Page 61 of Hate That Blooms
I don’t have time to wonder too long, though. Gabriela starts to grab the items she was shopping for, trying to make it through the store while I hold Mireya, who’s finally starting to drift off in my arms. I pull my own cart with my groceries behind me.
I move slowly, trying not to wake her. She glances back at me every so often, like she can’t quite decide if she wants to talk or just get through the shopping trip and get the hell out of there.
But then we reach the checkout.
I look down at the cart, at the food she’s about to pay for, and something clicks. It’s a small gesture, but it feels like something I can do, something that might make a difference in the middle of this weird, awkward reunion.
I pull my wallet out, step forward, and hand my card to the cashier before she can even reach for her own wallet. She freezes so I ask the cashier, “Can you scan the rest of the stuff too, please?” The cashier nods, scanning my groceries and bagging them.
“Joaquín,” she starts, but I shake my head before she can say anything else. “Stop, you don’t…”
“I’ve got this,Reina.”
She’s quiet for a moment, then she just nods, looking at me with this look in her eyes. It’s like a mixture of surprise, confusion, and... maybe even something else.
Love.
Don’t get ahead of yourself, Joaquín.
I can still hope.
The cashier finishes the transaction, and I grab the bags. Gabby’s still silent, but she doesn’t try to stop me—she doesn’t pull her wallet out. She just watches me as I load everything into the cart. Her eyes follow as I motion for her to take the cart and head out.
When we reach the car, I help her get Mireya in the backseat, the little girl’s tiny body limp with sleep. As I close the door softly, I turn to Gabby, who’s standing there with her arms crossed, her face tight. She’s still exhausted, but there’s a look on her face—like she’s carrying more than she can handle, more than just the stress of a shopping trip.
I stand there for a moment, waiting for her to say something. When she doesn’t, I finally speak.
“What do you need,Reina?” I ask, my voice steady. “Tell me what you need, and I’ll do it. Whatever it is, just tell me.”
She stares at me for a long time. Her eyes flicker from my face to the car and back again. There’s hesitation there, but there’s something else too. Something raw, something real.
“I need you to let go of what your mom did,” she says quietly. Her voice cracks, but she doesn’t look away. “I need you to move on, Joaquín. Let it go so you can finally heal. ”
Her words hit me like a punch to the gut. I’ve been holding onto so much anger for so long, anger toward my mom for leaving and for choosing Gabriela's dad over me. But hearing her say it... hearing her put it out there like that... it hits me harder than I expect.
I don’t know what to say at first. For a second, I wonder if she’s right. I’ve been running in circles, doing everything I can to escape my past, but maybe that’s the problem. Maybe I’m not moving forward because I’m still so tangled up mentally in the things I can’t control.
“I don’t know if I can,” I finally say. My voice is quiet now, unsure. “I don’t know if I can forgive her, Gabriela. It’s... hard.”
She nods but doesn’t say anything else. She doesn’t try to make me feel guilty or push me to do it. Letting it hang in the air between us.
“I know,” she says softly, almost to herself. “But you have to try. For you. Not for anyone else. Just... for you.”
I stand there for a moment, the weight of her words sinking in. It’s strange. I never thought I’d hear something like that from her—not after everything that’s happened between us. Everything that happened to her with her own parents. But there it is.
Simple and honest.
I look at her, and I think I might actually understand.
“Okay,” I say, my voice steady.
Chapter39
Joaquín
Isit in my truck, staring at the messages I’ve sent to Gabriela. It’s been a few days since the encounter at the store, and I’ve spent the time since wrestling with something I’ve been avoiding. Her words still echo in my head: “You have to try... for you.”
I don’t know if I’m ready to let go of the anger I’ve carried with me for so long, but I do know one thing—I can’t keep pretending that it’s not eating me alive. I can’t keep going through life clinging to the resentment I feel toward my mom. It’s like a weight I’ve been carrying in my chest, and the longer I hold on to it, the harder it is to breathe.
