40. Gabriela
Chapter 40
Gabriela
I t’s funny how something as simple as a birthday party can make you feel like you’re about to step into a minefield. I’ve been planning Mireya’s fourth birthday for weeks with Cora—decorations, cake, balloons, party favors—but there’s this knot in my stomach that won’t loosen. The guest list is already a little awkward. My friends, Mireya’s classmates, no family, and, of course, Joaquín.
I texted him the other day asking if he would come to her birthday party at the bowling alley. Unsure of where we stand, I know he loves her, and she adores him.
He almost immediately texted me back.
I’ll for sure be there.
I could have not invited him and made some excuse, but I didn’t. I didn’t because Mireya deserves this. She deserves to have him there. And if I’m being honest with myself, I need to see what this will look like.
I can’t shake the feeling that Joaquín is waiting for some kind of opening. An opportunity to apologize again or to fix things between us. I’ve been thinking a lot about everything that happened—about how much I love him, about how he hurt me, and about how everything went wrong so quickly. But even though the scars are still there, they’re fading. In the light of all that’s happened, I’m understanding that people can change.
That I can change, too.
That the hurt, like flowers lying dormant in the winter, with some time and love, can bloom into something beautiful.
* * *
The party is set up in the bowling alley’s private party room, and I asked them to dim the lights and keep the music low. There are a few tables covered in colorful tablecloths, and balloons float around in the air like they’re marking a celebration. Mireya is in the middle of everything, her little hands grabbing at the presents and the cake, her energy boundless. It’s hard to keep up with her sometimes, but it’s worth it just to see the smile on her face. She’s happy.
That’s what matters today.
I check the time again. Joaquín is supposed to be here soon. Part of me wants to text him to make sure he’s coming, but I don’t. I know he’ll show up. He always does.
Mireya squeals, jumping up from the table and running towards the archway to the main part of the bowling alley. Standing there is Joaquín, a smile on his face and a gift bag in hand. He bends down and picks her up, whispering something into her ear that makes her smile.
He walks in, looking more put together than I expected. His hair is still a little messy from the breeze outside, and he’s wearing a casual flannel button-up, but he looks good. I try not to notice the way he stands tall and confident, like he belongs here. He doesn’t make any big announcements or try to take over the scene. He just... shows up.
I can see the hesitation in his eyes as he approaches me. He stands there for a moment, holding Mireya, looking around like he’s unsure of where to start. I know that look—like he’s waiting for something to be said. For me, to tell him where to go, what to do.
“Hey,” I say, giving him a small smile. It’s not as wide as I would have liked, but it’s a start.
“Hey,” he replies, his voice low. “Everything looks great. Looks like a great turnout.”
I nod. “Yeah, she’s been looking forward to it. She won’t stop talking about the cake.” I glance over at Mireya, who’s already unwrapping his present with little patience. “She’s been practicing all week.”
Joaquín chuckles softly, and it’s the first time in a long time that I feel a little more comfortable around him. He walks over to where Mireya is playing with the other kids, and I watch as he crouches down beside her. There’s a moment of quiet exchange, a smile shared between them, and before I know it, she’s pulling him toward the lanes that are set up for bowling.
“Mireya,” I call, “I’m not sure if?—”
But she’s already dragging Joaquín by the hand. “Ball, Joaquín! I want you to play!”
I watch as he follows her, no hesitation in his step. He doesn’t argue. He just goes with it, grinning as she excitedly grabs a ball and launches it down the lane. The ball bouncing off the bumpers and knocking down the pins. It’s such a small thing, but it’s enough to hit me in the chest.
He’s being present with her. He’s doing something a father would do for his daughter.
It makes me tear up.
I don’t realize until Cora puts her hands on my shoulders that I’ve been standing there, watching them for a while. Joaquín and Mireya are side by side, rolling the ball down the lane, laughing and cheering each other on. He’s not trying to be the center of attention, not asking me for anything. It’s as if he’s only here for her, for her happiness. I watch him carefully as he bends down to help her with her form, showing her how to hold the ball and how to aim. His face lights up with genuine care, and I can see how much he adores her.
“He’s so good with her, Gabby.” Cora smiles, looking at them. “And she really loves having him around.”
It’s the way he looks at her. The way he listens when she talks, how he’s fully present in this moment, not distracted by the past or anything else. It’s the way he takes his time with her, the way he helps her when she needs it. There’s no rush, no agenda. He’s just there with her, trying to make sure she has fun.
I feel something shift inside me, like a weight lifting off my chest. Maybe this is what he’s needed all along. Maybe he never needed me to forgive him in grand gestures or demands. Maybe he just needed to show me who he is now. And here, right now, I see him—the man who is different, the one who cares about my sister more than he cares about anything else.
As I watch them, something clicks inside me. All that anger, all the hurt, it fades away. I realize that I too have been holding on to something that doesn’t need to be held anymore. The forgiveness I thought I had to give him wasn’t only for him—it was for me. And now I see it.
I see him.
I’m pulled out of my thoughts when I hear Mireya laughing loudly. She’s jumping up and down, excitedly waving her arms. Joaquín is holding his hands up, pretending to be shocked that she knocked down more pins than he did.
“Look, Mama!” She shouts, running over to me with a big grin. “Quín helped me knock them all!”
I smile and squat down to her level. “That’s amazing, Reya. It looks like Joaquín’s teaching you how to play.”
Mireya beams. Her little face lit up with joy. I turn to look at Joaquín, who’s standing just behind her, a soft smile on his face as he watches us. Our eyes meet across the distance, and something in my chest tightens. I realize something that hits me harder than I expected—I forgive him. Not just for the things he did or didn’t do. But for the way, we never got to finish what we started.
And as I hold his gaze, I realize something else, too.
I love him. I’ve never stopped loving him. Not really. Every single part of me still wants him in my life.
Joaquín doesn’t ask to speak to me alone. He doesn’t make this about us or ask if we can start over. Joaquín is here for Mireya. He’s here for me, too, in his own quiet way.
The party goes on. We bowl some more, eat cake, and laugh as the day fades into the evening. But even as everything continues, something between Joaquín and me shifts in the background, something unspoken, something that’s quietly been building as we share this moment.
By the end of the day, as the last of the guests are leaving, I find myself standing alone with him near the car. The temperature outside has significantly dropped, with the sun setting in the distance.
“Thanks for coming today,” I say, my voice soft but sincere. “It meant a lot to me... to Mireya.”
He nods, looking at me with a quiet understanding. “It meant a lot to me, too.”
For a moment, we stand there, just breathing in the cool evening air. No words are necessary. It’s as if we both know that, no matter what happens next, this moment will be enough.
“Take care, Reina ,” he says, his voice gentle. He’s not pushing for anything more than this moment, and I realize how much I appreciate that.
“You too,” I reply, feeling the weight of everything that’s been holding us both back slowly start to lift. He starts walking toward his truck and I don’t want him to leave. “Wait,” I rush after him, grabbing onto his arm.
“Yeah,” he turns to face me, his eyes searching mine.
“Do you maybe want to follow me back to the house and we can talk?”