Page 135 of Unbreakable Thread

Midweek, I called Lana and asked her if she could help me out by picking up Sol and doing girl shit with her. They went for a massage and got their nails done while I get things in order here.

“Thanks, Pops.”

Leo has been doing laps in the pool all morning. He’s been ready to go back to his place. He and my dad fight over the TV, but in the end, Leo ends up watching novelas with him. We haven’t heard from Carlos, but Nessa tried to call me twice. I didn’t answer her. Maybe they got the hint, but honestly, I don’t think they did. Johnny said he’s been out with Daniel again at his strip club, drinking. Deep down, I know something is brewing.

Three hours later, I pick up Sol from Lana’s house. She walks out relaxed and full of energy. And with…black hair. My mouth unhinges. I’ve never seen her with any other hair color than her natural cinnamon. She looks good…real good.

“Do you like it?” She flops her hair to the side. “I wanted to be scandalous.”

The thread of soft raven hair is silk through my fingers. “You look stunning with black hair.”

“Really?”

“Yeah.” I step back and drink her in. “You’re perfect.” I run my fingers through her hair again. “I love the new style of layers and the color. It makes your hair look fuller.”

“It does, doesn’t it? At first, I was afraid it wouldn’t look good on me, but I figured I should risk it. I love how it came out. Now we’re twinnin’, you and me.”

I laugh, guiding her to the car, the palm of my hand on the small of her back. Then wave a thank-you to Lana, standing in the doorway. “We are,” I answer as I start the car and grip the steering wheel with my nervous hands.

“You look handsome. Where are we going?”

“Home. I made us dinner.”

“How sweet. I like it when you cook. I know you don’t believe it, but your food is good.”

My cooking is okay, but nothing compared to hers. She really gets down in the kitchen when she experiments with baked goods. She fills the vast island with it. My dad has always had a sweet tooth. More than anything, he enjoys it.

When we arrive at the house, my dad and Leo are already gone. Leo’s helping my dad clean up his house. Packing what he wants to keep and making a pile of what he wants to donate. I’m excited about this step for him. It’s a big one. He’s always wanted to keep my mom’s decor up.

“Smells good.” She sniffs the air. She really does look cute with her growing bump and her black hair. At the last minute, I decided to cook instead of eating out. I prepared the sides ahead of time, and I cheated on some by having my dad make the rice. My Spanish rice comes out mushy. All I have left to cook is the carne asada. This is one of her favorite meals, and mine too.

“Do you need help?” she offers.

“No, I just need to grill the meat, and that’s it.”

I’m starting to wish I’d chosen a restaurant instead—planning this at home is more complicated than I anticipated. With the blinds drawn and every window shuttered, at least she won’t catch a glimpse of the backyard gazebo I’ve transformed with flowers and lights. Although I still have to cook the meat outside, and hopefully, she doesn’t come out. “Nah, you sit and look pretty, baby.” I pull out a stool for her from under the island. “Sit.” I hand her a sports magazine. “This right here is a really great column. It’s a story of a boxer.” It’s a lie. I haven’t read it, but that should keep her busy.

“It looks interesting. Let me know if you need anything.”

Taking the meat from the marinating bag, I lay it out on the hot griddle. Mierda. I shake my hand where I burned my finger.

“Are you okay?” she shouts.

“I’m fine, just burned myself.”

She calls out from the kitchen, “Should I bring the first aid kit, honey?” The slight tremor in her voice betrays her worry.

A smile draws on my face. “No, mi vida, I’m fine. It’s small,” I shout back.

Twenty minutes later, we are eating. Thank god, I didn’t burn it or dry it.

“Max,” she says, wrapping her meat in a tortilla. “I want to go visit my birth parents’ grave. Maybe tomorrow or next week, when you have time. I don’t want to go alone. Is it strange I’m nervous?” She has been delaying this. I think I know why—she feels guilty. What happened to her was beyond her control.

“It’s not strange at all. You have only recollected your memories months ago. You’re still healing. You might not be meeting them in person, but you will be where they rest, and it’s okay to feel nervous.”

“I…I just don’t know what to say when I get there.” She frowns cutely at her plate like she’s thinking hard.

“You don’t have to say anything. You just being there might be enough. I’m sure the words will come out on their own when you’re ready. Now, if I remember correctly, a young, sassy girl once said I can talk to my mom from anywhere. I didn’t need to be at her graveside to do so.”