My dad looks up from his seat on the couch, a beer in his slightly shaking hand and a bowl of chips on the table in front of him. In spite of his fairly recent Parkinson’s diagnosis, Julio Cabrera sometimes gets mistaken for mine and Wayne’s older brother instead of our dad. His face is barely wrinkled, and there is only the slightest hint of gray streaking through his dark hair. He could easily pass for barely forty instead of fifty-seven. We share the same deepset brown eyes and sharp jawline, though he’s always told me I have my mother’s broader smile and aquiline nose.
“Hey, son. How are ya?” I plop down next to him and grab a handful of chips before checking the score on the screen. The food I brought sits between my legs, the smell of arroz con pollo from one of our favorite places permeating the room through the bag.
“Good now that I know our boys are winning,” I tell him as I nudge his shoulder. We’re both big fans of the closest NY team.
“They’re asleep at the plate, but at least the pitching is perfect today,” he remarks. I make a sound of agreement around the chip I shove into my mouth as I watch the next batter with him. Once the side is retired and the commercials start, I get out the containers and grab a can of lime seltzer for myself.
“How are those gorgeous birds of yours?” my dad asks as we start to dig in.
“They’re great,” I tell him with a smile. “Hermes has learned three new words this week.”
“That parrot is smarter than I could ever hope to be,” he says with a laugh.
“You’re the one who taught me how to train him and keep his mind active,” I remind him as I elbow him.
“True, true,” he concedes with a proud smirk. “How about the bar? I haven’t been by in a few days. Is Diana managing today?” My younger cousin Diana usually takes the shifts that I’m not working so that someone in the family is always managing El Abrevadero. With his Parkinson’s, my dad has been less present at the place for the past couple of months. Diana, Wayne, and I have been taking over more and more as the next generation, with Wayne pretty much handling all of the financialsnow.
“It’s all been going really well. Iggy is showing a lot of promise and has been working hard. Chloe, Andrew, and Lauren are doing great as servers. According to Wayne it’s been a banner month profit wise. People love their margaritas in the warm weather, especially when they’re on their way down the shore.”
“Good. You’ve been doing a fantastic job, son,” he says with a smile, but there is something behind it I can’t quite parse out. A feeling of unease slowly spreads through me, and I don’t know why. Something in my dad’s demeanor is off. Did he get bad medical news? My mind starts catastrophizing before I can even blink.
“Gage, stay with me here. I can see you spiraling.”
Shit, he said my actual name. It’s always “son” or “Gagey” if he’s in a normal mood, or “mijo” when he’s feeling particularly affectionate. My actual name means serious business, only one small step down from getting full named.
“Gage Ernesto Cabrera, I need you to pay attention to me,” my dad says more forcefully this time.
Fuck. There goes the full naming.
“I’m listening dad, sorry. What’s going on?” He leans forward to put his beer down, rests his forearms on his knees, and hangs his head.
“This fucking Parkinson’s is only going to get worse. I’m starting to get things situated for when I’m not able to function so well,” he says in his characteristically blunt way. A boulder lodges in my throat, and I can barely swallow around it.
“There is plenty of time to worry about that, it hasn’t progressed much at all yet,” I protest, not even wanting to think about him barely functioning. He shakes his head.
“I can barely hold a beer without shaking, son, let alonework the bar. I’ve been there less and less in the past few months. It’s about time for me to start getting ready to step aside completely and let you have at it. Like you said, we have some time to get things worked out. I have conditions before I give it to you.” I straighten up on the couch, perplexed.
“What conditions? The bar was always going to be mine since I started helping there. It’s my biggest passion, pops.”
“I know it is. I want you to always keep your brother on for the books, and let Diana work there as long as she needs. It’s a family business, and we help our family.”
“Ok, easy enough. I wasn’t going to change anything like that, anyway.” He takes a breath before his next statement knocks me on my ass.
“I also want you to be married before I give it to you.”
I’m taking a sip of my seltzer as he says it, and I end up spraying it all over his coffee table. Quickly mopping it up with a couple of napkins, I give him a disbelieving look.
“All due respect, Dad, but I beg your finest fucking pardon?”
“Watch your mouth, son. You heard me. That’s my condition for giving you the bar,” he says with a stubborn set to his chin.
“Why?” I practically shout. “You know I have zero desire to get married after what mom did to you.”
“That’s exactly why I’m making it a condition. First of all, my marriage should not determine your views on the whole institution. I’m sick that you’re completely jaded about it because of me. Second of all, I know how it feels to own and run that bar, run this house, and raise you boys all on my own for so long. You need support at home, a partner, beyond your birds.”
“I’m thirty, I think I can decide what I need without you forcing me into marriage like it’s the middle ages,” I bite out. “You ask me so casually to come over and watch the game with you tonight, and then spring this bullshit on me?”
He stays calm in the face of my outburst. “I’m not forcing you into marriage, son. I’m setting a condition for you to get my bar that I worked my ass off to make a success. You’re welcome to still be the head manager there, I would never kick you out of it. I can split the ownership between Wayne and Diana, promote Iggy to management to replace you, and you can walk away if you want instead if you’re pissed at me.” My heart seizes, and then plummets. He’s seriously going to take the bar away from me if I don’t get married.
