Chapter 4 #2
Dona Blanca steps out of the store and through gritted teeth demands, “Suelta, mi hija.”*
And I do.
For a moment, we just stand there and glare.
Feeling the heat of everyone’s stare, the block quietly waiting for the next move.
Waiting for the next chisme to pop off. That won’t be happening, I won’t give no one the benefit of witnessing any drama.
So, I walk away and set up the sign to fuck with Ruben, shifting my attention to my normal shenanigans.
Thankfully, the women opt for the same, heading into the salon.
I huff out a mouthful of air, the only drama I enjoy is the one right here.
That's actually fun and makes me money. I grab the corner of the sign and glance down making sure you can read the words clear enough from a distance. Pulling out my phone, I snap a picture—the flash bouncing off the glass, and post it on my page. I don’t have a big following but the funny signs get the block talking. And the bodegas could use the buzz.
A smile spreads through my face as I stare down at the picture, the bold green letters loud even through the screen.
Best pastelitos on the block. Don’t argue with facts.
It wasn’t a lie.
We do have the best pastelitos on the block.
You can even search us on the internet, see the reviews for yourself.
The dough is truly homemade by yours truly.
So is the sazon and sofrito. Even the garlic is peeled by my own fingers.
You won’t get that quality next door. You need to enjoy what you do, which I do.
Cooking is art. And I’m the artist who creates it.
The door across the street squeaks open, startling me out of my thoughts and the pigeons from their tut. Glancing over my shoulder, I see Ruben is already outside, ready to talk his shit with his own sign in hand.
“Tu ta loco mijo,”* he says, waving his own sign, which reads:
Stop for los tres golpes. Why eat a snack when you can have a meal.
The words make me bite back a chuckle, the joke a familiar one. That’s Adri’s flavor. One she used to write. Back then, I considered it her way of flirting, and I guess I still do given the grin painted on my face. I turn my wooden sign to face him, my hand waving over the words.
“Can’t argue with facts, man.”
He shakes his head. “Imma show you how we really throw it down this summer.”
“You've been saying this for how many summers now, c’mon, papi.”
Before he can clap back, Ruben’s mother steps out of their store, and of course, she would stop right beside Adriana. I look away fast, before I’m trapped in the trance, making myself look even more like a fool. I’ve been there and done that, and shit sucks.
“Listen, papi, how about you get some of our sobao and eat that instead of your words.”
Our regulars start drifting into their usual spots.
Some sit around us, others pause their morning chores just to watch and later gossip.
The old heads sit around the square domino tables, coffee in hand, ready to start their day.
I lean into the stand, watching Ruben as he scowls at me from across the street.
I never understood the beef between the stores until the day my abuela, on her deathbed, explained why.
And if anything, learning the truth only helped me realize why I never saw Adri as my rival.
And even though I fuck around with Ruben, it’s all for show. I actually like the fucker, our morning banter makes my day.
“You always talk this much?” Adri's voice hits like a slap, and every muscle in my body locks tight, hearing the same question I asked all those years ago come out of her mouth. I swallow hard, unable to look up at her, afraid she could see exactly what she does to me.
“Only when I’m bored.”
Adri bites back the urge to laugh, and the sound melts away the tension forming in my shoulders.
“You must not be busy enough, if you’re bored this early,” she says with a smile, and the grin only widens across my face. It’s scary how natural and easy this all feels—talking to her.
The reply forms in my mouth, rolling from my tongue with ease. “I’m plenty busy.”
It’s nothing witty, but my mind blanked and that’s the best I have. Adri continues muttering something under her breath, taking things there with me. Knowing if she goes low, I’ll just take it to hell. Part of me is excited, the other is cautious not to fall back into her trap.
“Looks like the bodega can use some fresh paint, new lighting, and maybe some cleaning while you're at it.”
The old heads stop mid shuffle. I clear my throat and push off the sign. This time, I walk directly across the street and directly into her water zone, just like I did back then.
“I’m surprised you remember how to run a bodega,” I say, keeping my voice steady even as my pulse spikes.
“I figured the whole trophy girlfriend life might’ve changed you.
” The words land exactly how I wanted. Full of sarcasm and dripping with resentment.
Adri doesn’t miss a beat, even as her breath catches in her throat.
“I remember everything. You might want to take my advice if you want to stand toe to toe with us.”
I laugh at that. Maybe back then our family always lost to them—but that was because Lenny couldn’t do shit, and cared even less about the store. I click my tongue. And his pops—my uncle, he just cared about stealing from his own mother.
Not me.
They all left, and I stayed here, taking care of my grandma until the day she died, all while keeping up with our family back at the Island.
Holding this place together with my own hands, and the occasional help from my mother.
Not that she would know any of it, Adri ran the moment the block got too hot for her.
Ran straight into the arms of my cousin.
That thought alone gives me the strength to push back, and maybe I should hold back, but the retort tumbles out.
“We always win, love, ask your cousin,” I whisper low, tucking a loose curl behind her pierced ear. “I’ve been kicking his ass back to back. Why don’t you sit back and let the grown men handle it?”
I end my clap back with a wink, hating the way my words make her features fall, hating more that I’m the reason.
Adriana doesn’t hesitate to sweep over my feet, making me jump back with a smirk.
I’ve already ruined a pair of sneakers for her and my heart.
That’s all she gets from me. And yet, my sneaky girl gets me.
She drags the broom again, slower this time, right across the toes of my fresh kicks. “Move. I’m sweeping the pest.”
Ruben chokes on his laughter, and I can’t help the twitch on my lips aching to join in. Enjoying the push and pull between us.
Miriam, her aunt and Ruben’s mother, mutters, “She said pest. Dios mío, nina, deja tu frescura.”*
I look down at the broom, then let my gaze climb over her.
Taking her in like the coldest cerveza after a long summer day.
The red sun dress complements her brown skin, hugging every curve right.
Fuck… She looks like a sunrise in the desert.
So beautiful you can only stop and admire it. A lazy grin creeps in.
“Careful… keep sweeping like that, you might clean up all the trash your family left behind.”
Her green eyes flash with different emotions.
Hurt, anger, pride, before she settles on pride, and fuck, I do love it—the way she gives it back.
And doesn’t back down. Only a weak man would try to dim her fire.
Adri sweeps again, ignoring the whispering happening around us.
This time, she is aggressive with her movements.
“Funny. I only sweep what doesn’t belong here.”
The block goes quiet, watching as the novella unfolds before their eyes. Ruben, from behind me, whispers. “I don’t think they are talking about sweeping anymore.”
And he’s not wrong. We’re not.
I step closer, the smell of shea butter and mango fills my lungs, making me dizzy and filling me with a need to inhale deeply. I lower my voice, so only she hears it. “Then why do you keep aiming at me?”
That makes Adri’s breath stutter, just for a second, before she lifts her chin. “Because you’re always in the way.” Her words hit their intended target. My fucking heart. “Stop standing where I’m working.”
I laugh under my breath. “Right, just work.”
She grips the broomstick harder, her knuckles going white from the strain. “Don’t flatter yourself, Yael. I sweep up pests, not problems.”
I lean in even closer, not giving a fuck who’s watching. Adri did exactly what she intended to—get under my god damn skin. “Joke's on you, love, I’m both.”
Quickly, I put distance between us, watching her jaw clench, before her mouth opens to fire back. And that's when a rattling cough fills the silence. It’s deep, wet, and coming from her grandfather, Don Santos.
He steps out dressed in his usual cream short-sleeve dress shirt and beige pants with his fedora nestled on the top of his bald head.
Everything stops. The broom is forgotten against the wall as she moves towards him in one swift movement.
The soft salsa song playing on the speaker fades away in the background.
“Abuelo, you shouldn’t be out here,” Ruben says.
Don Santos waves him off with a hand, snickering at his pestering grandchildren. I clear my throat. It’s been so long since he stepped out. He looks smaller than I remember, thinner but still holding himself like the man who once ran this block with nothing but a milk crate and a deck of fichas.
“Déjenme tranquilo*, I’m still alive,” he says, his voice rougher than I remember, but still commanding enough to stop his grandchildren from voicing their concern.
With the help of his daughter and Adri, he lowers himself onto a blue crate that’s cracked on the corner.
Adriana looks worried, as she lovingly rubs his shoulder, standing beside him in case he needs support.
Tapping the crate beside him with two fingers, he says. “Yaelito… Ven acá, muchacho.” *