Page 58 of Wasted On Us

“In the heart of this strife, I found a love named Mateo. I often ask, ‘Mateo, oh, Mateo, why must you be a Mateo?’ His name is a symphony in my heart, carrying the weight of an intense love. His love for me mirrors my own, kindling a joy that neither of us has known. Yet, our happiness is a thorn in our parents’ hearts. Our fathers, embroiled in their rivalry, are blind to our plight, echoing the sorrowful fate of your own history.

“But we diverge from your path there—unlike you, I refuse to surrender to despair. I may not lose my life, but I stand at a crossroads where I must forsake either the bonds that raised me or the man who breathes life into my dreams. My heart crumbles under this weight, straining against the unthinkable choice I face. Juliet, in the shadow of our fathers’ ego-fueled enmity, is there a sliver of hope for me? What kind of tale am I ensnared in, and how will it unfold? With love, and a plea for your wisdom, Eden Lorenson.”

I clear my throat, fold the paper, and slip it back into my purse, shuffling away from the balcony and down the stairs to where our families wait. Mateo slips me into a tight hug, grinning from ear to ear, before kissing me on the top of the head. “That was the most beautiful speech ever.”

My mother seems amused, maybe a touch proud, and Abuelita beams at me so hard I can hardly look at her. But Salvador and my dad are far harder to read. To their credit, they remain civil for the rest of the day, and by dinner, I actually hear them break the ice.

When the server takes our dessert order, they begin to speak in full sentences. They aren’t best friends, not by a long shot, but they seem willing to try.

After a long moment of silence, Dad speaks up, “We can agree on one thing, Sal. This needs to end,” he says firmly.

Salvador gives a slight nod. “For the sake of our children, yes.” His voice gruff but sincere.

Dad clears his throat, “Salvador, would you pass me a napkin?”

Salvador does so without complaint, offering, “This tiramisu, it’s quite authentic. You’ve had it before?”

Dad smiles slightly. “In Rome, yes. Long time ago.”

When the server comes around with more wine, they continue to speak in conversational tones. “This tour has been quite something, hasn’t it?” Dad asks, taking a generous sip.

Salvador’s lips actually twitch. “Indeed. More than I expected. The balcony was a highlight.”

My mom cracks a joke about my father’s inability to pronounceil bagnocorrectly, and Salvador actually laughs. To my surprise, Dad joins in.

“It’s a start,” I remark to Mateo, leaning over to steal a bite of tiramisu from his plate. He taps his fork with mine, jokingly sparring with me with our cutlery. “Like us, just the beginning.”

“You think so?” It seems too good to be true. But maybe my luck is finally starting to change.

“I know so,” he insists, throwing an arm around my shoulders and pulling me closer to him. “Way to go, Juliet.”

As laughter rings around our table, a warmth spreads through my chest, painting a gentle smile on my lips. I look at Mateo, our fingers interlacing under the table, a silent promise of unity in whatever comes our way.

“This,” I whisper, tracing the contours of the moment. “This is our first victory, but certainly not our last.”

Gazing around at the two most influential men in our lives, my father and Salvador, I see their defenses gradually receding, replaced by an amicable understanding. A glimmer of hope is ignited in the midst of this profound metamorphosis. Maybe it won’t be an easy journey, maybe there will be setbacks, but this moment has already etched an indelible mark on our lives.

It’s an end to the feud, an end to the uncertainty, but it’s also the beginning of a new chapter. A chapter of love, of reconciliation, of hope. This evening wasn’t just a dinner; it was a bridge, built between two stubbornly divided households. It was a bridge that Mateo and I would tread together, hand in hand, into a future we could finally call ours.

Epilogue

Mateo

I guess I didn’t really get it when Eden told me that travel can change you. I thought she just meant that you’ll come back with a tan and a new appreciation for some kind of local cocktail you’ll never find the ingredients for in your hometown. Not in my wildest dreams did I assume it could bring our parents together and dissolve a feud that started before I was born.

It feels like just yesterday that we were sneaking from one cookout to another, taking long walks around the block to hide who we were and where we came from. Now, there’s a whole gaggle of people in the same yard, Garcías and Lorensons alike. Mrs. Lambert’s house seemed like the perfect place—a neutral zone between both houses. And when she found out that the two men had started to thaw the deep freeze between them, she was all for it. This way, neither of our dads needed to feel pressured to be a perfect host, though it hasn’t stopped them from bickering at the grill all day.

I walk over to it, watching as Dad and Daniel engage in a heated debate. “These burgers need to be flipped every three minutes, Salvador, or they’ll char. And don’t even get me started on the ribs.”

Dad, holding the metal tongs in his hand, rolls his eyes, flashing a mischievous smile my way. “Whatever, Daniel. I have grilled before, you know? In Mexico, we have a little thing called a parrillada as well.”

“Ah, you with your marinated meats,” Daniel counters with a smirk, playfully nudging my dad. “Grilling carne asada is a world apart from a good ol’ American barbecue.”

Dad raises an eyebrow, leaning toward Eden’s father. “And how many Mexican barbecues have you attended, Danny Boy?”

Daniel chuckles, shrugging. “Fair point. But that doesn’t mean I’m letting you burn our dinner.”

At this point, I’m doing my best not to laugh outright, my dad and Daniel Lorenson in a battle of wits over a grill. They are like two grizzly bears fighting over the last salmon, each trying to outdo the other while being utterly charming about it.

---