“A man ran into me then during the fall, I knocked my head into a metal street sign pole. I ended up falling into another man’s arms, and he helped me home.”
“Hmm. I bet he was just trying to get into your pants,” she speculates.
“Okay, Grouchy Gracie. He was a nice guy. I think he just likes helping people,” I defend Roman.
“Sure,” she says sarcastically with an eye roll. “Okay, what do we need to do? Do I need to get you anything from the store? I’m going to look it up.”
She starts searching through her phone, I assume researching minor concussions.
“He said I need to stay away from screens for a bit. I’ll call in sick for tomorrow and Friday. I also shouldn’t move much.”
“Is he a doctor?” she questions.
“No,” I mumble.
“Yeah, in that case, no, I’m not just going to listen blindly to him. I’m going to do my own research,” she huffs then plants herself on a chair.
After about fifteen minutes of searching through her phone, she finally looks up at me.
“I’m also not going to just accept that you have a concussion. We’re going to run some tests. Follow my finger,” she orders.
“He already did the tests on me,” I try to explain, even knowing it’s fruitless. She’s more stubborn than a mule.
“I don’t care. I don’t trust some stranger off the street. Now, follow my finger.”
I do as she says, and she nods in approval. We work our way through more tests including some I already did.
It takes about fifteen more minutes of repeated test for her to draw the same conclusion. “Yep, you have a minor concussion.”
“Thank you, Gracie,” I say teasingly. “Might I also add, out of the three of us, I’m the only one with medical experience. And I can also deduce that I have a minor concussion.”
“The three of us? The three of us!” She huffs in exasperation. “There is nothreeof us! There’stwoof us. Only the two of us. Some slimy creep off the streets isn’t one of us.God, I can’t believe some stranger knows where we live. What if he comes back and tries to attack us?”
“It’s fine. I doubt I’ll ever see him again. Boston’s a big city.” I try to keep the disappointment out of my voice. I know he gave me his number, but I won’t bother him. I’ve already burdened him enough.
Gracie breaks me from my pity party. “Okay, you need to rest physically. No yoga for a couple days. The change in head position won’t do you well. No screens. Drink lots of water. And eat healthily.” She pauses then shoots up. “Wait, do we have any of your Columbian soup? It’s so good.”
Caldo de Pollo is a classic Colombian soup. It’s a comfort meal and extremely nourishing. Abuela used to make it when we were sick, and she taught me how to cook it as a young girl.
Papá is Colombian. His mom, my Abuela, lives with my parents, so she taught me a lot of Columbian traditions growing up, including how to cook many traditional dishes.
Mamá is Ecuadorian. She raised me to live slowly and prioritize inner peace, gratitude, and patience. We used to wake up early to do yoga together in the mornings. She gardens and grows her own herbs. One day when I have a home, I want a garden just like hers.
It was important to my parents to carry on their cultures and traditions through my sisters and me. I’m grateful they kept me in touch with my roots, and I love sharing my culture with my friends. And they, especially Gracie, love to eat it.
“Yes, we have a few quarts of caldo de pollo in the freezer. We can put one in the sink in some water, so it’ll defrost in time for dinner, and we can warm it on the stove. We have avocados to serve in it, but we’ll need to make some rice.” I start to stand up to do just that but wince.
“Sit down! I’ve got it,” she scolds me and heads to the freezer.
For the rest of the day, she pampers me.
All the while, a certain gentle giant with buzzed hair and sharp features consumes my mind.
Chapter 7
Roman
With a last swipe of lemon on my hands, the rest of the blood disappears.
