into his room, Julian was sprawled out on the bed. Purrcaso was curled up on his chest, her nose tucked into her tail, fast sleep.
“This is still so weird,” Julian said, trailing his fingertip along Purrcaso’s crooked little spine.
“I told you not to make fun of her,” Yadriel said, slicking his wet hair back and out of his face.
Julian rolled his eyes, but an amused smirk still tugged at his lips. “Not what I meant.”
Yadriel flopped onto the bed next to Julian and stared up at the ceiling. They lay there for a minute, with only the distant sound of traffic and Purrcaso’s mighty purrs between them.
“Jules?” Yadriel finally ventured. His heartbeat like a finger tapping against his throat.
Julian hummed in response.
Yadriel stole a look over at him. His attention was on Purrcaso, his dark lashes hiding his eyes.
“Why don’t you like to speak Spanish?”
Julian’s hand paused, his fingers hovering above Purrcaso, who let out a displeased sound at the sudden lack of petting.
Silence stretched between them for a long moment. Yadriel thought he wasn’t going to answer the question. It seemed like a strange thing to carry so much weight.
When Julian finally spoke, his words were quiet and tentative.
“My dad didn’t know much English, so we pretty much only spoke Spanish at home.” He didn’t look at Yadriel but toyed with Purrcaso’s tail. “It’s not that I don’t like speaking Spanish, I mean, it’s me, you know? I think in it, I dream in it, but…” He trailed off, expression pinched as he tried to find the right words. “But it was also my dad, you know?” Julian made a frustrated sound. “I don’t know how to explain it. At school we have to speak English, and my friends mostly speak in English, too, so Spanish was more like … It was what we used at home. It was what I used with my dad—the only language I spoke with him. So, when he died…”
Yadriel felt a pang in his chest.
Julian’s shoulder pulled into a shrug. “I don’t know, man. Just didn’t feel right using it without him, I guess. Feels too…” He made a twisting gesture with his hand, frustration working his jaw.
“Intimate?” Yadriel offered.
Julian’s eyes snapped to Yadriel with a look so intent, it struck him like lightning. “Yeah,” he finally said. “Something like that.”
Yadriel gave a small nod.
“That sounds dumb, right?” Julian asked, eyeing him like he expected Yadriel to laugh.
“No, it definitely doesn’t sound dumb. It makes sense, not wanting to share something personal that means a lot to you.” Yadriel hooked a finger around the chain of Julian’s St. Jude pendant, letting it dangle. “Kind of like having a stranger wear this?” he guessed.
Julian stared at the silver medal. He reached out. The pendant swayed at his ghostly touch. “Yeah, kind of.” Julian withdrew his hand and cleared his throat.
Yadriel didn’t argue when he unceremoniously jumped topics.
“How does the whole Día de Muertos thing work, exactly?” Julian asked, glancing over at Yadriel. “All the food and altars and decorations and stuff.”
Yadriel stretched and tucked his hands under his neck. “Well, to welcome our ancestors back, we make ofrendas for our family members. We use their pictures, belongings, and favorite foods. Then there’s the standard stuff like mezcal, pan de muerto—”
“Sounds like a party.” Julian grinned.
“It is. One big party,” Yadriel agreed. “We decorate the cemetery with papel picado—the colorful cutouts, we string them up like banners all over the place. We use sugarcane to make arches.” Yadriel gestured with his hands, drawing an arch in the air. “We cover the arches in marigolds—cempasúchitl, specifically. They’re the gateways the spirits use to pass through from the land of the dead to the land of the living. The food and trinkets, the color of the marigolds and their really strong scent of apples lead the spirits back to the cemetery.”
“Do they have to be buried here to come back?” Julian asked.
Yadriel shook his head. “So many of our brujx are immigrants. From Mexico, South America, the Caribbean—all over the place. There are different cemeteries like ours all over the United States. So, no, they don’t have to be buried here. It’d be kind of weird to have people digging up dead bodies or lugging their ashes across the border,” he pointed out. “All you need is the ofrenda.”
“Is it like, all your ancestors ever? The cemetery is pretty big, but enough to hold hundreds of generations?” Julian gave him a dubious look, eyebrow arching.