Epilogue Monroe
WE REALLY DO SHOVE LITTLE KIDS. IT’S GOOD FOR THEM.
The last week before the season was supposed to feel like the calm before the storm.
It didn’t.
My backyard looked like a party store had detonated, scattering shit everywhere. Pink and gold streamers hung from every surface Graciella could reach, which, given that she’d recruited Thatcher to get up on the ladder, was every surface.
There were balloon arches. Plural. Tables draped in glittery tablecloths that caught the afternoon sun and threw light across the grass. And a banner that read Goldie’s Royal Court in hand-painted letters, which were slightly uneven on the right side because Graciella had run out of space.
I’d woken up at two-fifteen to an empty bed and found her cross-legged on the kitchen floor with a paintbrush between her teeth, squinting at the craft paper.
It wasn’t Goldie’s birthday.
It wasn’t anybody’s birthday.
But apparently, Graciella had made a promise back in June, so now twenty-something people were in my backyard, and the scent of carnitas had been hanging in the air since seven, wafting over from where Ricky was tending them at the far end of the yard.
My daughter’s hand was wrapped around the wrist of one of Graciella’s younger cousins, dragging her toward the playhouse. Goldie’s pink tulle dress bounced as she ran, tiara tilted so far to one side it was a miracle it hadn’t hit the grass.
Graciella’s mom had made the dress. Two of them, in fact—one sized for a five-year-old and one sized for the woman currently crouched near a table, fixing the skirt on the tablecloth with one hand and gesturing at Itzel with the other.
I’d been watching her all morning. I couldn’t stop.
She stood, finding my gaze and coming toward me with a plate of food. “You’re staring again.”
I took the plate.
It held four piles of carnitas stacked on tortillas, peppered with cilantro and onions, and topped with a hearty drizzle of a deep red salsa bordering on brown. “You deserve to be stared at.”
“Are you only saying that because I’m feeding you?”
I gave her a sidelong look. “I’m happy to feed you something.”
She whacked my arm, smirking as she took a swig of her Jarrito.
“Your mom’s in there learning how to make salsa de tomatillo from scratch, by the way.” She nodded toward the French doors that stood open. “My mom gave her an apron and a job. I don’t think she’s left the kitchen since she got here.”
I huffed a laugh. Graciella’s family had a way of absorbing people. My mom had shown up forty minutes ago and was already embedded.
“Where’s Ricky?” I asked, seeing he’d left the food behind.
Graciella nodded toward the far side of the yard, where her cousin was crouched near the fence with three of the smaller kids. A lot of pointing. A lot of serious nodding.
“No idea what they’re doing,” she said. “But they’ve been over there for fifteen minutes, so I’m choosing not to investigate.”
“Where do you want this?” Thatcher called out, appearing from the direction of the garage, hauling a castle pinata by a rope. The thing was enormous.
Graciella turned. “Normally we do it from the roof—”
“Absolutely not,” I said.
She stuck her tongue out. “I guess the tree works.” She walked over, directing him toward the big oak at the back corner of the yard.
Goldie spotted it from across the yard before Thatcher had even finished tying it off. She ran, pink dress flying, tiara tipping more with every step.
Graciella crouched down in the grass, catching her by the waist, and twirling her around in a mess of matching pink tulle.
She whispered something in Goldie’s ear, and she stilled, nodding with a stern expression on her little face, which I was just noticing had guacamole caked in the corners of her mouth.
Graciella handed her the stick, swiping at the green stuff once the bandana was tied around Goldie’s eyes. It was like we shared a brain.
The kids lined up, many of them dancing on the tips of their toes as if about to run a race. Thatcher took up his position on the rope. The whole yard hummed with energy.
Ariella appeared at my elbow, a Topo Chico in her hand. “You sure you ready for this?”
I looked at her, brow ticking up. “For a pinata?”
She smirked and held her hands up to her mouth, yelling, “Let’s go, Goldie, ?Pégale duro!”
Goldie swung, catching the edge of the castle’s tower, a glancing blow, and the whole yard erupted.
She pulled off the bandana, beaming, completely unbothered that she hadn’t broken it open.
“Good job, mija,” Graciella’s mom called from the patio.
Goldie ran to her and hugged her knees, then did the same to my mom.
Graciella’s nine-year-old cousin stepped up.
“What are they feeding him?” I asked. He looked like a tank.
A whistle sounded through the air when he swung. All the kids yelled at Thatcher to raise it, but he was too slow, and the castle exploded.
Ariella shook her head. “Amateur. We’re going to have to work on his pinata handling skills because that was garbage.”
I was too shocked to comment.
For a half second, the candy seemed to hang suspended before it rained down, and the yard turned into a war zone.
Thatcher had gone completely still. “What is—”
“Move!” Ariella yelled, laughing, and Thatcher dove to safety.
Elbows flew, shouts of victory and defeat coming from the melee. No one seemed to be safe. Jimenez entered the fray even though he had fifteen years on some of them, taking a foot to the shin while diving for a piece of candy.
I scanned for Goldie. She was not built for this. She was next to Graciella, who pointed her toward Ariella, then turned and went in.
Graciella cut through the chaos, stepping over one kid, shoving one of the older ones, and then she spotted Jimenez reaching for a piece near her foot and jammed an elbow into his ribs without even looking at him.
“Nope,” she said. “Don’t touch my shit, Jimenez.”
She used both arms to shovel candy between her legs, backing up, protecting the pile with her whole body.
I didn’t think I’d ever been more turned on than in that moment.
Within seconds, she was back at Goldie’s side, both hands full, and she deposited the entire haul into Goldie’s open bag.
Goldie stared into the bag, smiling widely. “Dat was cool, Gracie. You beat up Jimenez.”
“Yup. Remember to beat up boys who try to take things from you.”
“What?” Jimenez called out. “I wasn’t even tryin—”
Both girls cut him with a glare, and he held up his hands, a smirk on his face.
Graciella stood up from her crouch.
Her eyes found mine across the grass, sending me a wink before Goldie tugged her toward the playhouse. She let herself be pulled, glancing back over her shoulder at me once and blowing a kiss.
“Oh my god, you’re so pathetically in love,” Ariella said, reappearing at my elbow. “Did you really just catch the kiss she blew you?”
I smirked, knowing damn well that Thatcher was just as bad as I was. “Last time I didn’t catch the kiss she blew me, she told me she wasn’t blowing anything anymore. So I’ll catch every fuckin’ one of ’em. I’d jump to catch it if I needed to.”
She rolled her eyes, but her smile spread from ear to ear. “I haven’t seen her this happy in a long time, but she always is around you.”
“And I’m only happy around her.”
The sun dropped, turning the yard a golden hue, dim enough to see the string lights that had kicked on.
I moved toward the outdoor sectional, looking down to find Goldie’s head in Graciella’s lap. Her tiara had finally lost the battle and was strewn on a cushion beside her, one little hand still loosely gripping her candy bag, even in sleep.
“She went down about ten minutes ago,” Graciella said, keeping her voice low and stroking Goldie’s blonde strands. “I didn’t want to move her to bed yet.”
“She’s fine.”
I sat down beside them, close enough that my thigh pressed against hers, and laid my arm across the back of the couch. My fingers found the ends of her hair without thinking about it.
God, she was beautiful.
The way the light caught the side of her face, the way she was looking down at Goldie, had my heart aching.
It was soft. Unguarded.
Full of love.
A few people still moved through the kitchen and the sounds floated out to the patio. The low murmur of voices, someone laughing, the scrape of a dish. My mom and Graciella’s mom were at the sink, hand washing the pile of dishes I’d told them twice I would handle.
Everyone was talking with their whole bodies. Hands moving, heads tilting. My mom nodded along even though I was pretty sure she only caught half of it.
“Your mom’s a fast learner,” Graciella said, following my gaze.
“She told me she’s meeting up with yours soon.” I pulled a loose strand of her hair, gently, until she looked at me. “She’s teaching her to make something called—” I tried to remember how to pronounce it. “Albóndigas?”
Graciella laughed, her shoulders shaking as she tried to keep quiet. “That was…something.”
“Close?”
She shook her head, lips twisted to hold in her laugh. She glanced back toward where our moms stood.
“She asked how much salt she’s supposed to add for the tomatillo, and I told her I just feel how much salt I think is good, and go with that. She looked at me like I’d said something wild.”
“You did.” I smirked, knowing exactly what she was talking about because I’d watched her do it. She’d cup her hand, pour salt into the middle, twist her lip, and cock her head as if listening for something before finally adding it in.
“It is a feeling.” She looked down at Goldie, adjusting her hand slightly. “Think she had fun today?”
“You mean for the party you threw her for no reason?”
She clucked her tongue. “She asked me for a princess party. What was I supposed to do?”
“Say it’s a lot of work and to wait for her birthday.”
She made a tisking noise with her tongue. “Not that much work.”
I shot her a look. “You were on the kitchen floor at two in the morning.”
“I lost track of time.” She tipped her head against my shoulder, voice dropping. “I liked doing it. I like—” She paused, her fingers stilling in Goldie’s hair for a second before continuing. “I like that she asked me.”
I pressed my mouth to her temple.
“She’ll probably ask you for a lot more now that she knows you’ll do it,” I said.
“I know.” Her voice was quiet. “I want her to. Want her to trust me.” Graciella turned her face toward me. “Like you do.”
I kissed her, slow and unhurried. Her hand found the front of my shirt without looking, fingers curling into the fabric.
I pulled back just enough to see her.
“I love you,” I said. I told her those three words at every opportunity, never wanting her to doubt what she meant to me.
She looked up at me, a soft curve at the corner of her mouth. “I love you, too.” She turned back toward Goldie, smoothing a strand of hair off her cheek. “Even if you can’t pronounce albóndigas.”
I scoffed. “I was close.”
“Not even,” she teased.
I pressed my mouth to her temple again, and she leaned into it, her whole body settling into my side.
The string lights buzzed softly overhead, and I leaned down to whisper in her ear. “You’re still wearing the dress…”
I let the rest of what I wanted to say hang between us.
She pulled back, eyes shining with those little flames. “And if you want that to change, you’d better go put her in her bed.” She nodded toward the kitchen. “And then start saying goodbye to everyone. Because with this family, the goodbye process is like an hour-long event…minimum.”
I shot out of my seat and scooped Goldie up, already halfway to her room.
“Hurry up, Princess Graciella. I want you in our bed before midnight rolls around.”
Her laugh tinkled through the air, warming that spot behind my ribcage I used to think was meant to be a block of ice forever.
And now it’d never be that again.