Nathan

I'd been standing on the porch for way too long. In East Palo Alto, at night, that wasn't the smartest thing to do. Last summer, I'd gone outside after dinner to find my car gone. Shouldn't have been surprised. I'd wanted to call a taxi, but Mr. Guevara had persisted his wife would give me a lift once she'd arrived back home. June had opted to drive with us, luckily. We'd sat in the backseat together, my legs in an awkward position, cramping due to the lack of space. Somehow, Mrs. Aranda never failed to make me feel like a spoiled kid who'd done something wrong.

It seemed so easy, in hindsight. Me scouting the market after work, some of the vendors recognizing me as the guy often accompanying that sassy girl, cooking with June in that kitchen where everything seemed to be falling apart, eating with her and her dad and telling them about who my boss had dissolved to tears that day, or what ridiculous claims some people made.

I liked Mr. Guevara. Hard to not like that man. He possessed the same talent for being honest as his daughter, and after a few glasses of wine, he'd start to make vulgar jokes that even my grandma wouldn't have dared to utter in front of us. If any other person would've been saying the things he said, June would've never found it funny. But he was her dad. So, she'd laugh violently, shoulders shaking, head tipped back, calling him out in Spanish. Yeah, that'd been some good nights.

They were long gone, though, and I wasn't supposed to be here.

On the other side of the door, I heard shuffling footsteps, then a series of clicks, and before I could ask myself what the hell I was doing there, Mr. Guevara emerged, one of those friendly smiles on his tired face. He was wearing a threadbare bathrobe, a pack of cigarettes in his large hands. "I figured you weren't coming in, so I said to myself: 'let's go outside to keep him company, Luis'." He chortled, like he'd said something hilarious, and began digging out one of the cigs, his stubby fingers shaking mildly. June had been telling me he was alright, but seeing him with my own eyes, I realized that was stretching the truth. His hair, black when I'd met him, was now entirely grey, and his skin had a tinge of the same color to it.

"Cigarette?" he said, offering me the pack.

Tempting. I hadn't had one in years; it was something I used to do with Lena every once in a while, often during stressful times. "No, thanks. I don't smoke."

He nodded, searching his pocket for a lighter. Like with June, I had the urge to help him. Like with June, I didn't do anything, just waited until he'd taken a drag and blew out the smoke. The stank remained imprisoned under the roof, making me nauseous. Seemed like I wasn't accustomed to it anymore.

"Don't tell my girls. They'd put me on a leash if they knew."

Yeah, they would. It probably wasn't something a man who'd suffered a heart attack was supposed to do. I had no trouble envisioning June's long string of swear words if she'd found out, or her mother's deadly glare.

Mr. Guevara sighed deeply, looking out over the street, to all those other grim houses. I wondered what he thought of me. If he had the same dislike for me and my money as his wife, if he was just better at hiding it than her. "So... you're leaving. Congratulations. Seems like a smart choice. You'll work at some fancy firm, huh?"

"Yeah, I'll be part of the team handling their American affairs. Pretty solid position for someone who's just starting out."

"Good for you, son. Good for you." He patted me on the shoulder, smiling like he really meant it. "You worked hard to get there. You deserve it."

Not hard enough. I knew I shouldn't be ungrateful, but ever since I'd started to put in the work, started to accept the fact I'd be a lawyer someday, I'd had this idea of me representing ordinary people for a good cause — I hadn't chosen to specialize in family law for the fun of it, after all. It would've been rude to turn down Mr. Rutherford's gracious proposition, though. In all likelihood, it was a good thing: I could gain some more experience, make some connections... Nobody landed their dream job when they were twenty. The only thing that continued to bother me was that I wouldn't be there because of my competences, if I even had any, but because of who I was dating. Was I turning into my father after all?

"It's not an easy decision, huh?" He didn't look at me, flicking his cigarette, the ash immediately disappearing into nowhere. "Leaving everyone behind?"

I breathed out deeply. Maybe this was why I'd come here, even though June was currently at home, either in the kitchen or outside, studying with Hayley. Every time I remembered how the news had been revealed to her, how she'd reacted, eyes full of hurt, a flash of pain hit me, and I scolded myself for not telling her earlier myself. Yeah, we'd talked it over later, lying on the carpet in the living room, but there was nothing I could do to relieve the shock. I wanted to be there more, spend those last few weeks with her and my brother, only there were so many things that still needed to be arranged, and so many things to do to ensure I'd be granted my degree in a little while, that it was almost like I'd already left.

"You know," Mr. Guevara said, turning to me. "Nothing is forever — except for love, of course." He was waving his cigarette, speaking the words as if no one would ever disagree with them. "Centuries ago, when I was still a young man... handsome, no grey, muscles like I was Salvador Sánchez, the Iron Lung..." He bent his arm, hand curled up in a fist, as if flexing his biceps. I smiled slightly, and he chortled. "It's true, it's true. I could've easily competed with a fella like you, back in the days. Ask the Mrs. Or maybe it's better if you don't." He snickered again, and I found myself grinning for the first time since June knew. "But I had my woman. Didn't need another one. The boys, they all wanted to marry my Romina, but none of them had what it took. And she wanted me. I'm a very lucky man, yeah."

If there were something I wouldn't have called him, it was lucky. But he was right — his words echoed that one song, that one song during which I'd had to pull June close. He was a lucky man, in some ways. With a family as large as his, he probably could count the ones he loved on both hands. He'd need extra fingers too.

"Anyway, anyway..." he continued, shaking his head despondently. "There was a time jobs were mad hard to find and my Romina had to pull in extra shifts at the cafe she worked at. Wasn't easy. I felt like I was failing her. So, when one of my pals offered me work at a building site upstate, with a five-hour commute, I had to take it. And I did. Most difficult two years of my life. Barely saw my sweetheart. But when it was over, we had some money saved up, and I had more offers closer to home, and my Romina, oh..." A mischievous glint appeared in his eyes, one that reminded me of his daughter. "Let's just say, the love-making had never been sweeter."

I wasn't sure why he was telling me this. Was he hinting for me to stay? Let Charlotte go home alone, do the long-distance thing? "With all due respect, I'm not here to have you change my mind, Luis," I said, even though I was starting to suspect that was exactly why I was there.

He roared with laughter, which turned into frenzied coughing. He brought the cigarette to his mouth again and inhaled long to stop the fit. When he'd calmed down, he smiled up at me. "Wasn't trying to, son. On the contrary, I think you should go. Nothing clears up the mind better than a fresh perspective."

This man spoke in riddles. What had been the point of his story if he thought I'd made the right choice?

He coughed again. Looking at the cigarette, he mumbled something in Spanish, then threw it on the ground, stomping the bud out with his slipper. "She's going to miss you," he said, out of nowhere, and I felt like the cigarette he just squashed.

"I know. I'm going to miss her."

"I know you will. You're one of them good fellas. You see what I see when it comes to my girl. It's a rare thing."

What did you say to that? I ran my hands through my hair, trying to think of something to say, something about June, something to assure him I did see what he saw, and maybe even more than that, but I couldn't form a sentence that'd make sense, so I kept quiet.

"Well," he said, kicking the cigarette butt away, "I need to go shower before the wife gets home. And I'm sure you've got better ways to spend your time than talking to an old fella like me." A broad smile, and with a pang, I realized June wasn't the only Guevara I was going to miss.

"Not really," I said, in a surge of Guevara-honesty. Seemed like it was contagious.

The smile widened, and he held out his hand. "It's been good, Nathan," he said, as I shook his sweaty hand. "Go live your life. You deserve it. I promise I'll take good care of your brother."

"Thank you."

"We'll meet again, yeah?"

"Yeah. Yeah, definitely."

He patted my shoulder again, then turned around, shuffling back into the house.

I had no idea why I felt better, like a weight had been lifted from my chest, but it was very welcome. Breathing in the fresh air, I took in the sight of the house once more, before heading back to my car.

Wouldn't want to be caught standing there by the Mrs., smelling like smoke.