Page 39 of Capicú Summer
His cracked lips stretch into a smile and I give him one of my own. Abuelo pats the spot beside him, and I sit there, just like I would when I was little. Grief grips me by the throat, and holds me prisoner as I feel his frail skin beneath my touch. “Sabes que yo amaba a tu Abuela*, but there was someone else.”
My brows knit together, straightening out my back and listening attentively to what I’m sure is another of his life stories. “Yo amaba Germina*,” he confesses. “Yael y tu reminds me of that love. Perdoname, por hacerte regresar*. I wanted to make things right before I died.”
Confusion clouds my mind, “Abuelo, make what right?”
He chuckles deeply, grabbing my hand and bringing it to his cheek. “The rivalry, it was all because of love.”
And just like that all the pieces to the puzzle fall into place. “Does Yael know?”
He nods. “Yaelito, es un hombre bueno.” *
I try to hold back the tears, but it’s no use when your heart is tearing into pieces. “No me dejes peder,* I bet on your love for him, mija.” Abuelo wheezes, and something inside me snaps with fear. He looks paler, and even feels colder. “Win for love,” he breathes, and the silence that follows feels eternal.
The last domino falls.
* “Buenas Tardes,” - Good afternoon
* Puñeta - Damn, fuck.
* Oye mamabicho - Hey, you fucking prick.
* Piensalo Chulo - Think about it, Chulo.
* No estes triste. Mi niña, mi única nieta. - Don’t be sad. My girl, my only granddaughter.
* Sabes que yo amaba a tu Abuela - You know that I loved your grandmother.
* Yo amaba Germina - I loved Germina.
* Yael y tu reminds me of that love. Perdoname, por hacerte regresar - Yael and you reminds me of that love. Forgive me for making you come back.
* Yaelito, es un hombre bueno. - Yaelito is a good man.
* No me dejes peder - Don’t let me lose.
CHAPTER 17
Yael
It’s been nine days since Don Santos took his last breath in the arms of his morena consentida, his one and only granddaughter. Since he was Catholic, the block came together in prayer, in remembrance, and today we play with honor, concluding the nine days of luto*. It’s Sunday morning, the sun high and bright in the sky, “Burbujas De Amor,” by Juan Luis Guerra, drifts from the small speaker in the kitchen. I blow on my coffee, watching the steam twist into the air, inhaling the deep aroma.
Outside, the block hums with slow life.
The smell of fried salami and onions saturate the air, cutting through the incense still burning inside the Santos’ household. Small careful footsteps make my heart flutter, a smile stretching across my lips. When I meet her sleepy gaze, curls wildly tumble over her face like curtains.
“Morning,” Adriana grumbles, taking the extra cup of coffee in my hand. “Thank you…” She drags in a deep breath, her eyes lifting to mine. “Thank you,” she repeats, and the look on her face tells me she’s thanking me for more than just the coffee.
I’ve been beside her every step of the way since it happened. Making sure that she’s eating, and helping with the cleaning, even if it’s costing me sales at the bodega. At this point, none of it mattered… only her. Adriana leans against the brown counter, her fingers tracing the wavy rim of her mug.
The morning catches the gold hidden under the deep brown in her curls, and for a second, she looks like the girl I used to watch from across the block—before grief, before Lenny, before everything that slowly chipped away at her—including me. I never deserved her, and now that rings even truer. Despite it, I can’t help but want to be with her…
She exhales slowly, nibbling on the inside of her cheek because she’s nervous. “You know what’s crazy?” Her voice softens. “Abuelo told me something before he passed. And I’ve been debating whether to tell you or just keep it to myself. I’m not sure, but I think I want to tell you.”
“Mhm... that's so?”
She nods. “Yeah, that’s so.” Adri shrugs before taking a small sip of the hot coffee.
“So what did he say?” I ask, placing my cup on the counter, and closing the space between us. One hand landing on each side of her.
