Page 103 of A Lot Like Adiós
But Gabe had told his parents he would be there, and he couldn’t bring himself to bail on them.
Hefting his suitcase and laptop bag, he went downstairs and out the Amatos’ back door. He didn’t see Michelle on his way out, and ignored the sense of unease that came from already missing her. Outside, he crossed the backyards—now connected through a gap in the lattice fence—and strode up to his mother’s kitchen door. As Gabe let himself in, a knot formed in his stomach at how much it felt like the old days when he was a kid running back and forth between the two houses.
This wasn’t even his house anymore. He probably should have knocked. But his mother looked up from the sink and greeted him with a big smile, so he knew it was okay.
The kitchen was warm, and Gabe was immediately hit with a sweet, familiar smell. He sniffed the air as childhood memories assaulted him, and his mouth watered. “Mami, are you making pan dulce?”
“Sí. I made mini conchas. You used to love them.” After Gabe dutifully kissed her cheek, she flipped back the towel covering a basket full of the round pastries.
Damn, Gabe hadn’t had a concha in years. The Mexican sweet bread had been a staple of his childhood, but despite living in Los Angeles all this time, he hadn’t found himself frequenting any Mexican bakeries. Not when he so closely monitored his sugar intake. Gabe inhaled deeply, the smell of pan dulce easing some of his stress. It was hard to feel like theworld was ending when you were surrounded by fresh-baked goods.
“Toma uno,” his mom prompted, so Gabe picked one out of the basket and took a bite.
“Ay dios mío,” he mumbled as sweetness exploded on his tongue. It was just as delicious as he remembered, although sweeter than he was used to now.
“¿Te gusta?” his mother asked.
“Sí, Mami. Está perfecto.”
She gestured toward a tray with three bowl-size mugs of café con leche. Gabe lifted one and washed the bite of concha down with the sweet, milky coffee.
Gabe heard footsteps on the stairs and a moment later his father entered the kitchen. To Gabe’s surprise, his father hugged him before reaching over and snagging a concha from the basket.
“Should we sit in the living room?” Norma asked, but Gabe shook his head.
“I can’t stay,” he admitted, and he didn’t miss the way his father’s mouth tightened. “There’s an emergency at the gym and I have to fix it.”
His mother knotted her hands together. “When will you come back?”
“I—I don’t know how long it will take.” He’d been about to sayI don’t know, but he couldn’t do that to them again.
For all these years, he’d thought this door was closed. But it was open again. Or maybe it always had been, and he’d just refused to walk through.
His mother nodded, like that would have to be good enough.
“We still have things to talk about,” his father said mildly.
“I know. We will.”
It was the best he could give them right now.
“Pues, hasta luego.” Esteban clapped him on the shoulder. “See you next time.”
Therewouldbe a next time. Gabe didn’t know when, but the answer wasn’t “never” like it had been just a week earlier. For now, he had to close another chapter of his life before he could even think about starting a new one.
“You should give some of the conchas to Michelle’s family,” Gabe suggested as his mother packed one for him in a plastic container.
“Aren’t you going back over there?” she asked.
“No, I—”Can’t.“I’m not.”
Esteban eyed him warily but said nothing. Norma glanced at the suitcase by the kitchen door. “Oh. Sí, I’ll bring them over. Don’t miss your flight.”
“Do you want me to drive you?” Esteban asked, but Gabe shook his head quickly. After what had just happened with Michelle, he couldn’t take another drawn-out and emotionally wrenching goodbye with someone he had years’ worth of baggage with.
“Está bien. I’ll take a cab.”
Gabe kissed his mother goodbye, gave his dad a quick hug, and went out to the sidewalk to secure a rideshare to take him to the airport.
