Page 40 of The Last Sunrise

“We had a housekeeper-slash-nanny for me, who was basically family, and she used to do meal prep for us, per my mother’s requests, so she did make everything, but my mom and I never ate together, and by the time I got the dish, it was in a plastic Tupperware. So homemade, yes, and delicious, but not like this. I usually eat alone.”

“Meals are meant to be shared, treasured,” he says, a hint of loneliness present. I wonder if he mostly has his meals alone too. “And where is she now?”

“She retired.” Sadness fills my voice, but I try to bat it away. “I’m happy she doesn’t have to work so hard anymore, but I miss her terribly. The house became so quiet after she left, but at least my mom showed her more kindness than I expected and paid her what she was worth, which was a lot. And rightfully so. We still keep in touch. She calls every few months.”I straighten my back, remembering the shock I felt when Sonia told me that my mom bought her a house in her home country of Honduras so she could live near her grandchildren. She had missed their childhood while tending to mine.

“She is where the tiny bit of Spanish I can understand comes from, but it’s obviously different from yours.”

I look past him, remembering her warm smile, the way she always sang songs under her breath as she worked. The sound was so comforting to me that I nearly asked her to record it for me before she left.

“She must have been lovely to help raise you.”

I nod, a lump in my throat. Today has been a roller coaster of emotions, to say the least.

“Lovely, yes, but I feel so guilty that she spent her life dedicated to me and my mom and not her own family,” I admit.

“Classism. It’s a very real thing, and not that I can relate to the side you’re on, the rich side, but I can relate to hers and I’m sure she not only cared about you but was happy to have a job.”

“I hope so. You know, I thought I heard my mom crying the night Sonia left. She would never admit it, but I swear I heard it from outside her bathroom door. I, of course, cried for days, and I’m not even a crier. I don’t know if I cried out of happiness for her, or because I knew my life would become even more lonely.”

He lets that marinate between us for a few moments.

“You’re very different from what I expected. Oriah,” he says thoughtfully, out of the blue. I smile as my heart soars.

“So are you, Julián Garcia.”

“We should both stop being so quick to judge, perhaps?” He raises a brow, and I agree with a small nod.

“Seems so. Speaking of my mom, I should text her just to save myself a headache later.”

I get up to grab my bag and send anI’m alivetext to my mom, and he feeds me another bite.

“Now that I’ve told you something so personal, it’s your turn.”

“So, the short version of the story is that my pare, my father, and mare met at a mutual friend’s wedding. Not the most romantic story, but my pare was trying to get over his first love and my mare was doing the same. They hung out for a few weeks, she gets pregnant, they try to fall and stay in love, but it just…” He pauses, looking away from me.

“It just didn’t click,” we say in unison.

Nodding, he goes on. “It was for convenience, not happiness. The more they tried, the more they resented each other. Then she got sick… and my pare would never leave her, even though we both heard him call out that wretched woman’s name in his sleep, night after night. She ignored that, and the longing in his eyes, the photos he kept. My parents were roommates, friends at best, as she slowly died in front of us, never having truly lived outside being a mother.”

Wiping the tears from my eyes, I apologize for them. “Sorry, I— These aren’t tears of pity. I just… I don’t know what to say.”

“Tragic, I know.” He pops a piece of the sea bream into his mouth as I process his life. He must deal with trauma and tragedy with dark humor like me. It’s refreshing.

“Wow. His first love must have really messed him up for him to love her for so long after.”

“Yeah, she did. They were childhood best friends, then lovers. Promises of marriage, spent every waking moment together, and then one day she disappeared. Not dead or anything, justpoof, left the island and didn’t even say goodbye. She wrote him letters over the years, and when he tried to toss them, I made sure to take every single one and hide it. I still have them all in there. I’m not even sure why, really.” He gestures toward the cabin we were in.

“Have you read them?” I wonder.

“No. Never. I think about throwing them into the sea one day but haven’t done it yet. I don’t know why, but something stops me each time I almost do it.”

He offers me a piece, but I shake my head.

“Don’t tell me I made you lose your appetite.” He groans, looking down at the nearly full spread.

“You didn’t,” I tell him, reaching for his arm. “Can I have more of the anchovy one with the bread?”

He smiles, nodding. I decide to share part of my own family mess with him.

---