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She stood to her feet, puffed her chest out, and shouted back. “Trust me, I’ll never step foot inside your stupid restaurant! You and your stupid fusion crappy food!”
“My food isn’t crappy!”
“It’s the crappiest crap!” she argued. “And anyone who eats there is a buffoon!”
“That’s a lie!”
“No, it’s not. Anyone who walks into that stupid place is a clown! You might as well have the hostess put a red nose on each person who shows up.”
“You’re beyond ridiculous.”
“You’re even worse than that!”
“Do you have to get the last word in?”
“Do you?!” she rebutted.
“No, I don’t!”
“Good then, leave!”
“I am!”
“Go faster!”
“I am!” I shouted back, tossing my hands up in frustration.
“Like now!”
“Like I said—I am!”
But I wasn’t. I hadn’t moved. I hadn’t taken one step toward the front door and didn’t know why. I couldn’t stop staring at her. I couldn’t stop looking at the tears rolling down her cheeks. I couldn’t do anything.
So she moved. She stomped toward the front door, swung it open, and then flung her arm to gesture out the door. “And don’t come back!” she ordered.
As I left her shop, I stomped my feet like she had, and she slammed the door behind me, locking it instantly.
The moment the fresh air hit my face, I returned to reality, wondering what happened.
I looked through the door window toward Yara, whose back was still to me, and watched as she wiped away the tears from her eyes. Every ounce of aggression I’d felt faded away, leaving me with nothing more than guilt.
Well, guilt and grief.
The worst combination.
Teresa would’ve scolded me for being such a monster. She would’ve told me to knock on that door and apologize for being so cold and mean. She would’ve reminded me of how to be a gentleman. Yet she wasn’t around anymore to be the compass that pointed me toward being a better person.
Therefore, all Yara would get was the grumpy man I’d turned into over the past year or so. Cold and heartless. Miserable and alone.
CHAPTER 12
Alex
Ten Years Old
“Please don’t leave me here,” I begged Dad as we stood before a stranger’s house. We’d flown across the world for the longest time because Dad said he couldn’t watch after me over the summer. He said he had too much work, and I’d have to spend the summer with my aunt Teresa.
I didn’t know who Teresa was, and the last thing I wanted to do was spend time with her in an unfamiliar country. When Dad talked about her, he talked about how weird she was when he was a kid. How she’d eat plain garlic like a vampire and try to feed it to him with honey whenever he came to visit.
I didn’t want to eat honey garlic.
I wanted to go home.
“Stop your whining,” Dad scolded with his hand tightly wrapped around the suitcase handle. “Most kids would kill to come to Madrid for a summer. You’re being ungrateful.”
My stomach hurt as I fought the tears that wanted to fall. “What if Mom comes back while I’m over here? What if I miss her?”
Dad huffed and rolled his eyes. “Your mother left two years ago. I doubt she’s going to come looking for you now. Grow up and get over it. It’s time for you to be a man.”
I didn’t know being a man meant I couldn’t have a mom. For the past two years, I waited for the living room door to open in my apartment and for Mom to come back inside because she said she’d be back later the last time I saw her. I’d been waiting two years for later, but it never came.
Still.
What if it came when I was in Madrid? What if Mom was looking for me and I was nowhere to be found?
Dad pounded on the apartment door, and soon enough, an older woman opened it, wearing bright, mismatched clothes, a ton of weird necklaces with crosses, big gold earrings, and goofy-looking round glasses. A cigarette sat between her fingers as she looked at Dad.
She smacked his cheek slightly before kissing each one. “You’re late.”
“Our flight was delayed,” Dad explained as he took the cigarette from her fingers and inhaled a drag of it. I hated the smell of smoke. It made my stomach hurt even more.
Teresa snatched the cigarette back and smacked the back of Dad’s head. “What are you doing? Don’t smoke. It’s bad for you.” She then turned to me and arched an eyebrow. “Do you smoke?”
I stepped slightly behind Dad’s body to hide myself. “I’m a kid.”
She narrowed her eyes and studied me with a stern look. Then she burst into laughter. She laughed like a wicked witch, tossing her head backward in a giggling fit. “When I was your age, I smoked a pack daily. But don’t you ever start, okay? That’s why I sound like an old trucker. My lungs hate me, Alejandro.”
