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“If you are, this ain’t the place to hide in.” He raises his eyebrows teasingly. “Just saying.” He shrugs.
“I amnothiding from the cops,” I tell him, annoyed.
“Hiding from someone else then,” he smiles at me and chuckles. Nothing gets past Angel. He’s like the nosy neighbor who knows everyone’s business.
I cross my arms over my chest. “I can’t come in here to visit?”
“We’ve known each other a long time,Amigo,” Angel says as he leans over the counter.
Angel was one of the first shop owners to come over and check out the record store when I first bought it. There is a connection I have to his thrift store because of Mia. Being in here now, I can’t help but feel this pull at my heart, similar to how I feel about my record store. So much history, so many memories, and not all bad, but it still causes an ache in my chest.
“When have you ever come in here to just visit?” he asks.
I narrow my eyes at him, but realize his question is true. I don’t come in here often. “Let’s not make this weird.” I pick up a purse from the shelf, inspecting it.
“Who is Grucci?” I ask, looking at the label on the purse. “Your cousin?” I laugh.
“That’s Gucci,” he growls and snatches the purse from me.
“I think not my friend.” I point to the tag.
Angel clutches the purse and pulls the label out, inspecting it. “Fucking Camila,” he huffs, pulling out his phone and walking away from me with the purse in his hand.
I walk down the aisles, looking through the racks of clothes and other items.
“It’s G U C C I, Camila,” Angel spells out, then speaks in rapid fire Spanish. “Yes, I’m sure,” he bellows as he transitions to English again.
I can’t help but laugh.
Angel yells more expletives into the phone and then holds his finger up for me to wait while he goes in the back. I look around the store, passing through the racks of clothes and stop at the counter that holds antique clocks and expensive looking watches under the glass. I found an ancient record player in here once that I still have in my loft.
On a shelf fastened to the wall there are a variety of electronics, and I spot an old camera in a faded leather case. It looks like a vintage Kodak, and I wonder if it still works. I take it off the shelf and pull it out of its case to inspect it. It has a latch on the back that opens to put film into, but I don’t even know if they still make the film. The dials on the top click when I move them, but I have no idea what they do, the numbers and words meaning nothing to me, but I bet Sasha would know.
I hold the camera in my hand like it’s a precious piece of equipment, not because it means something to me, but because it would mean something to her. Thinking of her smile when she sees it warms me on the inside. I’ve been a bit of a dick lately, wrestling with my feelings, and I don’t mean to take it out on her. She isn’t the reason I’m at war with myself. I can’t seem to let go of the past, and being in Angel’s thrift store just brings it all to the surface.
Having her assistance in the store has been monumentally helpful for me. I’m already thinking of how fast summer will be over. The little pang in my chest makes me realize that I will miss having her around, and I’m just not ready to let her go yet.
“I think she’d like that.”
I turn to see Gabriel leaning against the counter.
“When are you going to actually grow a mustache?” I tease, pointing at the thin layer of hair above his lip. “Still waiting for puberty?”
“Bodega’s on the corner; need me to get you a walker, old man?”
“Fuck off, kid,” I joke, cutting whatever tension was between us.
He’s always been a little punk since he was a kid running through the neighborhood, coming into my record store and sifting through the cassette tapes. I miss that little kid, but life happens, shaping us into adults with jagged edges.
“Prices are negotiable,” Gabriel says as he flicks the price tag with his finger, and that’s when I notice the price has a few zeros. “You can talk him down.”
I turn the camera over in my hand, wondering if she really would like it. Maybe it’s a lame gift to give someone who is a photographer, but something tells me Sasha likes vintage things, and she would appreciate the gesture.
“She was safe with me,” he says, referring to their photoshoot. “I promise.”
I run my finger over the camera lens, trying not to react to Gabriel and let him know how much it affected me. Seeing her leave with him was hard, and not just because I thought she was unsafe. She should be with someone her own age, even if it’s not Gabriel.
“You can’t promise that, and you know it,” I say, keeping my focus on the camera in my hands. Gabriel bristles next to me at the reference to his little brother. He couldn’t have saved him if he tried, and he knows it. It’s dangerous thinking that he could actually make that promise, even now.
