17

The smell of arroz con gandules hit me before I even stepped all the way into the house. My stomach flipped—not from hunger, but from the feeling of home. A real, nostalgic kind of warmth that made everything in my body loosen up just a little.

"Papi!" I called, dropping my bag at the door.

"In the kitchen, mija!" He yelled back, his voice booming like always.

I walked in to find him standing over the stove, shirtless like he always was when he cooked, a white towel slung over his shoulder and his playlist of Hector Lavoe and old school reggaeton bumping low in the background.

"You tryna feed the whole block again?" I teased, eyeing the ridiculous amount of food.

He turned and grinned, arms wide. "If you're lucky, I'll let you take some home."

I walked into his hug, and for a second, I was eleven again, clutching him tight after one of those messy weekends with my mom. His arms have always felt like walls—strong, solid, permanent.

"Tienes hambre o solo viniste a robar comida? He joked.

"Ambas," I said with a grin. "Pero tambien vine a verte. I miss you."

He kissed the side of my head. "Yo tambien, baby girl."

We sat at the kitchen table while he fixed two plates, loading mine like I hadn't eaten in a week.

"So," he said after a few bites. "How's school?"

I knew that question had layers. It always did with him. He was proud, always had been—but he could smell BS a mile away.

"It's good," I said, carefully. "Senior years no joke though. A lot on my plate."

"Y estas durmiendo bien? ¿Comiendo bien?" He asked, always slipping into Spanish when he was worried.

"Sí, papi. I'm taking care of myself. I promise."

He gave me a look. The look. Like he knew I was leaving something out.

Then he said it.

"You seeing anybody?"

I almost choked on my rice.

He raised his eyebrows. "What? You think your old man don't know when you glowing different?"

"I'm not glowing," I muttered, totally lying. "And it's complicated."

"¿Complicado? Mierda. That means you're deep in it."

I gave him a long look. "Would you... be mad if I was seeing someone older?"

His whole body stilled for a second.

"How much older?"

I paused.

"...like a grown-grown woman."

He put his fork down. "Que tan grown?"

I couldn't even say it.

"Look," I rushed, "she's not some creep, okay? She's smart. Mature. She challenges me. She... she makes me feel seen."

He watched for a long time. Then he sighed.

"¿Y te trata bien?"

I nodded. "The best."

He didn't smile, but his shoulders eased.

"Entonces, esta bien," he said, finally. "I just want you safe. Protected. No bullshit."

"No bullshit," I echoed. "Promise."

He nodded. "Okay. But if she breaks your heart... I got a bat in the trunk."

I laughed, full and real. "You're ridiculous."

"Lo sé," he said with a wink. "But I'm serious."

We spent the rest of the afternoon eating, talking about everything and nothing—politics, music, my classes, some drama with his neighbor that he turned into a whole soap opera. I forgot how easy it was with him. How much lighter I felt just being his daughter for a while.

As I was leaving, he pulled me into another hug and held me close.

"Whatever happens with that woman... make sure she sees all of you. The good, the stubborn, the sensitive."

"She already does."

"Then she better hold on tight." ________

I drove back to my place with the windows down, the sun warm on my face, and my heart just a little more full than it was this morning.

I didn't text Kamala right away, but I knew I would soon. Because somehow, for the first time in a long time, it felt like the pieces of my life were finally fitting._______

I'm probably gonna go on a little break for now, until school ends bc it's finals week and it's very hectic for me right now 😖 but I love you guys and I'll be back before you know it.