Chapter 24
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
ELEVEN DAYS AFTER (LATE NIGHT)
We arrive at La Clandestina, parking in the same alley as before. Mr. Sasquatch stands guard at the door, his bearded face cast in strange shadows from the lone light hanging above his bald head.
“I’m not waiting in here,” I say as Rafael turns off the engine.
“Even with Owen guarding the door there?” Smirking, he gestures to the security guard.
Before I can respond, Lupe taps on the window, startling both of us. “Let’s go!” she commands impatiently, peering into the truck and hooking her finger toward the door.
“I hope the building’s on fire,” Rafael grumbles, pushing open the door. I exit the truck and follow after them, staying close to their heels as they walk past Owen into the building and down the dimly lit hallway.
Rafael walks beside me, irritation pulsing off of him. “And here I thought you didn’t have ‘rough’ days,” I say, attempting my best Vela-esque smile. His frown smooths out, but I can tell he’s still annoyed about whatever his cousin wants.
“She can be a real pain in my ass,” he mutters as we turn the corner into the bar.
Lupe stops abruptly, earning another curse from Rafael. She grins and flips a switch.
Lights flicker to life.
“SURPRISE!”
I startle, squeaking as the shouts wash over us.
A group of people manifest from the shadows, blowing on colorful horns and waving shiny streamers. Some wear cone hats with HAPPY BIRTHDAY written across them. Silver and white balloons dance atop the ceiling.
“Shit,” Rafael mumbles, clutching his chest.
Lupe throws her arms around his shoulder with a laugh. “?Feliz cumpleanos, primo!” Eyes bright, she squeezes him, and he tucks her beneath the crook of his arm. “I know you’re on a mission that’s life and death, but I figured a couple hours of celebrating life won’t hurt.”
“I really hate you.” He plants a kiss on her cheek.
Lupe playfully shoves him away as a rowdy group of people move in on Rafael from all directions.
Their eager voices become muffled as music starts, getting louder and louder.
Other bodies begin to move throughout the bar, waitstaff bearing food-laden trays and guests boasting gifts and bottles.
It’s his birthday. June 18. A date on which I religiously made it a point to send gifts one might buy for (very) old family members: a yearly subscription to Senior Living Magazine, boxes of Poligrip, and on occasion, adult diapers.
I’ve been so distracted I haven’t paid attention to the dates.
They’ve bled into one another, and now it’s mid-June.
The unexpected—and potent—surge of panic makes me stumble.
Blinking it away, I force myself to focus on the birthday boy. People swarm him, hugging and kissing. He fields at least a dozen people’s well wishes before he’s ushered to the bar and given a shot of tequila, followed by another and another.
Many are strangers, but I recognize two of Rafael’s sisters, who join him—Gloria, the oldest, and Graciela, the pregnant one.
Another one, who looks like the female version of Rafael, squeezes between them and wraps her arm around his waist. Gianna, the youngest Vela sibling.
I know her from his lock screen photo—and the ones at his abuela’s house.
Rafael beams as he talks animatedly to her.
Beside her, Rafael’s best friend, Harry Hughes, whom I met every time he popped in to take Rafael to lunch, sips on a drink.
He’s Rafael’s foil in every way, rugged and blond and very Australian.
Harry’s a head taller than Rafael, and while he looks like a long-lost Hemsworth brother, Harry’s shy, reserved, and not at all into women.
Rafael and Harry laugh at something Gianna says. The lights dim further, the music gets louder, and the drinks flow freely.
And I soak it all in.
I don’t need flesh and bones to feel the Vela effect.
It’s around me. In smiles and laughter. In hugs and comforting touches.
And it draws me from my shadowy corner, steering around people dancing as a DJ spins from a booth.
Strobe lights move in rhythm to the music.
Waitstaff pass around trays of appetizers—mini assorted tacos, ceviche, pastries.
Another waiter serves drinks with skeleton bones as stir sticks.
I move closer, gravitating toward Rafael, needing to know what’s making him seem like he’s been lit up from the inside, so unlike the Rafael I saw when I woke up on his sofa days ago. It tugs me toward him, like mind compulsion.
Pieces of conversations make me slow and lean in.
“The vision really came to life!”
“The food—best I’ve had.”
“Anything he touches is gold.”
Eyeing an empty place around the circular bar, I plant myself on the side opposite Rafael and his squad. He catches my gaze, smiles—deep enough The Dimple says hola—and winks before he leans across the bar to talk to Lupe, who is in full bartender mode.
She sashays behind the counter, clad in leather shorts and a black tee, shouting over the music to another bartender. I should go home, or better yet, go back to the hospital and force this plasma back into the body until it sticks.
But I stay. Because I’m curious about Rafael’s life in ways I can’t explain.
I want to be a part of his day without waiting for him to unwrap a year’s supply of Just for Men because of the sick joy it brought me.
I want to be here with him and his people, wearing a sexy dress and stealing his time and attention.
I imagine finding a quiet moment, wrapping my arms around him, and breathing him in.
I’d curl my fingers into his unfairly thick hair and rise up on my toes to whisper Happy birthday in his ear before letting someone else take my spot.
We’d separate, reluctant to let go, but with the promise of more.
Daydreams and wishful thinking are going to be my actual demise. They knife into parts of me I didn’t know existed—namely, the fullness in my chest that continues to take up real estate.
“Rafael said you were by the empty seat. Says he’s sorry he can’t keep you company.” I startle at the sound of Lupe’s voice. She’s gazing to my right, talking to no one.
One of the bartenders narrows his eyes in question, but Lupe points to an AirPod in her ear and tells him to go pour drinks. He listens, pumping the shaker in his hands. Her bossiness makes me smile.
“Rafael hates celebrating his birthday, but this year has been a hard one for him, and he’s done so much for me.
I figured this was the least I could do.
” She pours gin, champagne, and juice into a crystal tumbler.
“This place wouldn’t exist without him. I mean, it’s his baby.
” Lupe grins as she stirs the drink, her cheek dipping into a dimple. I want to ask her what she means.
Desperately trying to hear every word over the music, I lean in.
“It only took years to drag him away from Media Lab. No offense, but it sounds like literal hell having to go into an office and be in meetings and shit all day. Don’t get me wrong, but it seems like you were a little bit of a cabrona.
” Lupe winces. “If you’re here, sorry, but that’s the truth.
Yet for some reason he stayed there longer than anyone expected—and that includes him.
Neither of us stuck to anything we didn’t like for too long, so him choosing office life for so many years was crazy and made it hard to get him to leave.
And when I finally succeeded in convincing him to jump ship, your accident happened, and it was all put on hold. Again.”
Lupe tosses a lemon slice into the drink and slides it across the bar to a woman whose pink lips curl into a smile almost as big as her teased hair. Alma from tango lessons at the senior center.
Dressed in a fitted magenta outfit, she lifts the glass up in a toast and sashays to the dance floor with swinging hips.
“I know I said I didn’t want to help you, but he’s better now that he’s around you—or your spirit,” Lupe adds.
“It’s gotten him out of the dark place he was in this past week.
For a minute, I didn’t think I’d get him back, so if you can hear me, please, try to stick around.
Yeah?” She slaps the bar. “Now, I’ve got a party to rile up! ”
She leaves me for a group of women who shout at her to come and take a selfie. Lupe obliges, ducking beneath the bar to join them and leaving me to make sense of her words.
I stare after her, questions buzzing louder than the music.
Rafael leaving Media Lab? The accident changing his plans? Maybe because of me? These bits of information have me wanting to ask so many questions, needing to know more and more, at the worst possible time.
I peer up at the ceiling. If you’re up there, I’m seriously ready to come back.
Nothing happens. Except for Pitbull’s singing splitting my eardrums as he encourages the crowd to give him everything tonight.
Wistfully, I eye the dance floor, where everyone from Alma to Rafael’s pregnant sister shakes and grooves to the beat. Rafael’s spinning his mom. Harry and Gianna bump hips and laugh.
Tucking the questions and my desperation away, I separate from the bar and find a semi-empty corner to watch from, hating the music for the way it sharpens the pain at the base of my skull. I pretend it’s not there.
Guests continue to fill the bar. Rafael is animated as he talks to them. Charm mode engaged—and it makes me smile, because being Vela’d isn’t the crime I thought it was. Far from it.
Rafael scans the crowd, and I know he’s looking for me. His grin is almost blinding (another vampiric trait?), and he picks up a shot glass. I toast with an invisible glass.
A “Cheers!” booms from the crowd around him as they down their shots. I shudder.
The last time I drank … was the last time I was physically with Rafael.
The memory is still hazy, but I remember being so angry at him for breaking Dana’s Doctrine, because we had an account to win.
Cyril and OhLaLove had consumed so much of the past year, but none of it has mattered these past few days …
because none of it is important. Not to the extent I thought for so long. Too long.
And everything else that was actually important and worth my blood, sweat, and checklists? I put off or ignored—and I might never have a chance to remedy things.
The notion hits me like a jab to the throat, knocking the air out of me. Making me feel like I can’t suck in a steady breath. I know I need to get out of here before I ruin Rafael’s special day with my impromptu pity party.
“And now, honored guests, we invite our birthday boy to the stage for cake and speeches,” the DJ announces. The crowd cheers. I startle.
Rafael shouts, “No speeches! Please!”
Harry nudges Rafael to the front of the dance floor, and Lupe comes to finish the deed, threading her arm through his and pulling him through the parting crowd.
The DJ hands Lupe the mic. She beams at the crowd, waiting for everyone to quiet. “One speech only. Only one that matters!” The crowd laughs. “I’ll keep things short and sweet so we can get back to the party.”
She pumps her fist in the air; someone agrees with an enthusiastic “Whoop!”
“For those of you who live in a hole or under a rock, Raffi is like the brother I never had. Just kidding. I have a bigger brother,” she says, peering into the crowd.
“He’s the chef tonight, so make sure to tell him how terrible the food is.
” Again the crowd laughs. “All joking aside, Raffi is one of the coolest dudes, family or no family, and I wouldn’t be here without him.
Literally. He was there at my lowest, and I’m celebrating with him at my best.” She laughs along with everyone, but emotions strain her voice.
“When he said he’d be down with my idea of starting a tequilería-slash-bar, I didn’t believe him, but then he showed up and helped me bring it together, not only as a cousin but as a business partner. ”
My jaw unhinges from its sockets as more puzzle pieces click into place.
“So … tonight isn’t only his birthday, it’s also the soft launch of La Clandestina. Enjoy the party. Try the tequila. And let’s have fun celebrating my favorite human!”