I smile, making it reach my eyes this time and channel every ounce of the person I used to be—the competent, successful, together version of Atlas Navarro who moved to Denver and made it in one of the biggest tech companies in the country.
“Just tired from the drive. Long week at work. But I’m really happy to be here, Mom. Seriously. This is beautiful. You and Dad deserve this.”
She studies me for another second, then leans in to whisper. “The party is great, but trust me, the thing to look forward to is the cake. We got it from the Sunrise Bakery. Maria really outdid herself this time.”
“I love you and all, Mom, but the real reason I’m here is for the food.”
She laughs and then kisses my cheek before being pulled away by Aunt Patricia’s arrival.
Forty years. My parents built forty years of honest, steady love.
And I can’t even be honest for forty seconds.
I’m halfway to the beverage table when Sarah, one of the owners of Harvest & Root, grabs my arm. “Atlas! How are you?”
“Great, really good,” I say automatically.
“Don’t you look handsome today,” she says, running her hand down my shirt sleeve. “Are you seeing anyone? A cutie like you must have all the guys lining up.”
My laugh is hollow, but I don’t think she notices. “No time for dating. Work keeps me busy.”
“You’ve always been a hard worker,” she says. “You must stop by the restaurant before you leave town. Jess will love to see you. She drew the short straw this evening.”
“I’ll come in if you save me a slice of your apple pie.”
“Consider it done.”
I might be struggling with being home right now, but Sarah and Jess were great to me when I worked at their farm-to-table restaurant before I left for college. It’ll be nice to catch up. Who knows, if I can’t get a job soon, I might have to come back and ask for my old job back.
More people gather. My parents’ neighbor Mr. Bottisham, the Garcias, someone’s cousin. They form a loose circle around me—or at least that’s how it feels.
“How’s Denver?” Mr. Bottisham asks. “We don’t see you much.”
“Vibrant. Great culture. I love it.” The lies come easily now. “Just busy with work.”
“When are you visiting next?”
“Do you miss Pine Ridge?”
“Your mom worries about you.”
The questions pile up. I answer each one perfectly—the right words, the right tone, the right smile. But inside, my heart hammers as the panic builds while I try to keep it off my face.
“Little bro!”
My sister’s voice cuts through. I excuse myself and move toward Sofia. She pulls me into a hug that feels different—tighter, more knowing.
“You okay?” she asks. “You seem off.”
I force a smile. “Just tired.” I can’t breathe. I can’t do this anymore. “Where are my niblings?”
She looks around and then shrugs. “Probably trying to get to the cake.”
“Sounds like their favorite uncle needs to join in on that action.”
I give her a kiss on the cheek but don’t wait for a response. I just walk away, and when I see her walk toward my brother-in-law, I take the door to the gardens. Away from the fairy lights and the faces and the suffocating weight of all that misplaced pride.
The garden area behind the community center is darker, quieter. Fewer fairy lights reach back here, just the spillover glow from the pavilion and the distant orange of streetlamps.
