38. Joaquín
Chapter 38
Joaquín
I t’s been a week since I last saw her—since I started trying to figure my life out. I can’t say I’m completely there yet, but I’m getting closer.
I took her advice and moved into my own place, a tiny one-bedroom apartment in a building that smells like old coffee and possibly has a mold problem, but it’s mine. Somehow I manage to make a little more than I spend, so I’m still saving money. I’m working harder than I ever have before. Every extra shift I pick up, every hour spent doing something that’ll get me ahead, feels like a step toward putting my past behind me.
Living with my dad? That was never going to be an option again. Not after everything. After the fights, the anger, and the words thrown at me that still echo in my head. I can’t change what he says, but I can change where I live. I can control that much. Once I told him that I got the job at the power company, he lost it. I knew that I had to get out of there.
But even with the small victories—paying rent, getting my shit together—there’s still that ache inside me. The one that never seems to go away. The ache that’s tied to her. Gabriela. It’s stupid. Any normal guy would’ve moved on by now. But I can’t shake the feeling that we are supposed to be together. She’s it for me.
That’s why I’m at the grocery store today. I tell myself I’m just here to grab a few things for dinner—some ground beef, some salad mix, the usual. But I know today is the day she does her shopping. In the cereal aisle, I see her.
I freeze for a moment, heart pounding. She’s a few feet away, and for a second, I think about turning around and walking out of the store. It’s easier that way. Avoiding her. Pretending like I’m fine when I’m anything but.
But before I can turn away, I hear her voice. It’s frantic, urgent—the kind of voice you hear when a parent is at the end of their rope.
“Mireya, stop!” Gabriela’s voice cracks as she tries to keep her sister from throwing another tantrum. “Please, just calm down.”
I step closer to them, and that’s when I see her. Mireya is screaming, her little face flushed red, tears streaming down her cheeks. She’s kicking her feet, thrashing in her sister’s arms. Gabriela looks exhausted, her hair messy, and her eyes wild with frustration. She’s trying to control a situation she has no control over, and I see the panic in her face.
My chest tightens. I want to help, but I don’t know how. Part of me wants to keep walking to avoid the mess she’s in. But the other part of me—maybe the part that’s finally ready to make things right—moves toward her.
I don’t know what I’m doing, but I can’t stand to see her struggling like this.
“Hey,” I say, voice low but steady. Gabriela’s head snaps toward me, her eyes wide with surprise. It feels like it’s been long since we’ve seen each other. She doesn’t expect to see me here, and I’m sure I don’t expect to see her in this moment. But here we are.
“Mireya’s having a meltdown,” Gabriela says, her voice tight with frustration. She’s clearly trying to keep it together, but I can see she’s close to breaking.
“I see that,” I say, stepping closer. I can’t just stand here and watch. Not when I know what it feels like to be that powerless. “Here, let me help.”
She hesitates, looking at me like she doesn’t know if she should trust me. I don’t blame her. She’s probably wondering what the hell I’m even doing here and why I’d suddenly decide to show up now. But the way Mireya’s thrashing around... it gets to me. I can’t stand to see her sister in that much distress.
“Come on,” I say, holding my arms out. “Let me take her for a minute. You need a break.”
At first, Gabriela doesn’t say anything. She just stares at me, unsure. But then she takes a deep breath and hands me Mireya. The little girl is still crying, but as I scoop her up, I hold her close, rocking her gently in my arms.
“ Princesa ,” I whisper in her ear, giving her some gentle squeezes while I rock her. I know she likes the pressure and I’ve been reading up on parenting autistic children, so if Gabriela lets me back into their life, I’m going to be the best I can be for Mireya. “I’ve got you.”
Mireya doesn’t stop crying right away, but the sheer weight of holding her and the way she finally feels safe in my arms make me think it might help. Slowly, her sobs start to calm down, her tiny body going limp as the exhaustion of the tantrum overtakes her. Then I feel her little fingers tugging my hair, something only she does. I’ll never cut my hair short, just so those curls are always there for her.
“Thank you,” Gabriela says, voice barely above a whisper. I could just tell she was relieved by the way her shoulder dropped, and how she let out a deep breath. She looks almost... grateful. But there’s something else in her eyes too—something I can’t quite place. She still hasn’t said a word to me since I walked up, and I’m wondering if she’s still angry, still hurt by everything that went down.
She has every right to be.
I don’t have time to wonder too long, though. Gabriela starts to grab the items she was shopping for, trying to make it through the store while I hold Mireya, who’s finally starting to drift off in my arms. I pull my own cart with my groceries behind me.
I move slowly, trying not to wake her. She glances back at me every so often, like she can’t quite decide if she wants to talk or just get through the shopping trip and get the hell out of there.
But then we reach the checkout.
I look down at the cart, at the food she’s about to pay for, and something clicks. It’s a small gesture, but it feels like something I can do, something that might make a difference in the middle of this weird, awkward reunion.
I pull my wallet out, step forward, and hand my card to the cashier before she can even reach for her own wallet. She freezes so I ask the cashier, “Can you scan the rest of the stuff too, please?” The cashier nods, scanning my groceries and bagging them.
“Joaquín,” she starts, but I shake my head before she can say anything else. “Stop, you don’t…”
“I’ve got this, Reina .”
She’s quiet for a moment, then she just nods, looking at me with this look in her eyes. It’s like a mixture of surprise, confusion, and... maybe even something else.
Love.
Don’t get ahead of yourself, Joaquín.
I can still hope.
The cashier finishes the transaction, and I grab the bags. Gabby’s still silent, but she doesn’t try to stop me—she doesn’t pull her wallet out. She just watches me as I load everything into the cart. Her eyes follow as I motion for her to take the cart and head out.
When we reach the car, I help her get Mireya in the backseat, the little girl’s tiny body limp with sleep. As I close the door softly, I turn to Gabby, who’s standing there with her arms crossed, her face tight. She’s still exhausted, but there’s a look on her face—like she’s carrying more than she can handle, more than just the stress of a shopping trip.
I stand there for a moment, waiting for her to say something. When she doesn’t, I finally speak.
“What do you need, Reina ?” I ask, my voice steady. “Tell me what you need, and I’ll do it. Whatever it is, just tell me.”
She stares at me for a long time. Her eyes flicker from my face to the car and back again. There’s hesitation there, but there’s something else too. Something raw, something real.
“I need you to let go of what your mom did,” she says quietly. Her voice cracks, but she doesn’t look away. “I need you to move on, Joaquín. Let it go so you can finally heal. ”
Her words hit me like a punch to the gut. I’ve been holding onto so much anger for so long, anger toward my mom for leaving and for choosing Gabriela's dad over me. But hearing her say it... hearing her put it out there like that... it hits me harder than I expect.
I don’t know what to say at first. For a second, I wonder if she’s right. I’ve been running in circles, doing everything I can to escape my past, but maybe that’s the problem. Maybe I’m not moving forward because I’m still so tangled up mentally in the things I can’t control.
“I don’t know if I can,” I finally say. My voice is quiet now, unsure. “I don’t know if I can forgive her, Gabriela. It’s... hard.”
She nods but doesn’t say anything else. She doesn’t try to make me feel guilty or push me to do it. Letting it hang in the air between us.
“I know,” she says softly, almost to herself. “But you have to try. For you. Not for anyone else. Just... for you.”
I stand there for a moment, the weight of her words sinking in. It’s strange. I never thought I’d hear something like that from her—not after everything that’s happened between us. Everything that happened to her with her own parents. But there it is.
Simple and honest.
I look at her, and I think I might actually understand.
“Okay,” I say, my voice steady.