Page 122 of A Lot Like Adiós
“I’ll show you some exercises to keep improving it,” Gabe said. “And I’ll get you some massage balls, a mat, and a foam roller.”
His dad side-eyed him. “¿Massage qué?”
Gabe stifled a laugh. “They’re like tennis balls,” he said. “You roll your muscles on them.”
“Hmm.” Esteban still looked skeptical, but he got to his feet. Then, to Gabe’s utter shock, he gave him a hug and said, “Gracias, mijo.”
Unlike the apology, the thanks was like a blast of warmth through Gabe’s chest. Was this what he’d been waiting for all this time? To feel like his dad valued him? Appreciated him for who he was?
Maybe Esteban hadn’t known how to show it. And maybe Gabe had been too wrapped up in his own fears of inadequacy and powerlessness to see the signs clearly.
“No problem, Pop.”
Esteban put his shirt back on, a little more easily than he’d taken it off.
Gabe packed up the table and put it away. When he went back to the kitchen, his father was pouring wine into glasses while his mother plated the food. Gabe helped her carry everything to the table. She’d cooked up a mouthwatering chicken and vegetables dish from whatever had been in the fridge. But there was something familiar about the smell...
Gabe glanced back at the counter and spotted an easily recognizable container.
“Mami, did you bring that adobo three thousand miles to California?”
“I knew you wouldn’t have it,” Norma said defensively. “Now, vamos a comer.”
They all sat down and dug in.
Gabe was only halfway through his first glass of wine when his father set down his fork and steepled his fingers. “We have more to catch up on,” he said. “Where do you want to start?”
Once, Gabe would have reacted defensively to the question, viewing it as a command. Now, he just set down his own fork and washed down the chicken with some wine. “Let’s start with the gym.”
He started at the beginning, telling the story mostly in Spanish, so his father could catch all the nuance, but switching to English when he didn’t know how to translate a word or phrase.
His mother wanted to know more about Agility, so Gabe pulled out his phone and showed her the website and Instagram account. She scrolled through the feed, exclaiming over the décor and the photos of Gabe, but Gabe felt his father’s watchful gaze on him.
“¿Y qué es el problema?” Esteban cut in. His arms were crossed over his chest in a pose Gabe knew well. He was in for an inquisition, although it didn’t scare him like it once would have.
“Why do you think there’s a problem?” Norma asked in alarm, looking up from the phone.
Esteban gestured toward Gabe with his chin. “Míralo.”
Norma looked at Gabe. Her mouth pinched in sympathy. “Sí, yo lo veo.”
Gabe fought the urge to touch his face or look in a mirror. What? What did they see?
Then he remembered the state of his hair and overgrown beard, and what his apartment had looked like when they’d arrived. It was pretty clear what they saw.
“Dime qué está pasando,” his father said, getting right to the point. “¿Qué fue la emergencia?”
No more beating around the bush. “I sold it,” Gabe blurted out. And he braced himself, for their disappointment, for the feeling of failure and disgrace.
Except it didn’t come.
“Okay.” Esteban nodded. “¿Por qué?”
His tone was reasonable. He was just asking why. But with the wisdom of age, Gabe knew that this simple question would have thrown him into a tailspin when he was younger. He would have gotten defensive, feeling like his dad was accusing him of something. Now, though, he could see that Esteban was just asking for more details.
So he gave them.
“It has to do with the real reason why I was in New York,” he began.
