Page 5 of Raspados & Regret

“Salcedo,” he calls.

I keep walking. “Cárdenas.”

His gaze drops, and not subtly. He looks at my chest, my stomach, and the low waist of my Dickies, then back up. His eyebrows lift behind his glasses.

I stop in front of him with the canopy still on my shoulder. “What?”

“Nada.”

“Nah, you got something to say? Say it.”

His tongue darts out again. “I didn’t say anything.”

“You looked like you wanted to say something,” I press.

He grins. “Just didn’t know we’re running a booth at Pride.”

I stare at him, and his grin widens.

Behind him, an older woman I recognize as his mother smacks his arm with a rolled-up apron. “Elías⁠—”

“What, Ma? It’s a nice shirt.”

She gives me a once-over before speaking. “It’s half a shirt.”

“It’s efficient,” I snap.

Elías points at me like I’ve just proved something. “See? A practical little crop top.”

“It’s a work shirt.” I grumble and shift my weight as I keep the canopy up on my shoulder.

“More like a napkin with ambition.”

My grip tightens on the canopy.

His mother pinches the bridge of her nose. “Dios mío, it is too early for the fighting. We still have hours.”

From behind me, my tío appears carrying a plastic bin. “Buenos días.”

Elías’s mother smiles at him. “Buenos días, Jorge.”

And just like that, the adults start acting like this is totally normal. Like their sons, nephews, whatever the fuck we are, aren’t two seconds away from turning a permit mistake into a police report.

Elías steps closer and tips his chin at the canopy. “You need help with that, tough guy?”

“No.”

“You sure? You look like you’re struggling.” He smirks, pushing his glasses up the bridge of his nose with his thumb.

“I could throw this fucker over the trailer.”

“Do it. It needs shade.”

His mother makes another exhausted sound, and I walk past him toward the booth space, because if I stay close to him, I’m going to say something that gets quoted in family group chats for the rest of my life.

That’s when I find out that our assigned space is worse than I imagined. Not because it is small. It is actually a decent corner spot near the main walkway, close to where the food trucks will park later.

It is worse because there are two chalk outlines on the pavement where two booths were supposed to be, and somebody has scribbled over the dividing line with orange spray paint.