44. Prométeme
prométeme
César
E verything has been a blur since we flew to San Juan the other night. As much as I’ve kept this in the back of my mind, the time has come.
I’ve kept myself busy around the house, staying out of the way as the rest of my family arrived. She woke up today wanting to talk more than usual and has been requesting alone time with everyone. She’s asked for me a few times already, but I’ve been encouraging others to go instead.
The day winds down and almost everyone is asleep, but my racing mind is up washing dishes. Abuela is in her room speaking to my cousin Elías.
It isn’t until he enters the kitchen with his head hung low that I know it’s my turn to see her. I grab a towel and dry my hands, turning to face him.
“She sent me for you. Said I can use force.” He chuckles weakly. “You gotta quit dodging her, primo . C’mon, man.”
“ Cono ,” I breathe.
“I know,” he assures, spreading his arms for a hug.
When I hug him back, he sobs quietly, and my heart lurches. I do my best to remain strong, but he’s like the brother I never had.
Of all my cousins, Elí is unfortunately the most familiar with death. His mom passed away when we were kids and Abuela raised him. A few years back, he became a widow when his wife died in a car crash, and he walked away from his boxing career to raise their daughter, Solena.
Abuela’s passing will be another heavy blow, but we’ve got each other.
“César, ven aca, ” she cries out, her voice weak.
We pull apart, and he pats my back. “I’m going to check on Sol. Take your time, bro.”
I nod, take a deep breath, and force my feet down the hall to her bedroom.
She smiles when she sees me, patting the bed beside her for me to join. “ Siéntate .”
I walk over hesitantly. “ Bendición ,” I say with a kiss on her cheek.
The bed dips beneath my weight as I sit. I’ve been dreading this conversation.
As soon as I turn to her, my guard falters and my eyes well up with tears. I expel a shaky breath and take the hand she’s holding open for me.
Her dark irises assess me. “What’s wrong, Chuki? ”
My lips part to speak, but words struggle to come out. I squeeze her hand and try anyway.
What do I even say? I’m being selfish and she’s in pain.
“What am I supposed to do without you?” I manage.
“You’re going to live your life, nino , and stop hiding behind me,” she says confidently.
She’s right. I do hide behind caring for her, using family and work as an excuse to avoid dating and taking risks in my career.
I’ve grown so accustomed to the way things are that a change of plans derails me, like Deirdre. I resist change instead of embracing it, though I tried with her, until it blew up in my face.
“Is this about the woman you watch when you think I’m sleeping?
“ ?Què? ” I ask, pretending I don’t know what she’s referring to.
“ Cuentame ” she urges with pleading eyes. “I need stories to take with me.”
I sigh. “I think I’m falling in love with her, but my job got in the way and I don’t know how to make it right,” I admit. “I don’t think she’ll ever speak to me again.”
Abuela watches me intently, rubbing her free hand over mine for encouragement. “She will. Riveras don’t give up easily,” she adds with a knowing smile. ”If your abuelo gave up on me, you wouldn’t be here.”
“I miss him,” I sniffle.
“Me too.” She nods. “But I’m going to see him soon. I’ll tell him you said hello. Prométeme when I’m gone, no more excuses. Make room for love and tell my grandchildren about me. ?Prométeme? ”
“I promise I will,” I say tearfully.
“ Ora conmigo ,” she insists, pointing to the rosary on her bedside table.
I retrieve it, and we recite the final prayer before we fall into a comfortable silence.
“I love you, César,” she says, staring up at me.
I lean over and wrap my arms around her, careful not to squeeze her hard, and she holds on to me for a while.
I never want to let go, and I wish I didn’t have to.
“I love you so much,” I choke, pressing my lips to her forehead. “It’s been a long day, and I’ll let you rest. I know you’re tired.”
“ Buenas noches , Chuki. I love you,” she says once more.
“ Buenas noches, I love you, too.” I take her in, knowing this may be the last time I see her alive, before shutting the door behind me.
I lie in bed, relishing the coquís as they sing, and replay every time I whistled for Deirdre. Every scowl, smirk, and laugh she’d make when she heard me nearby, I’ll cherish forever. I open the bedroom window to record a voice message of the coquís for her.
She hasn’t responded to any of my calls or texts, and I didn’t mention leaving for Puerto Rico. Still, I don’t miss a beat by telling her goodnight and good morning so she knows I’m thinking of her. Abuela thinks she’ll speak to me again, and I hope that’s true.
Goodnight, Doe.
I send the voice message and wait for sleep to take me, hoping their song brings her as much comfort as it brings me.
8:14 p.m. | 9 days after ‘the last incident’
Abuela passed comfortably in her sleep after our talk that night, exactly how she wanted. As difficult as this all has been, I am grateful we were able to honor her wish.
Elías and I have been the glue for everyone as we’ve navigated the funeral arrangements and laid her to rest. Today was incredibly rough, but we celebrated her in the way she appreciated. A party, music, and good pitorro .
I remember having parties as a kid and mis abuelos danced all night long. She would demand he carry her off the dance floor when her feet started to hurt, and he would every single time. I imagine they danced with us today as they watched on. Celebrating never having to be apart again.
The day is done, and we’ve cleaned up, put away all the leftovers, and I could use some fresh air. I step onto the porch, greeted by the night sky and singing coquís.
Elías later joins me outside, emerging with a box of cigars that belonged to our abuelo. “We earned these. I’m gonna grab a drink. You want one?”
“I could use one,” I admit.
“Alright then. Be right back,” he says, disappearing into the house.
I know I have cases waiting for me, but I am not ready to return to Austin. I’m not looking forward to going back to the way things were before Deirdre.
I scroll through our text thread back to that first night. There was a mutual pull toward each other, and despite what she accused, I was genuinely interested in knowing more about her.
It was unprofessional regardless of my intentions, and I should’ve spoken up when I felt a need to engage with her, beyond being a subject. I know I fucked up, but when I get back I’m going to tell the Hales I’d like to dissolve our contract and move on.
I’ve spoken with Emiliano who offered his condolences. While he didn’t have a definitive answer yet, I have faith in him. It may not smooth things with Deirdre, but I could acquire a client to do meaningful work for, instead of the bullshit I’ve been doing for Dax and Dara Hale.
I know I promised Abuela that I would make room for love, but I don’t plan on it if I can’t work things out with Deirdre. I’ll be an insufferable viejo if I have to, missing her for the rest of my days, because she isn’t someone you just move on from.
Elí exits the house with a bottle of Divin whiskey and two shot glasses in hand.
“Divin? Really?” I ask with an exasperated sigh.
The universe has gotta be playing with me right now.
He eyes me curiously, setting the glasses on the patio table and grabbing two white patio chairs for us.
“What did Divin do to you? I love this shit,” he says, taking a seat across from me.
“Plenty,” I say with a humorous laugh, joining him at the table. “I can’t get her off my mind, and she won’t even talk to me.”
“ ?Qué? Who? And what do they have to do with my favorite whiskey?” he asks, pouring a finger of brown liquid into both glasses.
“She’s an owner of the company,” I admit.
His eyebrows shoot up, and he starts fishing in his pocket, pulling out his phone with a smirk.
“Do not look her up, Elí,” I warn.
“ Cállate ,” he says, waving me off. “Let the lonely widow google the woman that’s got you ready to cry over a bottle of whiskey.”
“ No me jodas ,” I beg, sinking into the patio chair.
His thumbs tap the screen, and his brows raise.
“Goddamn,” he exclaims. “ She wants you ?” he asks with amusement in his tone, eyes flitting back and forth from the phone screen to me. “What’d you do? Hold her hostage?”
Something like that , I think.
“ Deja la jodienda ,” I huff.
“Since you fucked up, you think I have a chance?” he teases. “’Cause I know how to fight and would love some free Divin.”
“Fuck you.” I chuckle, taking a sip from the tumbler.
“Love you, too, man. You’d never beat me in a fight, though,” he quips.
“I can hold my own and would fight for her. It wouldn’t be the most ridiculous thing I’ve done.”
His eyes are saying, ” try me .”
I hold up a finger, taking another sip before I drag him into this story.
“I may have pretended to mug someone she was on a date with to scare him away and…I was armed.”
His eyes widen before he bursts into laughter, patting his chest and I join him, because it is wild and very unlike me.
“ ?En serio? I thought I’d never see the day you’d turn into a lovesick idiot. You’re down bad, man.”
I confirm with a nod, saying, “More like a lovefool , but it doesn’t matter now.
“Riveras don’t give up, and you considered armed robbery to get a man away from her,” he reminds me.
“I didn’t take his watch. I held it before I gave it back,” I muse, taking another sip.
He throws his head back and barks another laugh.
“You’re gonna have to start from the beginning if I’m gonna help you devise a plan to win her back.
I’ll tell you something about women. My wife loved groveling .
Not that I fucked up often because I’m an angel, but she loved reading about it in her romance books,” he says with a smile.
“So, whatever we come up with needs a groveling moment,” he adds with a knowing look.
“I don’t disagree with that. I’d do anything at this point.”
“One more thing, give me your phone,” he instructs.
“Why?” I ask with knitted brows.
“You will not be texting her while we’re getting fucked up and trying to fix this mess. If there’s anything you need to say to her, do it now.”
“That’s a good idea.”
I pick up my phone and send a nightly text to her, followed by a brief voice message of the coquís .
Buenas noches, Deirdre.
I miss you.
“Alright,” I say, placing my phone in his hand for the evening. “Now, what I’m about to tell you never leaves this table,” I tell him in a hushed tone, and we shake on it.
“It all started when she shot me,” I say, lifting up my shirt sleeve to show the grazed wound, and he stares, stunned. “ But let me explain why it was Abuela’s fault,” I joke, struggling to keep a straight face.
“I gotta hear this,” he says, shaking his head in disbelief.