Because You're Different ✔

42. Cigarettes

Nathan

I'd been standing on the porch for way too long. In East Palo Alto, at night, that wasn't the smartest thing to do. Last summer, I'd gone outside after dinner to find my car gone. Shouldn't have been surprised. I'd wanted to call a taxi, but Mr. Guevara had persisted his wife would give me a lift once she'd arrived back home. June had opted to drive with us, luckily. We'd sat in the backseat together, my legs in an awkward position, cramping due to the lack of space. Somehow, Mrs. Aranda never failed to make me feel like a spoiled kid who'd done something wrong.

It seemed so easy, in hindsight. Me scouting the market after work, some of the vendors recognizing me as the guy often accompanying that sassy girl, cooking with June in that kitchen where everything seemed to be falling apart, eating with her and her dad and telling them about who my boss had dissolved to tears that day, or what ridiculous claims some people made.

I liked Mr. Guevara. Hard to not like that man. He possessed the same talent for being honest as his daughter, and after a few glasses of wine, he'd start to make vulgar jokes that even my grandma wouldn't have dared to utter in front of us. If any other person would've been saying the things he said, June would've never found it funny. But he was her dad. So, she'd laugh violently, shoulders shaking, head tipped back, calling him out in Spanish. Yeah, that'd been some good nights.

They were long gone, though, and I wasn't supposed to be here.

On the other side of the door, I heard shuffling footsteps, then a series of clicks, and before I could ask myself what the hell I was doing there, Mr. Guevara emerged, one of those friendly smiles on his tired face. He was wearing a threadbare bathrobe, a pack of cigarettes in his large hands. "I figured you weren't coming in, so I said to myself: 'let's go outside to keep him company, Luis'." He chortled, like he'd said something hilarious, and began digging out one of the cigs, his stubby fingers shaking mildly. June had been telling me he was alright, but seeing him with my own eyes, I realized that was stretching the truth. His hair, black when I'd met him, was now entirely grey, and his skin had a tinge of the same color to it.

"Cigarette?" he said, offering me the pack.

Tempting. I hadn't had one in years; it was something I used to do with Lena every once in a while, often during stressful times. "No, thanks. I don't smoke."

He nodded, searching his pocket for a lighter. Like with June, I had the urge to help him. Like with June, I didn't do anything, just waited until he'd taken a drag and blew out the smoke. The stank remained imprisoned under the roof, making me nauseous. Seemed like I wasn't accustomed to it anymore.

"Don't tell my girls. They'd put me on a leash if they knew."

Yeah, they would. It probably wasn't something a man who'd suffered a heart attack was supposed to do. I had no trouble envisioning June's long string of swear words if she'd found out, or her mother's deadly glare.

Mr. Guevara sighed deeply, looking out over the street, to all those other grim houses. I wondered what he thought of me. If he had the same dislike for me and my money as his wife, if he was just better at hiding it than her. "So... you're leaving. Congratulations. Seems like a smart choice. You'll work at some fancy firm, huh?"

"Yeah, I'll be part of the team handling their American affairs. Pretty solid position for someone who's just starting out."

"Good for you, son. Good for you." He patted me on the shoulder, smiling like he really meant it. "You worked hard to get there. You deserve it."

Not hard enough. I knew I shouldn't be ungrateful, but ever since I'd started to put in the work, started to accept the fact I'd be a lawyer someday, I'd had this idea of me representing ordinary people for a good cause — I hadn't chosen to specialize in family law for the fun of it, after all. It would've been rude to turn down Mr. Rutherford's gracious proposition, though. In all likelihood, it was a good thing: I could gain some more experience, make some connections... Nobody landed their dream job when they were twenty. The only thing that continued to bother me was that I wouldn't be there because of my competences, if I even had any, but because of who I was dating. Was I turning into my father after all?