Page 117 of A Lot Like Adiós
And then he’d set out to write the final chapters ofCelestial Destiny.
Back in the day, he and Michelle had discussed how it would end, and he still had some notes from their chats. But after reading over everything, he had a few new ideas that eighteen-year-old Gabe never could have dreamed of.
Teenage Gabe had felt like the whole world, or at least his parents, was against him. That he’d had to fight alone to get what he wanted. That he had to cut out the naysayers before they drowned him in doubt.
He hadn’t seen that he’d internalized that doubt and made it his own, carrying it with him wherever he went, allowing it to run his life.
And wasn’t that a kick in the ass.
Wasn’t it time he startedreallybelieving in himself?
The sound of someone knocking on his door pulled Gabe from his reverie. He looked around like he was coming out of a trance. There were mugs on his desk, dishes on the coffee table, and a pile of running sneakers in a heap by the front door. His usually spotless apartment was, by his standards, a mess. Andsince he’d been home, he’d postponed the cleaning service that stopped by once a week.
The knocking continued. Who the hell could it be? It was—he glanced at his laptop screen—three in the afternoon on a Wednesday. And his apartment had a buzzer.
“Who is it?” Gabe yelled.
“You need to sign for a package,” a muffled voice said from the hallway.
Oh for—fine.Gabe couldn’t even imagine what he’d ordered, but the last few days had been a blur.
“Be right there,” he called.
Grumbling, Gabe gulped down the last of the cold coffee in his most recent mug—the caffeine habit was back in full swing—and swiped a hand through his hair. He hadn’t styled it, so his loose curl pattern was unrestrained, and he hadn’t trimmed his beard since—shit, since he’d returned from the Bronx.
He was wearing only a pair of basketball shorts, so he grabbed a tank top from the arm of the couch and threw it on, shuffling to the door in his socks and chanclas.
He swung the door open and froze.
His parents beamed at him from the hallway.
“Surprise!” his mother yelled, throwing up her arms.
“Yeah.” Gabe blinked at them. He was sure the hell surprised. “Uh, come on in.”
His mom took his face in her hands and kissed his cheek, then wrinkled her nose. “Gabriel, ¿qué pasó?”
His father gave him a one-armed hug on the way in. “¿Estabas durmiendo?” he asked.
“No, I wasn’t sleeping, I was”—Writing fanfiction—“working. On my computer.”
He closed the door behind them and watched in a speechless stupor as his mother parked her suitcase by the entrance to the kitchen, then walked around picking up dirty dishes. She tsked and muttered, “Qué sucio,” when she saw all the cups on his desk.
Gabe hunched his shoulders. It was the kind of thing that would’ve gotten him grounded as a kid.
“What... what are you two doing here?” he asked, since neither of them had explained why they were in California—in hisapartment—yet.
“We came to visit you,” his father said, as if it were a perfectly obvious and natural thing for them to do. “We have things to talk about, and you were taking too long.”
“How—”
“Nikki gave us your address, and your friend Fabian picked us up at the airport. He gave us keys to the building, but we didn’t want to just barge in.” His mother gave the pile of plates in her hand a meaningful look, while completely ignoring the fact that theyhadbarged in, while also pretending to be a delivery person.
“¿Dónde está el baño?” his father asked, and Gabe pointed down the hall, then winced when he remembered the three days’ worth of running clothes on the floor by the shower.
“My apartment is usually very clean,” Gabe told his mother, following her around and picking up the other odds and ends that had gotten out of place. “I’ve just been... busy.”
“With the gym emergency?” she asked, loading the dishwasher.
