He set down his coffee mug with that look he got when he’d already decided something and didn’t want to argue about it.
“Your mother’s right, Miho. The ranch is booked. The family’s coming in from Laredo and Corpus. We can’t reschedule now.”
Carmen finally looked up at me, and I saw something in her eyes I’d seen a thousand times before but never really understood until that moment.
“Smart kids don’t need their families there. Mateo, you’ve always been fine on your own. That’s your thing, the independent one. We’ll celebrate later.”
I looked at Valentina, who was scrolling through her phone, probably planning what to wear to her own party. She hadn’t said a single word. Didn’t even pretend to care.
“Okay,” I said.
Mom blinked. “Okay, go to the party. I’ll handle graduation myself.”
The relief on their faces should’ve hurt more than it did. But I was already mentally checking out, already thinking about my next move. That night, I called my grandma. Aba Rosa. She picked up on the second ring.
“Miho, what’s wrong? I can hear it in your voice.”
I told her everything—the party, the ranch, them basically saying my graduation didn’t matter. She was quiet for a long moment. When she spoke, her voice had that angry edge.
Two days later, she called me back.
“I want you to meet someone. His name is Pablo. He’s my friend.” The way she said “friend” made it clear he was more than that. Before you think, yes, Grandma was still dating, come by the house Saturday morning. Wear something nice.
Damian drove me over on Saturday morning. He’d been my best friend since sophomore year when we’d bonded over our mutual hatred of pep rallies and our love of breakfast tacos from this food truck.
“Ha, your grandma’s got a boyfriend,” he said, grinning as we pulled into her driveway. The house was in one of those older Alamo Heights neighborhoods.
“That’s awesome. How old is this guy?”
“77, I think.”
“I don’t know,” I said. She was weirdly vague about it.
“You’re an idiot.”
“A correct idiot.”
Pablo turned out to be exactly what Damian predicted. This distinguished guy in his mid-70s wearing a perfectly pressed Guayabera and driving a Mercedes S-Class. He had that thing rich people have, where everything looks expensive without trying too hard. Quality shoes, simple watch, a haircut that definitely didn’t come from Supercuts.
He shook my hand with a grip that meant business, then turned to Damian and did the same. “You must be the famous Damian. Rosa talks about you constantly.”
“Oh, she does?” Damian looked genuinely surprised.
“Oh, yes. Says you’re an idiot, but that you make her laugh.”
Abuela appeared in the doorway, arms crossed, trying not to smile.
“I said you’re good for Mateo, even if you dress like you get your clothes from a dumpster.”
Damian looked down at his perfectly normal t-shirt and jeans. “What’s wrong with what I’m wearing?”
“Everything. You look like you rolled out of bed.”
“I did roll out of bed. It’s Saturday morning.”Continue reading…
