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Hey guys! This is the first chapter since the wattys (and the last chcapter before the epilogue, wow) and honestly I'm still so surprised Historically Inaccurate made it. I am so incredibly thankful for all of you that have read this book, I am thankful that I started sharing it online and now it has won an award that will allow it to be published. That's amazing and I would not be here without all of you.  This chapter is shorter but I will be uploading the Epilogue this Sunday. Thank you again for reading Historically Inaccurate, and thank you for staying with it through highs and lows.


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Chiles rellenos are possibly one of my favorite dishes. They're also somewhat of a pain to make. You have to roast the pepper and put them in a bag, pull all of the skin stuff off, then beat the egg whites and all these other steps that are honestly too many to really care about.

Usually, my mom would be the one to make stuff like that while she made me do the yellow rice and the refried beans. She worried about the rest. She'd make two types of stuffing, cheese and this ground beef guisado that was so good I'd just scoop it by itself on my plate.

Mom is a fantastic cook, I'm content with not turning the kitchen on fire by just pouring some water in a pan. I mean, dad and I have not died because of food poisoning yet, and he never complains of whatever I make for him, but I know he misses the more complicated recipes, and he does cook for the both of us every now and then, but nothing is as great as when she was around.

"Pos they look really good." Mom smiles, serving herself a plate of her own cooked rice across from the table. She looked better on my new laptop, Diane was right sometimes graphics do make a difference, as well as a good Internet connection which Dad had upgraded to, just to be able to talk with mom In higher quality I suppose.

"You're just saying that to make me feel better." I scrunch up my nose, passing my dad the plate I had been serving up.

"En serio, I mean it." She pauses, "From here I can't even tell they're burnt."

"Because they aren't 'ama."

Dad laughs, putting on his glasses as if he needs them to eat.

"Well, I'm not sure about that."

"You guys are so rude

I'm smiling as all of this happens though. It feels nice and familiar, as it used to be. Mom is still not here, she won't be here for a long time, but right now as we sit together and have dinner and I'm being picked apart for my not-so-great cooking skills, it feels like the distance is so much shorter.

"How's school?" Dad asks, cutting up a piece of his chile and running it across some of the beans.

"Good," I much out, "I'm going to go study at Diane's tomorrow for our assignment and they scheduled me a shift at the library on Sunday. They're also opening up the classes for next semester next week so I'll have to come up with a rough outline for what I want. It's seniors first so I won't get to it until like Thursday."

"Good, no breaking into houses?" Mom raises her brows as she takes a sip of her water.

Ah haha, so funny.

"Nah, that's for next week."

We laugh, and I know that while I can't change what I've done in the past, my parents have moved on... a bit. The fun (and sometimes not so fun) part about Mexican parents is that they'll never truly let you live down your mistakes. They'll bring it up as joking material later on, but at least it shows that they're past the "we're so disappointed in you" phase. Besides, I'm a master at dealing with jokes like that, you learn that as you grow up in my family.

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