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Even Lupe looks like she agrees, as she fiddles with the gold cross around her neck.

“Thanks, guys,” I say. “But none of this helps me get Eloise back.”

Lupe smacks her hand down on the table. “Wallowing in your own shit isn’t helping either,” she snaps. “Sorry, Abuelita, Mamá,” she adds with an apologetic grimace. “Come on. Let’s go.”

“Where?” I ask as she stalks over to grab her purse from the counter.

“I’m driving you back to the hotel so you can get on your knees, crawl over glass, and beg for her forgiveness,” Lupe says. “I can’t take this whining anymore. You screwed up, let’s go fix it.”

“But she won’t talk to me,” I insist.

Lupe rolls her eyes. “She doesn’t need to talk. She just needs to listen.”

She slings her purse over her shoulder just as the buzzer goes off at the front door. We all look at each other.

“Are we expecting company?” my father asks.

Mamá shakes her head.

“I’ll get it,” Lupe says huffily. We hear the door open, and muffled voices. Then two sets of footsteps coming down the hall. When Lupe appears in the doorway of the kitchen, she shoots me a significant look.

Behind her is Eloise.

Adrenaline floods my veins, so forceful it makes my head spin and my chest tingle. I shoot up from my chair as Abuelita presses her hands together.

“Tinito, look who’s here,” she says.

My eviscerated heart throbs out a longing beat. Eloise’s eyes are red-rimmed and puffy, her curls wild and tangled. She’s wearing the chihuahua earrings we bought that first day we walked around Roma. Her sweater has a pug stitched on it, and she looks so thoroughly Eloise that it makes my stomach ache.

She glances furtively at each member of my family, before focusing that clear green gaze directly at me.

“I love you,” she says, and I hear Caro make a tiny gasp as a sudden rush of heat floods through me. “I love your endless optimism, even when it bothers me. I love the way your hair can’t ever seem to make up its mind which way to go. I love your smile and the way you hold my hand. I love that you always give me space to be myself, and that you’ve never once made me feel like I wasn’t enough. I love how you changed the way I see the world. I love how much you love my dogs. I love that you are never condescending, never impatient, never unkind.

“Before you came into my life, everything was the same for me. I thought that was a good thing. I thought if I never allowed anyone in, I could never be hurt. But mostly I thought—” She clenches her jaw, her eyes turning glassy. “I thought there was something broken inside me. That I wasn’t made to be loved. And I guess I don’t care if what made you stick around at first was some stupid interview. Because I would have succeeded in pushing you away otherwise. And when I look back at all those years before I knew you, it’s like everything is in black and white.” She shakes her head and a tear falls onto her cheek, glistening like a star. “I don’t want to go back to that. I want to live a life in full color. You’re my color. You’re all the colors.”

She shifts from foot to foot and brushes the tear away. “I’m not perfect,” she says quietly. “Not even close. And I think you love me anyway. So it’s like who am I to demand perfection from anyone else? I love you anyway. Perfectly imperfect.”

I am struck dumb. This was maybe the last thing I expected. She just gave a whole speech. In front of people.

For me.

She loves me.

“What’s happening?” Abuelita breaks the silence. “Lupe, what’s she saying?”

“She’s saying that she loves him, Abuelita,” Lupe explains.

“Well of course she does,” Abuelita scoffs. “Más claro, ni el agua.” Not even water is as clear. She nudges me. “Agustín, don’t just stand there!”

I stumble forward, and then Eloise takes a step and we crash into each other, right there in the middle of my family’s kitchen. I press her mouth to mine as her fingers tangle in my hair. Caro whoops, Abuelita claps, and even Lupe is cheering. I release Eloise and press my forehead against hers.

“I’m so sorry,” I murmur. “I promise to never keep anything from you, ever again.”

“You better not,” she says.

“I won’t.” It’s the easiest promise I’ve ever made, one I know I’ll keep forever. “That was a hell of a speech,” I add.

She blushes, a delicate pink shading her cheekbones. “I didn’t really plan it out very well.”