Page 21 of Outspoken

I leave my arms crossed, refusing to budge. “I don't believe in a greater plan. You're saying yours is going through this? How is that the plan? For you to suffer?”

She taps her temple with her finger. “Suffering is in the mind,” she says, glancing at the mantle. “I don't suffer. I pray to Lupe and she blesses me with so much love. Your greater plan involves your life, but it's not only about you. I'm blessed with these final years to give my son company and remind him to appreciate what he has and find joy in every moment.” She squeezes my hand gently. “I want you happy, mi cielito. Don't pout about the wife and children you think you should have. Calm down.”

I squeeze her hand back. “I’ll stop pouting. I’ve decided to give up the search, anyway.”

“What about your love? She still have the jacket I made you?”

My head flops back onto the couch. I had finally gotten Amber off my mind for the day, but now thoughts of her are right back on the surface. “Yeah,” I say blandly. “And she’s not my love. I’m still blocked.”

Mom nods with satisfaction. “She’s meant to have it, so you let her keep it.”

“I wasn’t trying to get it back.” I like the idea of her wearing it too much. Yet, she still needs to hear the story of how we met. If we ever see each other again, I’ll pick a better time to tell her.

I roll my head to the side to look at Mom. “Let’s not talk about this. I’m not searching for love now. What’s important is spending time with you.”

Mom tenses her papery mouth. “Mmm, don’t give up too much. I won’t be here forever.”

“You better.”

She laughs. “I’ll do my best just for you.”

“Well, why don't you sleep?” I stand so she can stretch out on the couch.

Instead of laying down, she opens a small drawer in the coffee table and pulls out a tall red candle in a glass jar. She thrusts it at me. “Light this and pray for help.”

The glass has an image of a skeleton lady veiled in a cloak, with 'Holy Death' written at the bottom under the skeleton lady’s name.

I laugh. “Santa Muerte? What are you trying to do to me?”

Mom lets out an exasperated sigh before slowly getting up. When I try to stop her, she pushes my hand away, grabbing the candle. Carefully, she shuffles her brittle bones to the mantle, grabbing a small box of matches. She lights the candle, setting it carefully near the image of Guadalupe on the altar.

“Santa Muerte will ease your worries,” she says, gazing lovingly at the candle. “She will help you see what you cannot. Keep this lit for seven days, and I want you to pray to her about your tired heart.” She turns to stare me down with fiery eyes and points her finger. “Do not argue with me, Miguel Reynolds Cuevas.”

I swallow, my body tensing.She’s scary sometimes.“Sí, Mamá. Will you rest now?”

She yawns as she returns to the couch. When I reach for her empty plate and tea bottle, she places a gentle hand on my wrist. “Stop fighting, mijo,” she says. “Surrender and trust.”

I kiss her forehead. “I'll check on you in a bit.” I tuck the blue heating blanket around her and then walk to the kitchen.

Faith, surrender, the greater plan—Mom has spoken about those my entire life. If there is a greater plan, I’d know it by now. My life is on a plateau, and it has been for years. What kind of plan is that?

But Mom is right about one thing—it's time to surrender and accept my fate as a single man. No more hope of marriage and a family. Time to make a home on this plateau as a lifelong bachelor until Santa Muerte comes with her Holy Death.

Chapter Six

Amber

“ONE LAST TRY BECAUSE I’M not giving up yet,” I tell Paige, who is bouncing on her toes, fingers crossed, near the end of my bed.

I'm staring at the mirrored sliding doors of my closet. I suck in my stomach as much as is womanly possible and hold my breath, trying to will the zipper of my jeans to budge. I pinch the little metal tag tighter until my fingers throb. My thumb slips and a nail that I had finally grown back snaps.

I exhale with a growl and relax my body, saying, “Okay, I give up.”

Paige's plump bottom lip sticks out in a pout as she taps her phone. Since she’s non-speaking, the phone voices her words in an upbeat, feminine Western American accent.

I glance at the colorful tie-dye yoga pants hugging Paige's toned figure. She has always been slim since she dances so much—sometimes all day—but in the past two months, she has developed an interest in working out with Brody. Her muscles have been tightening up, and I'm jelly. But also, I hate exercise, so…

Sighing, I flop down on my bed, sinking into the soft white comforter that Paige found me at a thrift store. She offered to find me some colorful decor for my boring, bland room, but I’m okay with boring and bland right now. I like my bare walls and the minimal furniture—just a basic bed, nightstand, dresser, and a small TV.

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