Chapter 13
Yael
Present Day
It’s too early for this. Why are you here? Don’t you sleep?
I shake my head, putting on the latex gloves as I head to the kitchen.
If you’re gonna follow me around, come learn how to properly season your meat.
The morning light cuts through the blinds, painting the kitchen in stripes of purple and shadow.
It’s early… five a.m. to be exact. My favorite time to wake up, when the world is still quiet and the air smells clean.
I roll my shoulders, working the tension between them as I walk to the fridge, mouth open in a deep yawn as I put on the latex gloves.
Pulling it open, I reach in and grab the plastic container that holds my special ingredient. Nothing fancy, just cilantro, pepper, garlic, and onion blended together topped with a dash of olive oil and salt. Personally, I like adding jalapenos for a kick.
The scent hits me as soon as I pop the lid—fresh and earthy.
I head towards the counter and fish out a spoon, scooping some into the bowl.
Then mix it through the meat, and watch the color change under my gloved hands.
Cooking’s the one thing that makes sense when everything else doesn’t.
The kitchen has been my favorite place to be since I was a little kid.
A boy who watched the women in his family cook large meals to sell and earn some money to keep a roof over our heads.
My mind drifts to so many things, the past…
the future that seems out of reach. Only to come back to the kiss.
To the idea of me being in front of the camera doing what I love and doing things I want to do with her.
In the privacy of my own kitchen.
Not for the world.
I’m halfway through rubbing the seasoning, picturing what that would even look like. My fingers dip slowly between the slickness of the meat, and the thoughts turn awkward. I buck my hips forward, grinding into the counter. I wince, fighting back a laugh and a cringe at the same time.
“Bro… cono que tu hace?”* Alex’s groggy voice makes me jump where I stand, almost dropping the bowl. I glance over my shoulder, watching him step into the doorway, shirt half on, hair sticking up from his braids like he lost a fight with the pillow.
“Seasoning,” I say flatly.
He squints. “Seasoning? You look like you’re auditioning for a porno or something.”
I groan.
“What… Nah.” I shake my head, making this more painful than it needs to be. “I was just focused.”
Alex's lips curl with disgust. “Focused? On what dry humping the counter?”
I stare at him, deadpan. “You ever think you’re too nosey?”
He grins, leaning against the fridge. “Nah, man. I’m just informed and pointing out the obvious.”
Another deep groan escapes me, while I hurry up with seasoning and morning prep. “I dunno why I keep you around?”
“Cuz you will die of boredom…” Once I’m done with the meat, I roll off the gloves and toss them at his face. “Eww, man, what the—” He flinches, wiping his cheek. “That’s disgusting!”
I don’t answer. I just walk past him and go open up the bodega.
The early morning rush is slower by the day, Altura’s usual rhythm feels off, becoming too still and quiet with each passing day.
The sounds of loud voices pull my attention away from the inventory sheet.
I slide the papers back into the folders, tuck them beneath the cash register, and step outside.
“Not today!” someone shouts. Then another voice joins. And another.
The humid air hits like a slap—thick, heavy, and clinging to my skin.
Across the street, a small crowd already gathers around Don Rogelio’s laundromat.
He stands in the doorway, his wrinkled features stoic and full of pain.
His hands tremble, the yellow envelope shaking in the air.
His hand moves towards his fedora, tilting it low to hide the shame.
My heart sinks into my stomach. The landlord’s car idles at the curb, windows rolled up.
I move closer, trying to find out what’s going on.
“Don Rogelio, been here forever. Screw you!” another person spits.
I glance around only to spot Adriana, walking towards Don Rogelio, a worried expression on her beautiful face.
Within minutes, the whole street’s awake—people blocking the car, waving papers, and making hella noise.
The sight fills me with pride, my chest swelling with joy to see my neighbors protect the elderly, fight for our little Isla.
I push through the crowd, stepping beside Don Rogelio. “How much?”
He shakes his head. “Too much.”
“Let me determine that. How much?” He sighs, long and full of defeat.
There’s a small hesitation when he grabs the paper and shows me the price, almost 4K.
I swallow hard, it’s a lot in this economy, but I think I can manage it.
I grab his shoulder, giving him a gentle squeeze and meet him eye level, feeling the heat of her stare burning holes through me. “I’ll handle it.”
It’s a promise.
He only shakes his head, his dark eyes glistening with tears.
With his approval, I walk towards the curb, and using two knuckles, I knock on the glass.
It takes me a few tries, but when he finally cracks the window, I don’t let him get a word in and only tell him the only thing he needs to know.
“Come pick up the full amount on Monday.”
If there was any pushback, I wouldn’t know.
I walk away before he can say anything, people like him that prey on others aren’t worthy of time.
Not mine at least. Hooking two fingers in each corner of my lips, I whistle.
The sound loud and sharp cutting through the chaos.
The crowd turns to me, and I turn the first game into the first bet.
“If you got money, put it where your mouth is,” I say, feeling like Dom Torreto. “Make your bet. The winner takes all. I bet this month's earnings. Who’s matching me?”
Adri steps forward, shaking her head, but her eyes shine with pride. That look I can recognize anywhere, those green eyes are shimmering with admiration. And my chest swells with joy.
“I’ll match,” she says.
I wink at her, and a smirk tugs at my lips. “Don’t cry when you lose,” I mutter, striding towards her. Enjoying the brief proximity before I’m bombarded with people placing their bets.
Our eyes lock for one final time, and just like that, she slips behind the crowd, allowing me to do my part.
We all walk across the street, and one by one, I jot each name and amount into a small notebook, the black ink bleeding slightly under the heat.
The block hums with energy again—loud, alive, and unstoppable.
Altura’s heartbeat is back…
* cono que tu hace? - Fuck, what are you doing?