don't wanna rush | oscar diaz

siempre

"Okay, what else is on the list?"

"Maizena," Oscar tells her, and she nods, looks far too serious to just be grocery shopping with him. Then again, it's Saturday morning, and half the neighborhood moms are here doing their weekly shopping, too. He and Claudia are just two teenagers trying to buy fresh fruit and not lose their eight-year-old.

"Can we buy pan dulce when we're done?" said child says, and Oscar tries not to laugh.

"Ask Oscar," Claudia says, distracted, Cesar's hand in hers while she scans the shelves for corn starch. She tried clowning him for the list he had, the first time they went grocery shopping together, but then he told her that's what he uses in the atol she likes so much and she got quiet. It didn't stop her from making eyes at him until he made some for them, though, so he's not sure who came out on top that time.

Cesar must have gotten that puppy-dog trick from Claudia, now that Oscar thinks about it, because it's almost the exact same expression as hers when he turns to look at him. Oscar's going to say yes, there's no question about it, but he'd like to at least pretend that he's the one in charge here.

"Please?" Cesar says, and Oscar remembers when the kid used to pronounce it peas. Christ. He's growing up too fast, and he doesn't know how to feel about it.

He says, "Yeah, but you gotta eat vegetables at lunch before you can have one," and it makes Cesar pout, just a little, before brightening up.

"Can we get the cuernitos?"

"Sure."

"Gotcha," Claudia says to herself, having finally found the cornstarch. She grins, triumphant, when she turns to Oscar and he wants to kiss her, so he does.

Cesar says, "Ew," and it makes Claudia laugh. She tugs him close to her and squeezes him tight.

"Don't be mean," she tells him.

Cesar doesn't even squirm in her grip, just hugs her back. "What kind of pan are you gonna get?"

"Dunno," she says, and lets go of him, "maybe just a concha. Whatchu think, Oscar?"

He shrugs, then smirks. Claudia narrows her eyes at him like she knows he's trying to rile her up. "Maybe a novia."

"I like those," Cesar says, losing interest in the conversation when he catches sight of Ruby Martinez and his family. "Can I go say hi?"

"Come right back," Oscar tells him, and grins at Claudia. Her arms are crossed but she's smiling, just a little. "What?"

"Quieres una novia, huh?" she says, and he kisses her again, doesn't care that they're at the grocery store and that Cesar's probably going to forget to come back.

"Yeah," he says, "the one I got, she's pretty cool, sabes?"

"You're annoying," she says, but she's smiling at him so sweet he wishes they could spend the rest of their lives just looking at each other like this, nothing but good times. "C'mon, what's next?"

"Tomatoes," he says, lets Claudia lead the way.

Later, Oscar will thing that this was the calm before the storm. The months after his mother leaves feel the hardest of his life, but he's eighteen years old; of course he didn't know any better.

But sometimes, there are quiet moments. There are good moments. Taking Cesar to school, making Claudia laugh at one of his jokes, breakfast with his tía Alejandra on Sundays, even if Vero gives him the stink-eye and Chucho pretends not to be hungover.

The morning is one of those moments; that night is another, Claudia's fingers curled in the collar of his shirt, her mouth soft and urgent.

"Oscar," Claudia mutters, not pulling away, "Cesar's here."