Page 116 of The Crush
“I’ll give you the high notes,” Anthony says quickly, stepping farther into my office. “Basically, they said they want the information first and then they’ll decide if—”
“No,” I snap, immediately irritated. “I want it in writing.” I stop my rant when I see Anthony already nodding. “You told them?”
“Even added a ‘fuck you’ on your behalf,” Anthony assures me with a proud smile. “Anyway, they said they’d get back to us in a few days. You’d think by now they’d know better than to even ask.”
“That would require them to actually learn from their mistakes,” I point out, shoving the last few folders into the cabinet by my desk. “Never been the strong suit of a government office.”
I glance again at the clock, and seeing it’s nearly three, I make a grab for the tall stack of newspapers on the corner of my desk before I head for the door with Anthony behind me.
“Thanks. You head out and give your family my best,” I tell him, clapping him on the shoulder before locking up the door where my name andLaredo Immigration Advocatesare printed on the glass.
“You too,” Anthony says. “I’ll see you next week.”
Instead of heading for my truck once I’m out on the sidewalk, I take a sharp turn to my right. Walking the familiar few blocks between my office building and a once-closed restaurant that is now a few years into its new life.
The door for Panadería Cinta Roja opens to the sound of a cheerful ringing that acts as a starting bell. A small projectile launching itself at me from across the room as soon as I step in the door.
“Hello, bebita.” I catch my five-year-old little girl mid-leap, tossing her up in the air in a riot of brown curls and high-pitched giggling.
“Hi, papí,” she says, still laughing as I place her on my hip and start walking toward the bakery counter. “Are we going trick-or-treating?”
I act as if I’m thinking it over. “I’m not sure. Is that something you’re wanting to do?”
She gives me a look of exasperation that I can’t help deny is one of my own. “Yes!”
“Then I guess we’d better,” I tell her, kissing her forehead before I set her and a few of the newspapers from my stack on the counter in front of a smiling Eva. “Were you a good help to your abuela?”
“Of course she was,” Eva says, reaching out to adjust the bright red ribbon that had come loose in her nieta’s hair during her sprint. “She helped me with all my customers, and we made treats for tonight. Didn’t we, María?”
Her small face lights up. “We made sugar skulls!”
“You did?” I ask, not needing to inquire if she also happened to eat a few judging by the sticky handprints she’s leaving on my suit. “What else did you make?”
I help her down from the counter and allow myself to be led around the bakery. Listening attentively as she tells me about each of the mostly sold-out pastries and candies made for Día de Muertos, all the corresponding and colorful hand-painted signs done by Gabe a few weeks ago.
A loud cry makes me turn my head toward the back of the shop, and Eva holds a hand up to tell me she’ll go so that I can keep up with my impromptutour.
“And then we made conchas and we made them look like pumpkins, and we made empanadas with caramel, and…and…Abuelita said it would be okay to have another one if you said it was okay once you got here. Is it okay?”
I crouch in front of her so that we’re nearly eye to eye. “Mija, do you remember what happened last year? You had so much sugar that you were practically bouncing off the ceiling and then you fell asleep halfway through trick-or-treating.”
María turns serious as she considers this, clearly debating the pros and cons of delayed versus instant gratification with the kind of severe gravity that can only be felt when you’re five years old and sweets are on the line.
“I won’t this time,” she tells me confidently. “This time I will eat the empanada and all my Halloween candy.”
“No,” I say quickly, trying to figure out how I made it worse. “No, that’s not what I…”
Her brown eyes seem to get five times bigger as she stares up at me, and this expression is all Isabel. If we end up bringing home any more stray animals…
“Okay, one more empanada,” I say, feeling very accomplished to have maintained some shred of authority. “But we’re going to have to talk about the Halloween candy.”
The door to the back office swings open, Eva reappearing with my two-year-old son in her arms, just up from his nap judging by the way he’s rubbing at his eyes. Upon seeing me, he makes grabby hands in my direction until Eva hands him over.
“Isaac, how are you, mijo?” I plant an enthusiastic kiss on my toddler’s round cheek to make him giggle. “You ready to go trick-or-treating, too?”
“He is! Let’s go!” María answers for both of them, running to snag an empanada from the case before tugging me toward the door by the bottom of my suit jacket.
“Thanks, Eva,” I say, already halfway to the door. “See you back at the house!”
