“You know I hated myself for how things turned out with Felix, right?” Dad continues. The air doesn’t quite leave the room, just comes to a standstill. The blinds don’t sway in the breeze caused by the AC, because there is no breeze. The air’s listening. “I hated that I couldn’t find a way to keep him close to us and happy. Hated myself for not knowing how to do anything other than try to impose myself. I couldn’t be happy for him. When you left, I didn’t immediately realize I’d done it again. Pushed another son away.” Dad wipes at his eye; Felix does the same. Beyond the door, an old lady in a hospital gown shuffles by, a younger woman holding her IV walks slightly behind her. I expect dozens of people to follow, pretending they’re going somewhere so they can listen in on what Dad’s saying.
“Look, I know how to do a few things well.” He pauses to take a breath or to think. “Run a business. Provide for my family. Once upon a time, believe it or not, I could make a pretty decent omelet.” He smiles.
“I wanted to give you and your brother a good life. I wanted to make sure your mom wouldn’t have to worry about the safety or happiness of our children. So, I did what I thought was right, and I chased success. I used the things I was good at to achieve those goals.
“But in chasing success, I sacrificed a few things. Quality time with all of you. Humility, maybe.” Another pause, the world at a further standstill. Cars looking for empty spaces in the parking lot have stopped moving; the clouds are still. “I never meant to sacrifice your and your brother’s happiness, but it turns out that’s what I’ve done.”
I almost want to interject, but it feels like I’m frozen too. Only Felix is showing signs of movement, a shimmer in his eyes, which he turns his eyes downward to hide, resting his forehead on his arms. Mom’s basically weeping.
Dad starts to reach for more water, but Mom admonishes him in Spanish and brings the glass toward him. After a few sips he lets his head go back to the pillow. “Felix did it too, you know. In a way.” Another sip, waves Mom away. “My fault. I set the example.
“He chased after his dreams at the expense of his family. I never hated him for that, just hated that I did it first, and so it was easy for him to follow along. That whole time he was gone, the thing I was angriest about was that I couldn’t say anything. It would make me a hypocrite. He did exactly what I did and instead of understanding him, I ignored him. I got mad that he rejected what I’d spent so long working to provide him, not realizing that he went after exactly what I wanted for him: his own joy. Not a day goes by that I don’t hate myself for that.”
At the same time, Mom and Felix both reach for Dad’s hands. He grasps Mom’s on his right, but I can’t tell if he reacts to Felix’s touch, if he can sense it at all. “Enough about my mistakes, though.” Dad closes his eyes for a moment, and when he opens them I swear he glances at Felix for a second.
Then he’s looking at me again. “You don’t have to push us away to chase what you want, Carlos. Because of me, you too were going to sacrifice your family for your happiness. I don’t want that to ever happen again.”
Moments go by before I realize Dad’s done talking. He’s practically snoring by the time Mom gets up to fuss with his sheets. The world regains its motion, though the words going through my head are: Nothing will ever be the same.
Then, as the hospital goes back to normalcy—sickly people shuffling down the hallway; doctors trying to keep others alive; harmless houseflies buzzing about, attracted by the fluorescent lighting; a line forming at the coffee shop, relatives with bags beneath their eyes—Felix’s ghost stands up.
He wipes at his eyes. Gives me a grin. Raises his eyebrows and gives a little shoulder shrug, as if to say, What are you gonna do?
Kisses Dad’s forehead.
Disappears.
CHAPTER 32
NASHVILLE HOT CHICKEN SANDWICHES
2 pounds pounded chicken breasts
2 cups flour
2 large eggs
? cup buttermilk
4 tablespoons hot sauce
3 tablespoons brown sugar
6 tablespoons cayenne pepper
3 tablespoons garlic powder
For slaw:
1 purple cabbage
2 tomatoes, diced
? cup cilantro, chopped
1 julienned red pepper
2 carrots, grated
? cup mayo
4 tablespoons olive oil
3 tablespoons apple cider vinegar
METHOD:
“Carlos, put the fryer down.”
“Mom, it’s one meal.”
“Your father just had a heart attack. We’re not having whatever crazy concoction you think we’re having.”
“It’s been long enough, no?” Dad chimes in. “Plus, it was all stress, you heard the doctor. I am no longer stressed, so I can have some fried chicken. In fact, it would probably help me relax.”
I carry the fryer to the counter, plug it in defiantly, sharing a wink with Dad. There are a handful of grocery bags on the kitchen island. Rosalba is fussing, trying to put things away and help out, but I tell her she can relax. I’ll handle everything.
I grab the cabbage, chop it roughly, set it in a bowl with water and the disinfectant drops, a step I was always happy to be able to skip in the US. I crack a few eggs, passing the yolk back and forth between the halves so that the whites drip down to a bowl beneath.
How many times did I do exactly this at the house on the island, with Emma sitting nearby on the counter? I’ve cooked every day since Dad was released from the hospital, and every time I picture her there with me, sitting on the counter, making jokes, running a finger through a bowl to taste something. Or I think: if you crack this egg perfectly, she’ll respond to an email. If this omelet turns out perfectly golden, without a tinge of brown, she’ll call.
Dad watches intently as I whisk the egg yolks with some oil and lime. “What are you doing there?”
“Making mayo for the coleslaw.”
“Making mayo? Don’t we have some in the fridge?”
“Yeah, but it’s tastier this way,” I say. “Plus, this is my show-off meal.”
“They’re all your show-off meals,” someone shouts. I turn around and see Danny, Nico and Poncho coming into the kitchen. They’re tanned, shaggy-haired. Nico’s got a new eyebrow ring and is carrying a case of beer with both hands. The three of them got back about a week after I did, and the overlap will last only a couple of days before they continue on to college. I’m staying.
They come around shaking hands, half hugging. The guys give cheek-kisses to Mom, gentle shoulder pats to Dad. “Una chela?” Nico says, cracking a beer open and offering one to my parents.
“Nico, the man just had a heart attack.”
“All the more reason,” Nico says. “Life is short!”
“You offer my husband another beer and I will shorten your life.”
I turn my attention back to the food. I grab a few more eggs, crack them into a bowl, turn on music that Emma might have chosen. Butter-milk was impossible to find, even at the fancy supermarket a few blocks away, so I use a mixture of whole milk and heavy cream. Danny steps over with a beer for me. “What are you making for us?”
“Nashville hot chicken sandwiches.”
“Whatever that is,” Danny says, looking at everything crowding the counter. “Anything we can do to help?”
“Call Emma. See if she wants to come over.”
Danny laughs. “Still?”
“Hasn’t been that long, man.”
“Yeah, I get you. A little offended that our company won’t suffice, but whatever.”