The funeral mass was yesterday. He’d been forced to listen to eulogies about the man everyone thought his father was. Beto Vasquez was a business leader. A compassionate philanthropist. But Nathan knew that he also loved old cars. He made homemade marshmallows for hot chocolate, and only used cocoa from Oaxaca, because, as he put it, “We’re not animals, mijo.”
“Yesterday was hard,” Nathan said. “Long. Mom was pretty out of it by the end.”
“I wanted to be there.”
“I’m glad you weren’t.”
She nodded. “You’re right. It would have been a distraction.”
“That’s not what I meant. It’s just that people are terrible. I could hear them talking about us during the service.” He took a deep breath. “Before the gala, I couldn’t handle us not being together. I don’t even remember sending you that portrait. It was reckless and selfish, and I’m so sorry.”
“Please don’t be,” she said. “I wasn’t angry when I saw it. I thought it was gorgeous.” She paused and slipped away for a moment, remembering. “You made me look beautiful,” she said, so hushed and intimate that it shrank the parking lot, the town, the whole world down to the distance between them.
He wasn’t angry with her anymore. Clinging to pride in a sea of grief was just a faster way to drown. He wanted to explain that he finally understood her choices, but being this close made it hard to say anything that wasn’t a confession. You’re always beautiful. You also broke my heart and it’s useless without you.
Instead, he asked, “Why are you here?”
She walked up the steps and sat on the cement landing. “To listen.” She patted the spot to her right. He wanted to invite her upstairs but was embarrassed by the state of his apartment. She’d probably start cleaning and offer to cook for him. And he’d let her do it. That’s how weak he was. He’d take anything from her right now, including pity.
Nathan sat and started confessing the shameful truths he hadn’t told anyone. Selfish things, like how he resented his father for refusing chemo and keeping his symptoms a secret. “I blame him,” he said. “He was stubborn his whole life and he died that way. None of us got to say goodbye.” He shook his head. “Or maybe they did. Mom and Joe were saying goodbye this whole time, while I was pretending I didn’t need to. Now all I can think about is how he never saw it. That’s selfish, right? My father’s dead and all I care about is that he missed my fucking show.”
“It’s not selfish. He lost that too. You all did. That’s what hurts the most when someone’s gone.” She grabbed his hand. “And you’ll want to keep clinging to that hurt because it feels like all you have left. Eventually you’ll realize that you have better things to hold on to, and you’ll cling to that instead.”
He thought about what Beto had said to him, that Nathan was a moving target he could never pin down. “We barely knew each other. What if there’s nothing to hold on to?”
“Did you love him?”
Nathan thought about Beto’s fort and listening to his father’s heartbeat. Those feelings were real, no matter how hard he’d tried to ignore them. He nodded and swallowed against the tears gathering in his throat.
“Then it’s enough.”
Nathan’s tears broke free. Rachel grabbed his shoulders as he reached for her waist. He buried his face in her hair and inhaled, breathing freely for the first time in days.
“Get away from my son.”
Rachel jerked back. Sofia stood over them, gripping her purse like a weapon. Joe stood behind her looking defeated, like he’d tried and failed to stop this from happening.
Rachel rose so quickly she nearly tipped over. Nathan steadied her and Sofia tensed, ready to pounce. Nathan lifted a hand to snap her out of it. “Calm down, Mom. Rachel was just—”
“I know what she’s doing.” Her chin hitched up and she kept her eyes on Nathan. “I’m surprised it took this long. Has her husband filed for divorce yet?”
Rachel folded her arms. “Sofia, I’m—”
“Ms. Cárdenas. Don’t address me like a friend. We are not friends.”
Joe touched Sofia’s arm and scanned their surroundings. “Mom, can we not do this here?”
Sofia jabbed a finger at Rachel. “She’s the one groping my son in public. Haven’t you humiliated us enough?”
Nathan nudged her hand down. “If you want to blame someone for that, blame me. I painted the damn thing.”
Rachel touched his arm. “Your mother’s right. This is my fault.”
Joe sighed. “Actually, it’s Hailey Dearwood’s fault.”
“Either way.” Rachel turned to Sofia. “I am so sorry for what happened at the gala. And for any additional pain I’ve caused your family.” She glanced at Nathan. “I came here because I care about your son. Very much.”
“Then stay away from him.” Sofia stepped closer. “You and your husband are salacious tabloid garbage. Stop dragging him down with you.” She turned to Nathan. “Can we go inside, please? Or are you just going to stand there and look at her?”
Nathan didn’t move. He took a step toward Rachel, but Joe touched his shoulder. His brother gave him a pleading look, begging Nathan to do the right thing.
“Your mother needs you,” Rachel said softly. “I’ll be fine.”
When Sofia argued with Beto, she was always eerily calm, as though she was waiting for him to figure out that she’d already won. Once, after a huge blowout, Nathan discovered Beto grumbling to himself as he picked up pieces of a broken vase.
“That woman. Sometimes she makes it hard to… breathe.”
Now he understood what Beto meant. Nathan went upstairs and found Sofia gliding around his apartment, straightening pillows, and making decorating suggestions as if the fight outside had never happened. Even Joe looked uneasy.
“We came over to deliver the good news in person,” Joe said, eyes still on Sofia. “About Abuelita, right, Mom?”
Sofia moved a stack of coasters to the coffee table. “You have multiple offers from private collectors. Large offers, particularly for your grandmother’s portrait and…” Her jaw tightened. “Rachel. The nude is very popular.”
“It belongs to Rachel,” Nathan said. “And it’s not for sale.”
“Well, you may want to ask her first,” Sofia said. “With her current financial situation, she might disagree.”
Joe’s eyes flew wide. “Mom! Can you give it a rest? Let Nate celebrate his success without you—” Joe stopped when Nathan shot him a let me handle this look. “You know what,” he said. “This is between you two. I’m going to grab something from that taqueria I saw on the way over.”
“They use manteca, Joseph,” Sofia sighed. “Even in the beans.”
“I’m sure I can get some shredded lettuce or something. I’ll be right back.”
They watched Joe rush out in silence. Nathan folded his arms and looked down at his mother, who was perched on the edge of his couch. “You’re looming,” she said. “Sit.”
“You’ve got to stop ordering people around.”
“No, I don’t. I’m still your mother, Nathaniel.”
“You are. But I’m not a little kid anymore. You can stop pretending I’m not the one who caused all this in the first place.”
Sofia stiffened. “She lied to me.”
“No, she didn’t.”