Page 16 of A Dish Best Served Hot

“Did you at least talk to your teacher?”

“No.” This was said in the same tone as one would say,Have you lost your damn mind?

“Why not?”

Rosie decided a change of subject was in order. “Guess what.” She didn’t wait. “Tío Leo made me a cocktail!”

Saint noticed a ring of something sticky around her lips and her breath smelled like cherries. He looked to the bar where his youngest brother was making a drink for a customer. Leo thought it was hilarious to pump Rosie full of Shirley Temples and then send her home with a sugar high that Saint had to deal with. He looked back at his daughter and saw there was already a familiar manic light in her green-blue eyes. Rosie loved to feel like a grown-up as she sat at the bar chugging hercocktails. “You’re cut off now,” he told her as he started to carry her back to the bar. “And hand over the keys to your car.”

Rosie giggled. “I don’t have a car.”

“Oh good. Then I don’t have to worry about you driving under the influence.” He plopped her back onto her stool and her high ponytail of light brown ringlets bounced while the large leopard-print bow he’d put in her hair that morning flopped. He looked up at his brother. “No more kiddie cocktails.”

“But why? She handles her ginger ale like a champ. She can drink us all under the table when it comes to shots of grenadine.” Leo’s pale green eyes—the ones he’d inherited from Abuelo Papo, were full of his ever-present mirth. Saint sometimes wondered if there was anything his little brother didn’t find humor in. It seemed like the only thing he took seriously was his day job as a firefighter, but Saint had his suspicions about that too.

“Then you can try to put her to bed later,” he told him.

“Ooh.” Leo made a faux grimace and sucked his teeth. “I would, but unfortunately I’m here till close.”

Saint’s look let his brother know exactly what he thought about that. “At least get something to wipe her face.”

The swinging doors that led to the kitchen flew open and his sister stepped out of the kitchen followed closely by their parents. It was clear that they were all annoyed.

Kamilah made a straight beeline to him. “Can you kindly remind your parents that they don’t run El Coquí anymore?”

His father looked to him too. “Tell your sister that we know that, but we do know things about running a restaurant, and she could benefit from listening to us.”

Mami shook her head, her light brown hair with blond highlights brushing against Papi’s shoulder. “Déjala, Santos. Ya sabes que no hay peor sordo que el que no quiere oír.”

“That’s ableist,” Kamilah said to their mother even though it was a waste of breath.

Saint doubted his mother knew whatableistmeant much less how a saying comparing not listening to being deaf would be offensive. She certainly wouldn’t listen to any criticism at the moment. He would bring it up later. “Bendiciones, Mami,” he said instead. He leaned down to give his mother a kiss on the cheek.

As expected, she was immediately distracted from the argument. “Hola, mi vida.” She gave him a kiss on the cheek and then lifted her hands to cup his face in between her palms. She eyed him carefully with her light brown eyes. “You look tired. Are you still not sleeping? You need to stop stressing out so much. El estrés mata.”

Unlike his sister, Saint knew better than to argue with his mother. “Sí, Mami.” Then he turned to his dad, Santiago Vega Senior. “Hola, Papi.” They embraced briefly and gave each other a pound on the back.

His dad also eyed him, but unlike Mami he said nothing. Everyone always said how alike Saint and his father were in looks and temperament, but Saint thought his dad had way more patience than he did. Sure, Saint had led soldiers in war, but his father had raised five rowdy kids, expertly cared for his easily excitable wife, and ran a successful business for over thirty years. That was bravery and competency on a whole other level.

“Wela, Welo,” Rosie called, effectively distracting both of them from their argument with Kamilah and their examination of Saint. “Look what Tío Leo got me.” She held up aBeauty and the Beastcoloring book and a pack of colored pencils.

“Que lindo,” Mami said, making her way over to see.

Papi followed.

“Welo, help me color the one of Belle and the Beast dancing.” She passed him a brown-colored pencil and tapped on the Beast. Then she patted the empty stool next to her with her little hand.

His father sat. Because much like her father and grandfather, Rosie’s commands were typically followed without question.

Saint frowned at the coloring book in suspicion. His brother was not one to think ahead so he doubted he’d already had it with him when he’d picked Rosie up from school. “When did Tío get you that?”

Without looking up from the close eye she kept on Papi’s progress, she answered, “When we went to the store.”

“You went to the store?”

“Uh-huh. After we went to Starbucks.”

“You went to Starbucks?”

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