Page 3 of Broken Grump

I bite my tongue. “Uh-huh.” Countless people have said similar things to me today, and every time, I can barely stop myself from saying,Mhm.

“Your father would’ve been proud of what we’ve done.”

“Mhm.” He died in a freak skiing accident when I was just shy of two years, so I never really knew him. From what others portrayed to me, he seemed like a wonderful man who had a lust for adventure. Just like Abuelo.

I have never been sure what exactly he saw in my mother. And given what she did to me eight years ago, I swear that she doesn’t seem to have a wonderful bone in her entire body.

Her eyes scan me from head to toe.

I look up at the ceiling and wait for the impending condescension.

“You’re looking . . .healthy.”

Thanks.To my mother, being “healthy” is a bad thing.

But before she can say more, I butt in, and speak for her, “Yes, I’ve gained a few pounds.”

I see the muscles next to her mouth tighten. “That isn’t what I meant.”

“Yes, it is.”I know you better than that, Rosalinda.She doesn’t like her full name, and no, the irony of that is not lost on me. Plus, she prefers for people to call her “Rosa.” And if I ever failed to call her “Mother” to her face, she would probably erupt into hysterics. So, this little dig is best reserved inside my own mind.

Unaware of my inner monologue, she looks flustered as she glances around the room. “Have you seen any of the Cohen boys?”

Instantly, my blood runs cold in my veins. “Seriously? They’re—they’re here?”

“Well, I don’t know. That’s why I asked.”

Now, I’m looking around, while trying to hide my face with my hand. The last thing I need right now is to see the younger brother.

“Especially Hayden.”

Hearing her say his name out loud causes goosebumps to spread on my skin. In order to conceal them, I pull down the sleeves of my black dress.

“He always liked your grandfather.”

I look down at my twiddling fingers. “That he did.”

“Well, I’d better keep making my rounds,” my mother says after perking back up and wigging her shoulders under her $2,000-dollar Gucci blouse. It’s ivory with billowing sleeves, has a small black tie under the collar, and is a pale comparison to the outfit I picked off the clearance rack at Kohl’s.

Sure, I grew up in designer clothes, but that, and any other financial support from my mother, stopped the second I came home and announced I was pregnant.

Ugh.I shake my head thinking about that day. Sure, I was no stranger to disappointing my mother. Far from it. But becoming a single mom myself pushed things off the edge.

With all of these thoughts swirling around my mind, I feel a little crazy. But I, fortunately, see my Aunt Melissa’s welcoming face emerge from the crowd.

She has the same red curls as my father used to have, but while his shaggy hairdo only came down to his chin, her hair reached past her shoulder blades.

“Auntie Mel!” I exclaim as I pull her by the arm and back into the hallway where she came from. Her wide smile warms my heart as she engulfs me in her arms.

When she releases me from the hug, she holds my face in her hands for a second. She’s several inches taller than me, so I have to tilt my face to hold her gaze. “How are you,mi sobrina?”

I softly clutch her wrists. “I’m okay.”

She takes a peek over my shoulder. “Ishehere?”

I glance back but don’t let my eyes focus on anything. “I’m not sure.”

“Hmmm.” Her brown eyes narrow. “I’ll go scout things out for you.”

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