Page 76 of The Crush
She hums in acknowledgment, brings her hand up to tug at the ends of my hair where it curls over my collar. “I’ll wait then.”
Tick. Tick. Tick.
I don’t remember falling asleep, the light going dark, the quilt pulled over me to keep me warm. I don’t remember her leaving again.
Maybe I can fix it.
Sixty-One
Isabel
Tuesday, November 1, 1994
I’m never cooking again.Ever.
In the last two days, I have made pan de muerto, conchas, champurrado, empanadas, pozole, mole, churros, and nowtamales.
More tamales than I care to count. And they better be the best tamales I’ve ever had in my life. Not only because my fingers are starting to hurt from mixing the masa and folding each tamale but also because my mom will be here in…
I check the microwave clock, a bit of panic setting in at the realization that I have a little under an hour left before she arrives. No doubt ready and willing to judge my efforts as if we are competing in the Webb County Fair rather than simply sitting down to eat at the kitchen table.
My hands move faster, pressing the chicken I prepped the day before into the masa before creasing over one side of the corn husk, then the other, then the bottom. An action I have done what feels likehundredsof times this morning. Over and over. Again and again.
Fold. Fold. Fold.
Tie and repeat. Then repeat again until my fingers fall off or I quite simply collapse in this kitchen. Smothered by corn husks.
Okay, maybe I’m being abitdramatic.
I try to calm down, to remind myself that Icando this. If I can finish these last few, I can get them in the pot to steam and then all I’ll have left is Gabe’s salsa verde.
It’s allfine. I’m just a little behind. Moving a little slower than usual. A bit worn out since I had barely gotten any sleep. Neither of us had.
Fold. Fold. Fold.
I can’t get it out of my head. The way he’dlookedwhen he’d made his way back last night. So hopeless, so alone in the dark.
Always alone.
I tie off the tamale with so much force the husk breaks, and I have to try again.
He keeps trying to do this alone. He doesn’t have to do this alone.
Fold. Fold.
At the sound of voices, I look up, pausing my movements and shifting down the countertop to check out the kitchen window. I’m in time to see Tadeo and Daniel heading for the house, Tadeo’s head tilted slightly in Daniel’s direction as he speaks to his son, and all I can think is how much I also need to talk to him.
“Hey, so…” I practice under my breath as I go back to my task. “I’m not sure if you know this, but Danny isn’t sleeping? Like, at all? And last night, I found him outside, and he keeps saying it’s not safe, and I think hebelievesthat.”
I picture again how Danny had looked, and even worse than him not talking is how much I know that— “He’s scared,” I murmur, this time to anyone who might listen. “What do I do?”
I look out the window again, watching the Ríos men linger on the patio with their heads bent together in conversation, so similar in even their stance that despite my worries it makes me smile.
Tadeo, I think again.I need to talk to Tadeo. He will know what to do.
Sixty-Two
Daniel
