Page 6 of Capicú Summer

“Hey, Ruben,” I say with a smile, as the black cat purrs against the palm of my hand, while the other one winds lazy eights around my ankles. “How are you?”

He steps around the counter, still as muscular as I remember, if not bigger, which makes him look like a giant teddy bear. With his soft facial features and his tall stature, the guy is around 6’4 and has the build of a house. His polo shirt clings tight, the collar popping at his neck. I shake my head, and amusement slithers its way into my heart as I picture the meme people on social media use to make fun of the way Dominican men dress. I want to laugh, but I hold back the urge.

“How have I been?” Ruben chuckles, a deep and growly sound. “How are you, cuzzo? You left us all here.”

“I've been better,” I reply honestly, tired of pretending after years of wearing a mask. The only logical solution at this point is to drop it. After all, I came here running from who I’ve become. I need honesty in order to try to find myself again. My eyes trace the tight aisles, shelves crammed with products, most brought back from D.R. Then it clicks—I’m not looking for anything on those shelves. I’m looking for my mother, who clearly isn’t here to greet me back home. How silly of me… it’s not like we talk. Of course, she doesn’t know.

A sigh escapes me, and with a deep groan, I rise to my feet.

Ruben clasps his hand around my shoulder, giving it a gentle squeeze. “She’s not here.”

“Clearly,” I say bitterly, even though I should’ve known that she wouldn't be here. It didn’t stop me from expecting it. Just like when I was kid and would come back from playing outside, she would always be inside waiting for us with a snack. When Neno died, she waited for days in the very same spot. Refusing to even claim his body. “He’s coming,” she would whisper. “My boy is coming home.”

He never did and, to this day, his death is something she refuses to accept. Which led her to drugs. My mother learned to numb herself before she could bring herself to face the truth. That night, I didn’t only lose my brother, but also lost my mother. The only difference was that he was the only one who stopped breathing. Leaving our mother lost in her own grief. Neglecting the fact that I was still alive and also needed her. The feeling overwhelms me, it's thick and gripping. Suffocating.

I shake off the negative emotions that threaten to surface and turn my attention to my cousin instead. My eyes dart towards the three small wooden steps that lead to the main house.

“How’s Abuelo?”

Ruben looks down and, with a sad smile, mutters, “I think the old man has one summer left in him.”

I nod, already expecting that answer. He’s been sick for so long that I’m not sure how he’s had the strength for all of it.

“Then let’s make the best of it.”

Ruben opens his mouth to speak, when my aunt—his mother—Tia Miriam's voice rings out from behind him. She’s an older version of my mother, both of them sport the same dark waves, hazel eyes that almost look like honey, and light brown skin. Her voice raspy from years of smoking when she says, “Mira quién está aquí… mi niña…” ⁠*

And just like that, Ruben steps away, allowing my aunt to sweep me into her arms. She squeezes me so tight that I wheeze. The smell of smoke and grease fills my nostrils and I nearly cough. Thankfully, she pulls away to study me. Only for me to regret it the moment her gaze roams over me, like I’m cattle and she’s evaluating my worth.

I shift on my feet and murmur under my breath, “Good to see you too.”

My aunt chuckles, her usual throaty hehehe, and the smell of smoke clings to me as she continues to inspect me. I continue to shift on my feet, feeling like a teenager all over again.

“Tás muy flaca,”⁠* she declares, her tone dripping in disapproval with a tinge of judgment.

Warmth settles on my cheeks. I look away, trying to hide how uncomfortable I feel. I know that I’m thinner, that’s what depression has done to me. It has taken the light and my curves, but in my family things like depression don't exist. I just need to eat more. Fuck more. And complain less. Anything but deal with the real issue at hand.

“But it’s okay, you’ll get back those curves again,” she adds, pinching my cheek.

I smile awkwardly, because what else could I say? Thankfully, Ruben saves me from any more scrutiny, cutting in like a broken record.

“Yo, cuzzo, you came back at the perfect time,” he says with a grin as he leans onto the counter. My eyes land on the flyer that hangs proudly on the front door, the one announcing the beginning of summer and the annual tournament, while hiding the not so pleasant one that paints a grim future to those who live in Altura. I push past my thoughts, focusing on making this the best summer.

I only have ninety days to fall in love… only this time, it’s with myself. My brow arches. “The tournament?”

Ruben dips his chin, and his mother chimes in. “Oh yeah, this year we’re leaving the planning to all the youngins.”

I give them a puzzling look. Shocked at the revelation, honestly. Planning and preparation had always fallen to the older generations when we would ask. We would always get the same generic response. That we weren’t responsible and everything else between those lines. Even though it was a lie, we could have. So what changed? I don’t ask that, instead I focus on the small thought that lingers in the back of mind. Who is stepping in for the Cruz family? I clear my throat and say, “And let me guess, Ruben and…”

My eyes trail to the window, landing across the street. The butterflies come to life with just the thought, before timidly asking, “Who else?”

My aunt playfully smacks her son on his shoulder while loudly and proudly saying, “Asi mismo, tu primo⁠* gonna represent his family.” There’s a pause. Miriam quickly glances over her shoulder, meeting where my gaze lands. The men across the street continue to play and shout, unaware of our stare.

The muscles in my body go taut, swallowing the lump in my throat. I wait for the next name. I know it isn’t Lenny, he wouldn’t come back here. Never cared when we were together. Highly doubt he would now.

It couldn’t be his father, not after he stole from Doña Germina. Even Lenny was all up in arms after discovering that his own father was stealing from his mother. And Yael… well, he didn’t care about the barrio. Or dominoes. Or the block parties.

Still, curiosity had me by the throat. Is he setting it up? Or did he turn his back on the bodega like he did my brother? The thought alone makes my blood run hot and my teeth gnash together. After I left, I tried my best to never ask or even think about Yael.