Page 184 of Break Point
“Do you really have to ask at this point?” Belén says with a laugh, standing to grab plates and a knife. It’s become one of her favorite desserts.
I watch them eat while contemplating a second slice, but I’m too restless. My foot’s tapping. Belén’s about to notice.
So I stand.
I carry my plate to the sink and start doing the dishes, anything to stop the anxiety buzzing in my chest.
“You guys want to go out for a ride?” I ask casually, not bothering to look at their reaction.
“A ride?” Belén replies, suspicious and teasing. I can picture the raised brow.
“Where to?” Mom says, half-excited, half-suspicious.
“Just around the neighborhood,” I shrug, failing to come up with a better answer.
“Okay,” Belén says.
“Leave those,” Mom chides, bringing more dishes over. “I’ll do them later.”
“I’m almost done.”
I rush, and then the three of us head out.
“Okay, so where are we going?” Mom says, buckling in the backseat of my car. “Do you know anything about this?”
“I was about to ask,” Belén says. “But Henry’s not so subtle.”
I laugh. They’re not wrong.
We drive past the Freeman residence.
“Are we going to my parents’?” Belén frowns.
“We aren’t.”
Two blocks later, Belén takes the bait.
“Oh, my gosh!” she gasps. “Stop, stop, stop!”
I park in front of the big red FOR SALE sign stuck to the front yard of my old parents’ house.
Mom sighs and clicks her tongue. “My friends said that house has been passed down more times than the White House.”
Of course she’d make a joke. It’s how she processes.
I get out, pull the dangling plaque off the wooden sign, and turn back. Belén’s wide-eyed as I knock on my mom’s window, asking her to stepout. She does. Belén follows quickly, fumbling with her seatbelt like she’s afraid to miss the show.
“What are you doing?” Mom asks, voice shaky.
She knows. She just doesn’t want to believe it.
Hurrying, I dig up the key from my pocket and hand it over to her.
“What’s going on, Henry Mitchell?” Mom’s voice rises a few octaves. Belén gasps in the background.
“This place has always been home,” I say. “And now it’s yours again.”
Mom cries out and covers her mouth, overwhelmed with joy, shock, and something deeper.
