the rent?”
“It will be substantial.”
She pursed her lips and looked away from him.
“Julieta, talk to me. What are you thinking?”
“I don’t understand why you still have to do that. And frankly, and I know I work for you, and it’s completely self-serving for me to say this, but I still don’t see why you have to change Las Pescas. We could just keep it like it is now and you will turn a profit. I’m telling you, no matter what, a Taco King won’t be accepted. There is nothing you nor I can do about that.”
“Julieta, you know I don’t have a choice. This was always the plan.”
“Of course you have a choice. Everyone has a choice. You can choose to do what you want. You are not your father, just like I am not my mother. I’ll tell you what—if I was my mom, I would’ve sued your father. Because yes, he started the business, and yes, he was inspired, but he gave us no credit at all. She struggled so much when she first came over from Mexico. My mom cleaned toilets. My father worked in the fields, and meanwhile you were being raised in La Jolla.”
“I get it, Julieta. I’m working on it. I can quit, but that won’t solve anything. It will just make it worse because my father will have no voice of reason. I’m trying. I need you to trust me.”
“Fine.” Julieta dropped it for now.
His voice lowered. “How bad do you think the protesters are going to be?”
“Bad. Especially if you raise the rent elsewhere.”
“Julieta,” he pleaded. “When we open the restaurant, I need you by my side.”
She cringed. “I don’t know if I can cross the protester lines. I don’t know if I can betray my community.” Julieta’s heart sank. She dreaded this. Images of people blocking her path, yelling out “traitor,” flashed in her head. Everyone would turn on her. Was she doing the right thing?
“I need to get ahead of it. Plead with the community.”
“And how do you plan to do that? It’s complicated, Ramón.”
“I know that. I think maybe we should have a town hall meeting and discuss it.”
“That’s a bad idea. Ramón, nothing you can do will prevent them from protesting and boycotting you. They will come after you, come after me. I thought you knew this?”
“I did. I do. What should we do?”
Julieta couldn’t answer that question. And no matter how much she loved Ramón and all the amazing opportunities that came with the new job, she was discovering she would never turn her back on her community.
Ramón drizzled the glaze on the steak and plated the vegetables.
“Dinner.”
The mood was somber. Julieta took the first bite of the meat. It was surprisingly tender and well seasoned. She was very impressed with her man’s cooking abilities, and even more flattered that he’d taken the time to feed her instead of the other way around. But still, her lackluster mood prevailed. What would she do?
After they finished dinner, Ramón served her a slice of a gooey chocolate cake.
She took a big bite, the chocolate sauce melting in her mouth. “Oh, this is scrumptious.”
Ramón must have sensed her mood. “Let’s have some fun tonight.”
“What did you have in mind?”
Ramón turned on a Mexican waltz song. “May I have this dance?”
“Ah! ‘Tiempo de Vals’! I love this song. I didn’t know you danced. Aren’t you the Renaissance man? Shakespeare, musician, chef, and now dancer?”
He smiled. “My mom put me in cotillion classes. I had to take etiquette classes, dress in suits, and learn how to greet people. I was also a chambelán at many quinceañeras.”
“Oh.”
