We head inside the house together. Instantly, I’m hit by the smell of meat and potatoes. This is a carb-heavy family and I, for one, am fully fucking here for it.
Ten minutes later, we’re sitting around the table and Diego’s carving up sections of the chicken like it’s Thanksgiving dinner.
I tuck into the chicken just as Carla gets up and heads to the mantel over the couch.
“Escucha, chica,” Diego chides.“We’re sitting down to lunch.”
“Mama’s picture fell,” she explains somberly. She leans down, scoops the picture frame off the floor, and places it back in its spot with reverent hands.
Upright, the woman in the photograph smiles out at us. Dark-haired, pretty.
Carla places a delicate kiss on the frame. Then she comes back to the table and breaks off a leg of the chicken.
It took her months to open up to me about her mother.
Some people are so precious that the only way to preserve their memory is to not talk about them. As if, every time she shared a story, a little of it got sanded away. Lost in time.
I never would have understood that—before Saoirse.
She comes and sits back in her seat at the table, Gaspar curled at her feet. We eat in silence for a while.
“They’re having another farmer’s market in the valley soon,” Carla informs us. “We should rent out a stall.”
“That’s a good idea, mija,” Diego acknowledges.
“Cillian,” she says, “you’re gonna love the farmer’s market. It’s tons of fun. You meet so many cool people.”
“I’m sure. When is this thing?”
“In two months.”
The smile falters on my face. Both of them notice it.
“What?” Carla asks immediately.
“Carla…”
“You’ve been talking about leaving for months now,” she says impatiently. “I think it’s time to face the fact that you don’t really want to leave.”
I frown. Mostly because she’s partly right about that.
Way too smart for her own good.
“Carlita,” Diego says, a warning in his tone, “Cillian can leave whenever he wants to.”
“But he belongs here.”
The way she says it takes me off guard. Growing up, I always thought I belonged with my family in Ireland.
But then Da kicked me out of the family and I made my new home in L.A.
After that, I felt I belonged with Artem and the Bratva.
But then I had a near-death experience that’s taken me a year’s recovery time.
Now, I’m not so sure anymore. I don’t know where I belong.
“Carla—”