She took a quick shower, put on some tinted moisturizer, a touch of mascara, jeans, and a T-shirt. She would do her full makeup routine later when she went to work.
Tequila licked her leg.
“I guess I can take you with me. It is a park, after all.” Alma scooped up Tequila, stuffed her into her car, and headed toward San Rafael down the winding Tiburon Boulevard.
A smile spread over her face fantasizing about her upcoming vacation to Mexico. Flashes of the food she would eat, the drinks she would imbibe, the festivals in which she would partake. She was so grateful that Zoila had convinced her to go. Alma really needed to focus a bit more on taking breaks.
Once she turned on the 101, her heart constricted at leaving her idyllic bubble behind her. Though she was still heavily involved in her old Mexican community in the Canal, she had worked so hard to make a life for herself in Tiburon, returning home filled her with a mixture of guilt for the ones she had left behind and fear that she was one disastrous business step away from landing back there. Not that she didn’t love the warmth and culture of her hometown, not that at all. The people of the Canal were hardworking, loyal, and kind. But the stark poverty in contrast to the opulence of the rest of Marin never sat right with her. How could a community with so much give so little to its own residents? Most of Marin was shockingly segregated, including Marin City and the Canal. Marin City, which was famously the hometown of the late Tupac Shakur, was 40 percent Black whereas the rest of Marin was only 4 percent.And the Canal was even more racially divided—90 percent Hispanic versus the entire county at a mere 17 percent.
Both communities had the worst schools in the county, while the elementary school in Ross was one of the best publics in the nation. It wasn’t fair.
As she exited to the Canal, her nerves tingled. Thank God Carlos asked her to do this festival. She could raise some real money for the Canal. Give back even more.
She parked at Pickleweed Park, the only green space in the Canal, which had been promised a multimillion-dollar refurbishing. Even so, she still adored it as it was. It was next to a bilingual library and a great recreation center that held quinceañeras and birthday parties. But the big highlight was the sports fields.
Alma wrangled Tequila out of the car and gave her water since she overheated easily. Pugs always had health problems.
She locked her car and enjoyed the cool breeze from the bay.
A familiar revving roared in the distance.Had to be a Porsche.After a few years serving wealthy tourists at the bar, it wasn’t hard to pick out.
Still, a Porsche? In the Canal?
Sure, there were some exotic car dealerships and mechanics nearby, but that vehicle was an odd choice at this park.
A bright-orange Porsche pulled in next to her.
Santi was in the driver’s seat.
And Jaime was sitting next to him.
Fuck my life.
Jaime opened the door. He was wearing a thin Efraín Álvarez LA Galaxy soccer jersey and soccer shorts that showed off his muscular body. That chest, those arms, uh, those thighs!
Alma tried to process his presence again. Did he follow her here? Was he stalking her?
Seeing him twice in two days was too much. She walked right up to Jaime. Damn, why did he smell like cedar and sex?
“What on earth are you doing here? Are you stalking me? Did you put an AirTag on me last night or something?”
Jaime threw up his hands. “What? No. I’m not a stalker or psychopath, Alma. I was invited here for a game.”
Like a lotería riddle, this cruel joke suddenly became clear to her.
Soccer. Goddamn fútbol.
Fucking Carlos. She was going to kill her brother.
She exhaled. “By my fucking brother? Say he didn’t.”
Just as Jaime opened his mouth, her brother’s beat-up old Honda pulled into the parking lot.
He parked and swiftly got out of the car. “Dammit. I wanted to get here first, but I’m too late. Alma, I can explain.”
Alma seethed. “Late? You set me up. My own brother. How could you do this?”
Carlos tugged her arm and pulled her away from Jaime to the side of an old brick building housing the public restrooms. Tequila waddled behind, snorting.
