Chapter Text
"How've you been?" She asked, staring at the café across the street.
The man beside her is slightly tense, as if he isn't sure he should be here, next to her after all these years, but he answers anyway. "I'm alright. Sophie missed you, too. She complained to me everyday after I came home that you hadn't come with me."
Pepa let out a laugh, curling her pale hands around the styrofoam cup in her hands, the cooling heat of her coffee rather comforting. "Somedays, back in Brooklyn, I thought of you and Sophie a lot. Especially after you left – I never stopped. I knew she'd be mad at us for leaving, but I always wondered, how mad would she be at me for not coming home with you? I'm glad everything worked out for you, in the end, though."
And then his large hands had grabbed hers, encasing it against her thigh. "Sophie didn't speak to me for weeks. "
"Must've sucked."
"Oh, it did. Anytime I walked into a room, she left. At dinner, when mamá and papá were trying to get me to tell them where we've been, Sophie always looked at me expectantly, but I always said you told me not to say–"
"I did. Tell you not to say, I mean," she whispers, staring down at her lap. "I knew if Señora Walker found out, mamá and papá would've, too. I'm sorry I put that on you."
Félix smiled, squeezing her hand. "No need to be sorry, Pepi. I held that secret and would have taken it to the grave, if it meant keeping you happy. Bruno knew where you were, and that was enough. Anyway, everytime I told them no, Sophie stormed off. I swear‐ she almost broke her door a million times that month!"
Pepa chuckled, glancing over at him.
He looked like he hadn't aged a day, if not for his calloused hands, explaining to her silently he worked hard, she would've guessed he was still nineteen. His smile reached his eyes, crinkling the corner of his honey-brown hues, and laugh lines around his cheeks.
He looked and seemed happy.
Félix poked her nose with his free hand. "What about you? What made you come home?"
And suddenly the air sucked itself from her lungs like a vampire leeching for blood. Her lungs felt empty, useless, and her vision fogged over.
Was Félix staring at her with concern, love, or hatred? She couldn't tell. She felt him squeeze her hand again, tightening his grip ever so slightly to try and ground her, like he had always been able to do, but now, after seven years apart, they were out of sync, and Félix seemed like a lost puppy.
"Pepa?" He called, voice all too soft and she realised he was concerned. "Pepa you're okay, I'm right here."
She felt him place his free hand on her shoulder, the one holding her hand currently occupied trying to keep her from bolting.
He knew she would. Eventually, after trying to get her attention, he just tugged her to her feet and wrapped her in his arms, holding tighter each time she tried to push him away.
Félix knew he was probably crossing a line, but right now, he didn't care. "Pepa it's okay, I'm sorry I brought it up, breathe with me, yeah?"
And he sucked in, and Pepa followed, until her breaths evened out and she stopped struggling against his hold. He let her go, his hand still wrapped around hers. "Are you okay?"
She nodded, sheepishly, and glanced down at her feet, muttering a string of apologies. "I'm sorry– that was uncalled for."
"No, you get to feel your emotions, Pep. What have I always told you, even when I just met you? Bottling them up is dangerous, " his smile was comforting. "You don't have to tell me, actually, please don't – not until you're ready to, but I'll be here if you need it, okay? Even if we're not together and we have seven years stacked against us."
His words were soothing, unlike the ones she was used to hearing.
"Come on, Pepi, tell me!" Samuel urged, shuffling a little closer to her. Pepa backed up a little, arms hugged around her waist in a tight embrace. "Stop bottling them up, and just tell me what's wrong."
"Not – not yet, Samuel! I told you – I – I don't wanna talk about it yet!"
He moved closer, trapping her in a corner with no escape. A hand moved down to her thigh, the other to her shoulder. "Come on, Pepita, tell me. I'll be mad if you don't."
(Later, after she calmed down enough, she had told Félix someone she thought was her friend in Brooklyn had died, and the revelation had caused her to call Bruno, who brought her home.
Later, before they went their separate ways, Félix grabbed her wrist lightly and tugged her back into his arms, before letting her go.
Later, just after he hugged her, he gave Pepa his new phone number.
Later, when she got back home, her papá had a small smile. Bruno was washing dishes, and Julieta was shoving an arepa her way because she had skipped dinner .
Later, in the comfort of her bed, tangled in between blankets and pillows and wrapped like a caterpillar, she called Félix and told him the person who died wasn't just a friend, but her partner.)
Pepa was, surprisingly, the second one awake the next morning, despite only falling asleep later than two.
Julieta was in the kitchen, the dawn sunlight lighting up the small room as her older sister kneaded dough, flipped eggs and bacon and pancakes, piling said pancakes onto a giant plate, while she hid the bacon in a paper towel and distributed the eggs onto separate plates.
Pepa had known her sister woke early, too early, as she always had, but she didn't realize quite how early she did wake up to prepare breakfast. As she glanced at the silver embroidered watch on her wrist (it had been gifted to her by Félix's mother and father when he took her to prom), it read only 7:03, and yet, here was Julieta.
"Juli?" Pepa said quietly, trying not to startle her sister as she slid into a stool, spinning herself around to face the island and Julieta, who turned herself around with her eyes narrowed. "What?"
"Why are you awake right now?"
Pepa knew she didn't mean to sound rude, it was a simple question that should have warranted a simple answer, but the words had twisted to Pepa, and she let out a scoff at Julieta. "What's that supposed to mean?"
Her sister opened and closed her mouth (Pepa internally laughed; she looked like a guppy), before finally responding, voice quiet, a hesitant whisper evident. "I just mean, " she began, turning back around as the pan sizzled to life, flipping the bacon. "You're never up earlier than when we wake you up."
"By we, do you mean siccing your children on me too early to even function ?"
"Yes. I'm always up first, you know that. I've always been a morning person. I make breakfast, then Bruno and the kids come down. They eat, then go watch cartoons. Then mamá y papá come down, they eat, then go sit on the porch with their coffees," she explained, placing some more bacon in the paper towel and wrapping it up. "Then, by that point it's already half past ten, so Bruno and I send Isa and Luisa up."
Pepa narrowed her eyes, nails nervously tapping the granite. "Do you hate me?" When Julieta turned around, surprise etched into her features about the sudden topic switch, Pepa continued. "I mean– for not being here. I should have been, when you married Agustín- when you had Isa, Luisa. I should have been here, for you, but I wasn't. "
"Pepita, mi hermana, no. Bruno told me," she began, turning the stove off and rounding the island to sit next to Pepa. "Not– not about exactly what happened, he just said someone you loved died, but… he also said you had no way of knowing. That they had been keeping the letters from you."
"Bruno… he promised he wouldn't say anything," Pepa murmured under her breath, clenching her hands into fists, yellow acrylics digging into her palm. Julieta wrapped her gentle hands around Pepa's, slowly opening her fists again.
Her sister hummed in acknowledgment. "Maybe, but he also wanted us to know why you were coming home so suddenly. He only told us that, nothing more. Said you'd open up when you were ready."
Pepa ran her fingers through her hair, pausing as she tugged on a knot. "I'm still sorry," she said, voice ever so quiet she wasn't quite sure Julieta heard her. But, as always, she did.
(Then Bruno had filed in, taking the stool beside his sisters. Isabela and Luisa had skipped in next, Isabela dragging Luisa behind her as the four-year-old made it difficult. Mamá and Papá had come in last, equally surprised to see Pepa already awake, scrubbing her plate.)
"See? Told you," Pepa teased, flicking Julieta's forehead.
"Yeah, ha-ha. Just because you were right this time, doesn't make you right all the time."
Pepa simply laughed, turning back to watch their family over the back of the couch.
They were seven, too young (even if Alma had tried, so, so hard to teach them) to know right from wrong. Pepa tapped Julieta's nose, looking at her sister. Julieta's eyes told millions of stories alone, ones Pepa would never tire from. Julieta, even if only older by three minutes (those three minutes counted, very, very much to Julieta), her older sister still seemed to know so much more than she let on.
They both, small hands on the back of the couch, watched their family.
Alma and Pedro were arguing about something, and the sisters had made bets– would Bruno wake up in time to be a buffer between them (Pepa)? Or would they get to the point of the argument before Bruno woke up (Julieta)?
Pepa was right. And even though Julieta was loathe to admit it, Pepa always seemed to be right.
"Can we get ice cream?"
Julieta shook her head at Luisa, and Isabela started shrieking. "No, girls. You had ice cream yesterday, remember the rule?"
Luisa sighed, tapping Isa on the nose. "Yes, Mamí, only get ice cream one day a week."
"But that's not fair! Tía Pepa had ice cream today, and yesterday, and the day before! And Tío Bruno was there!" Isabela added, tone too high, too whiny.
Julieta glowered at her siblings, hands on her hips. "Really?"
"What? You're not mamá, I can have ice cream whenever I want," Pepa replied, tone even as she stared at her sister, casting loving and teasing glances at her nieces. "Isa, Luisa, how about I take you into town? Then you can eat all the ice cream you want!"
"Pepa don't you–"
"Yes! Let's go let's go let's go let's go!"
Luisa grabs hold of Isabela's wrist, and they run for the door, barreling through it like wrecking balls. Pepa winked at Julieta, grabbing her coat and slipping her shoes on, tailing after her nieces as they ran down the cobblestone path, talking rather loudly.
Pepa smirked at her sister when she turned around, Julieta and Agustin standing in the doorway with twin expressions, almost like they were daring her to continue.
And Pepa always accepted a dare.