Page 22 of Cartel Devil
“Sorry. I didn’t realize.”
“Yeah, well, now you do.”
“Why don’t you—”
“Why don’t you butt out too, Javier?”
I keep my tone level, so our men don’t realize I’m bickering with my brothers. But it effectively ends the conversation as we fall into silence. I pull out my laptop, and my brothers do the same. We work the entire ride from Key Largo to Boca Raton. It’s only two hours, but it’s a blessed reprieve.
“Tía!”
My brothers and I practically topple out of the car like a pack of puppies as we rush to greet our tía abuela—great-aunt. She’s Papá’s tía and one of our most favorite people in the world. She moved to Boca when our tío abuelo died about ten years ago. Our abuelo and abuela still live in Colombia with the rest of Papá’s family. It’s nice having a connection to Papá’s family who lives in our hemisphere. Hell, in our time zone.
“Niños!” Boys!
We’re convinced she’ll outlive us all. She’s in her eighties but still plays tennis nearly daily, keeping her spry. Her strong voice belies her age as she rushes down the front steps and opens her arms. We jostle each other as we race to get the first hug. Somehow, as only a mother can, she hugs us all at once. We take turns kissing her cheeks as we lift her off the ground. She looks me over and shakes her head before tucking her arm through mine.
“Niños, get a snack while I speak to your hermano.” Brother.
My brothers glance at us, but they don’t have to be told twice. They bolt into the house, elbowing each other like we’re still kids. Generally, we don’t turn down opportunities to raid someone else’s fridge, but Tía Ana Lucía takes the term “snacks” to another level. She knew we were coming, so I can guarantee there’s a seven-course meal waiting for us before we even sit down to dinner in a few hours.
“Muchachito, ¿qué está sucediendo?” Little boy, what’s going on?
No one’s called me muchacho—boy—in nearly twenty years, but Tía still calls all of us—my brothers and cousins—muchachito. We adore it just like we adore her.
I don’t pretend to misunderstand her. I inhale her floral scent as I glance down at her pressed-powdered cheeks, and I feel myself relax for the first time on the trip. We walk through the house to the terrace that looks out over the ocean before I respond.
“I met someone, Tía.”
“And it’s not going well.”
“You could say that.”
“I did. Tell me what’s wrong.”
“We met at Alejo and Toria’s wedding.”
“Ah, I remember her. Beautiful young lady. You looked happier than I’ve seen you in ages. You left with her.”
My ears are on fire. My cheeks are radiating heat. I can’t look her in the eye, and it’s only made worse when she chuckles.
“I take it things weren’t so wonderful once the sun came up.”
“She offered me cupcakes because I woke up before she could sneak out.” I can’t believe I just admitted that to someone other than my brothers and cousins.
“That sounds sweet.”
“It was like she—she was going to—going to—”
I can’t finish my sentence. It’s too humiliating.
“Better something than nothing.” My great-aunt shrugs.
“Tía, they wouldn’t have been a gift.” I cock an eyebrow.
“It’s not like you need more money.”
I literally want to die right now.
