Page 9 of Resurrection
I naturally scan the house for any sign of Naomi and Adri. Neither of them is in sight.
"Tyler Brady? Is that you?" a short, plump woman says, the surprise in her voice evident. It takes me a moment to realize it’s Mrs. Williams, my high school chemistry teacher.
"That's right," I reply quietly, hoping no one heard.
But they did, because several heads turn in my direction. The air is so heavy that I feel it pressing against my chest when people stop talking and look my way as I carefully maneuver through the room.
Some wear curious expressions, others look like they've seen a ghost. Someone mentions my name under their breath. "It’s been ages, kid," an older man says, patting my arm like I’m an actual child. "Look at you now."
I keep moving, exchanging soft hellos. Everything here is drenched in old memories. The dinners Letty Medina used to feed us. The games of Monopoly. The sneaking-out-at-night kind of shenanigans. I’d wait for Naomi in the back alley until her parents fell asleep. We’d go to the park down the street and talk for hours, then show up at school the next morning all puffy-eyed and exhausted.
Those were the best times, full of hopes and dreams.
Funny thing is, the dreams came true, but not in the way I thought they would.
Letty finally spots me, and her face lights up with recognition. "Tyler. So good to see you,mijo." She wraps her arms around me the same way my own mother does.
I offer my condolences. "Hi, Mrs. Medina. I’m really sorry about Jose. Everyone will miss him." The words stick a little in my throat.
"He’s at peace now," Letty says, pulling back a bit, her voice sad. "It’s better this way." Her hands are still clutching mine as she speaks. "He wouldn’t want to have continued like he was. His mind was long gone."
"I think you did right by him." I don’t know if that’s so, but it’s the kind thing to say under the circumstances.
"Have you talked to Naomi yet?"
My heart skips a bit. "No." I shake my head. "I haven’t seen her."
"She’s probably in the kitchen," my father, who’s standing by Letty’s side, comments.
"You should go say hi," Letty suggests.
"She could use some support," my mother adds.
"Is Adri here?" I ask, looking around. "I haven’t seen him either."
"I believe he ran out to get more water and soft drinks," my father informs me, gesturing at the large group in the living room. "A lot more people showed up than we expected."
"Well, he fed the entire Coachella Valley."
The Gobbler was the best food truck in town. Every morning, before the sun even stretched its arms over the horizon, a crowd was buzzing with anticipation in front of the truck. They were all there for one thing—Jose’s legendary breakfast tacos. That guy? He was like kitchen royalty.
When Jose's health took a turn, the Medinas had to pass the torch to his nephew. I heard from my mom that they still get a little slice of the profits pie, which is sweet, but it just doesn't have that original spark without him running the show.
And Naomi… She inherited those culinary superpowers from her late father.
"How long are you staying for?" Letty’s question yanks me out of my thoughts.
I glance at her, then at my parents, suddenly feeling guilty for not wanting to be here. "Not sure yet."
"You should come over for dinner sometime," Letty supplies.
"I’ll find some time," I say, even though I don’t mean it. But I’m not a big enough asshole to reject an invitation from the woman who fed me through all my teenage years on the day she’s burying her husband who spent almost two years in a coma.
Before the conversation takes a weird turn, I excuse myself and sneak out of the living room and into the hallway leading to the kitchen.
My steps falter as I pass the stairs to the second floor and enter the corridor.
There’s Naomi, standing by the collection of old family photos, looking like a portrait herself. Her long black hair is swept up into a bun, neat and precise, matching her simple black knee-length dress with short sleeves.
