Page 89 of This Could Be Us
“Oh, thank you,” I say, turning to Hendrix. “I told Cora I would swing by to drop off a batch ofpastelesand some coquito. When I was over there for book club, she said she wanted to try them. I won’t be gone long, Lola.”
“Lola?” Hendrix looks from my sister to me. “Finally we meet!”
“Hendrix!” Lola sets the small crate on the counter and waves her arms, stutter-stepping toward one of my friends she’s heard so much about. “I feel like I already know you.”
Seeing my sister and one of my best friends hug like they’ve known each other forever when it’s their first time meeting makes me pause and smile. I’ve been going all day, trying to give the girls a true Nochebuena experience, but also pulling some last-minute gifts together to deliver to friends. Seeing people I love happy together makes all the rushing around worth it.
“Let me take your coat,” Lola says.
“Oh, I can’t stay.” Hendrix pulls the faux fur lapels of her coat up around her face. “Just left a mixer downtown for work. Now I gotta catch my flight to Charlotte. Spending Christmas with my mama, but I needed to swing through and get thepastelesSol promised me.”
“I got you.” I reach into the crate of gift boxes and hand one to Hendrix. “As promised. You just missed Yasmen and Deja. They swung through to get theirs ’bout an hour ago.”
“We’re on the second batch.” Inez grins, now standing at the chopping block with Lupe, cutting up malanga.
“Y’all running a littlepastelesfactory up in here.” Hendrix eyes the banana leaves lined up, thepastelesmachine, and the ingredients in various stages of preparation.
“It feels like the holidays when we were growing up,” Lola says wistfully. “Only we had Mami, all us girls, and a houseful of friends. We played dominoes all night. Our house was rocking for Nochebuena. Mami’d be blasting El Gran Combo’sEn Navidad.”
“Ourabuela’s favorite group,” I tell the girls, who appear to be riveted by this glimpse into the childhood Lola, Nayeli, and I cherish.
“‘They coulda been yourabuelo,’” Lola says, imitating our grandmother’s heavily accented English. “‘All of ’em.’”
“Remember that time AbuelaandGrammy came for Christmas?” I ask Lola, catching her eyes to resurrect a memory only we can truly appreciate.
“Ay, Dios mío,” Lola cackles. “We hadpastelescooking over here, oxtails and collard greens over there. Salsa blasting in the front room and Nat King Cole singing ‘The Christmas Song’ in the back.”
“It was one of the best Christmases of my life.” I swallow the hot lump filling my throat. “That was the last time we saw Abuela before she passed away.”
The laughter slowly fades from Lola’s face. She nods. “And Grammy wasn’t far behind.”
You feel the loss of those you loved most acutely at the times when they made you feel so alive. At some point every year, I relive that Christmas when my whole family came together and celebrated the season and life and each other. I hear the echo of their laughter and feel the warmth of their hugs as if their arms surround me again during the holidays. Which reminds me of one very important delivery I need to make.
“Let me get this over to Cora’s,” I say, grabbing a few of the red-and-green boxes ofpasteles. “I wanted to check on her before it gets too late.”
“Who’s Cora?” Lola asks, walking over to lift the lid of the picnic pork cooking for our second batch.
“My friend Lindee’s mom,” Lupe says, some of the joy in her face dimming too. “She has cancer.”
“Oh.” Lola watches me, concern creeping into her eyes. She knows how hard Mami’s death was on me. “How’s she doing?”
“Hard to say.” I walk toward the mudroom and grab my coat. “This is her second time fighting cancer. It’s more aggressive, and the chemo is wearing her out.”
“Mom’s organized a meal train,” Lupe says. “And cleaned their house a few times and does a book club with her.”
“Not much of a book club.” I shrug. “Just me, Cora—”
“And me and Yas,” Hendrix cuts in. “We just startedAll About Loveby bell hooks.”
“A classic.” Lola presses her hands over her heart. “Mami loved that one.”
“I’m reading Mami’s original copy,” I tell her. “It has her annotations and notes in the margins. It’s fantastic.”
“I want to see that,” Lola replies. “There’s probably a lot of her stuff still up in the attic. We’ll find it when we clean the house out for the Airbnb.”
“Lola’s moving to open a bookstore in Austin,” I tell Hendrix. “She and her best friend.”
“Oh, I’ve heard about this best friend.” Hendrix wags her eyebrows.