He was working some color into the rooster, giving it depth and life as I watched, my heart singing with pride.
At the last stroke of red, Andrew threw down the marker and shouted, thrilled by his accomplishment. And I had to admit, the kid was talented. He’d picked up my tips and put them to use like a natural. But the icing on the cake was when Andrew turned and thanked me. Not with his hands, but with his voice.
“This is great. Thanks so much, Javi.”
When his mom came in a few minutes later, the buzz hadn’t worn off for Andrew yet. He showed off his mock-tattoo, pointing out the parts he’d done himself. He was so animated, and his mom’s stunned, wide-eyed stare told me all I needed to know about how things had been at home.
I didn’t miss him showing off to Gordo, as well. It made me suck in a breath, unsure of how to react. But Andrew’s mom saved me by clapping and complimenting her son, effusive in her praise of his work. After a few more minutes, she sent Andrew out to the car and came over to me.
“I—” She started, but a tear escaped one eye and she paused to dash it away. “He’s been so angry. For weeks. This is the first time he’s smiled in so long.”
She pulled me in for a hug, brief but firm. When she stepped back, her smile was as large and infectious as Andrew’s. “Thank you for being so good with my son.”
“S...s-s-s… It’s fine.” I bit off the answer as my stutter seemed to be taking charge of my mouth. I’d just wanted to say sure thing—why did simple things like that have to be so difficult for me?
It was hard to choke down my irritation with myself and give Andrew’s mom a smile and a nod. She was in just as hard a space as he was, having to deal with a moody teenager in addition to his disability, which could make everyday activities a challenge.
I waited until she’d left before daring to look over at Gordo, not knowing what to expect. But what I saw when we locked gazes stopped me in my tracks.
Gordo was looking at me like he’d never seen me before.
5
Gordo
It had taken all of my courage to apply for this job solo. The local youth center was having a hard time fundraising and was eager for a revamp—new logo, new brand, new chance at snagging the money they needed to stay open. Branching out from the firm that had been my home for most of my career didn’t exactly feel like a betrayal, as turnaround in my field was common, but it was scary as hell to think of the risk I was taking at trying to be my own boss while Giuliana was just a baby.
This was supposed to be an easy job, a good way to ease into freelance work, and the job had fallen into my lap. I’d seen a call for volunteers in the local paper and the center’s brand was… well, it was shit. Definitely the kind of low budget home brew that spoke of a place with tight funds, and I knew it wasn’t going to be winning the center any favors as they tried to bring in donations.
So I’d e-mailed the director, offering my time and energy at a fraction of my normal rate in exchange for a recommendation and networking opportunities, not to mention a feather in the cap of my portfolio. It was a large job, almost a complete makeover, and I needed it to go well so that I’d hopefully net some other clients. Ones who would pay full price, and allow me to not regret leaving the design firm I’d been with for years.
The director of the center had been taking me through the facility, showing me all of the different rooms and talking about ways they tried to help local at-risk teens, and I’d nodded along, taking mental notes. I’d finally hit my stride, feeling like I was doing the right thing for myself and Giuliana.
All around us were shapes and colors that inspired. The sheer volume of optimism, too, got my creative juices flowing. As we walked, my brain was already building a new website, playing with images for a logo, and more. This was a job I was meant to do. Kismet. But if fate was involved, then she had a sense of humor. Because as