“I’m here,” I murmur, but my voice is small.
“What’s with that look? Are you okay? You’re not sick, are you?”
I give a shaky jerk of my head and force my smile—which had slipped in my sudden burst of panic—back into place. I don’t want to talk about my dad right now. Or my future at Hallazgo. One, because I may lose my cool and I don’t want to drag my abuelainto my mess, and two, because I can’t be one hundred percent sure she won’t take his side. Thisisthe company her darling deceased husband built from nothing that we’re talking about, and while my abuela might love and adore me, if she had to choose…well, I can’t say with absolute certainty that she’d choose me.
“I’m just fine. Don’t you worry about me,” I assure her, searching my brain for a change in subject. “How’s Xolo doing? Can I see him?”
Xolo, my abuela’sdog, is a Xoloitzcuintli—a Mexican hairless dog—and he is quite possibly the coolest fucking thing in the world. He looks intimidating as shit, like he could guard the gates of Hell, but in reality, he’s a huge softie, who lives for belly rubs and treats.
I blink at my abuela, waiting for her to call for Xolo, but she just stares at me, looking unconvinced.
“Hm,” she grunts after a moment. “Fighting with your father again, I take it?”
Welp. So much for avoidingthattopic.
“Sooo, does this mean Ican’tsee Xolo?” I ask, but my grandmother, ever the bullshit detector, just lifts her brow again.
“Damian.” Unlike my father, she doesn’t have to raise her voice to get my attention. Just from her tone, I know she means business.
For half a second, I consider ending the call if it will allow me to escape this conversation. But I can’t do that to her—not because I love her, and she’s the sweetest person in the world, but because if I do, there’s the very real possibility she’ll fly here just to whoop my ass for being disrespectful.
Man, this weekend blows.
I scoff. “I’m surprised you can’t hear his disdain for me from all the way in Mexico.”
My abuela flinches at my tone, and her face immediately softens. “You don’t mean that, mi nieto.”
Oh, but I do.
“Hey, maybe I’ll move down to you once I graduate. That would be nice, wouldn’t it?” My mission: distract her with the idea of seeing her only grandchild more often—every grandparent’s dream. Although, at this rate, it’s more of a reality than a dream since I’ll probablyhaveto move in with her as I won’t have anywhere else to go. “Then you could see me every day.”
She clicks her tongue. “Don’t even joke about such a thing. Le vas a romper el corazón a tu abuela.”
I press a hand to my chest, feigning offense. “How dare you. I would never break your heart, abuelita.”
Her responding sigh makes my stomach flip. Oh, boy. I amnotgoing to like what she says next.
“My door is always open to you, mi amor. You know that. But this rift with your father…” She gestures to the space just in front of the camera as if the rift in question is a physical thing we can see. “You need to fix it. Whatever the issue is now, maybe try seeing it from his perspective.”
My lips press into a scowl, and in a sulking tone, I snap, “What aboutmyperspective?”
She gives me a sad, pitying look. “He knows, Damian. He knows you’re hurting. We all do. But at some point…necesitas seguir adelante.”
You need to move on.
She’s not wrong. I know it’s not healthy to hold onto the past the way I’ve clung to it the last four years. But how do you move on when letting go means forgiving something I don’t have it in me to forgive?
How do you move on when letting go is so fucking painful?
“Yeah,” I mutter, lowering my eyes, unsure what else to say.
“Are you still coming to visit for Día de los Muertos?” she asks in a gentle voice after a long moment has passed.
I meet her gaze again and nod. “Of course, abuelita. I wouldn’t miss it.”
And then, because she knows me well enough to sense I need some space, she says, “Good. I’ll see you then, mi chiquito. Te amo.” She waves and blows me a kiss, and I blow one back with a tender smile.
“I love you, too. See you soon.”
