Page 85 of Penalty Shots

"Right," I say, giving him my best smile.

But as soon as he turns to head inside, I feel something rise up in my chest. Something uncontrollable and innate.

"I'll be in in just a minute," I tell him.

He places a hand on my shoulder and squeezes, and once he's inside the house, I run to the corner of the garden and throw up.

On the other side of the fence are the neighbors’ chickens, judging me with their clucking and curious looks.

I came here because Rina needed me. I could feel it. What I wasn't expecting was to find out that she may have needed me even more at a time in her life when she was the most fragile.

And I wasn't there for her.

I suck. I suck so bad.

Ryker opens the back door, his daughter bouncing on his hip. "You gonna eat, man?"

Food is the last thing on my mind.

Chapter 24

Rina

My parents don't just have enough food for my friends and me—they have enough food to invite the entire Heatwave team if they, too, happen to pop by.

That's how holidays in Puerto Rico have always been. This house that I used to visit as a child was always packed to the brim with food, music, and life.

And today, it's no different.

On the plane ride over, I imagined a quiet Thanksgiving. Just me and my parents. Maybe some light music. Maybe cuddling up on the couch with a movie.

Instead, there's a baby being passed from hip to hip as my dad blasts Frankie Ruiz from the stereo Mom bought him Christmas of 99. The kitchen is buzzing with movement. Potatoes are being peeled. Vegetables are being chopped. Another round of drinks is being poured.

The act of eating Thanksgiving dinner is just the calm after the beautiful storm that is preparing it together.

When the lechon is fully roasted, Ryker and Fergie carry it in. It's unfortunate that Izzy, our resident vegan, is the first to see it being hauled onto the extended dining table. Luckily, the boysdid the decency of leaving the part that would most traumatize my friend outside.

Dad and Keelan are setting the table and making space when they place it right in the middle, and the table starts filling with all the contributions.

After the world's shortest prayer, in which rumbling tummies notified Dad to make it quick, we all sat down to eat.

Arroz con gandules. Abuela's potato salad. Lechon asado. Mofongo stuffing. Warm bread slathered with butter from the bakery down the street. Each bite is bursting with flavor. And it makes my heart the happiest seeing my friends enjoy the food of my people.

"I'm going to need this potato salad at every single party, Rina," Fergie says between bites. "You're officially my dealer."

"Buen provecho," Dad says, setting two bottles of his version of Puerto Rican eggnog on the table. "I know everyone will be stuffed, but you can't have a holiday here without some housemade coquito."

"It's joy in a shot glass," Dad says.

I laugh because everyone wants a sampling of it.

"There's with or without alcohol," I explain, getting up to grab some shot glasses from the cabinet.

Mom gets up faster. "You sit," she says with a wink.

Keelan is at my right, and he bumps his leg against mine.

"Do you want to go for a walk later?" He whispers.

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