All Souls' Night - Renee Rose Page 0,157

eyes.

“Don’t start.” He sits up and flips the greasy lid shut. “She knows I don’t like birria, so if she orders me something, no biggie, right?”

“Eddie.” I shake my head, the usual anger growing. I can see actual dried mud on the soles of his designer sneakers. “She can’t be spending her money on delivery. She barely has enough to cover her own expenses.”

“Well, she owed it to me for the meds anyway. And if you were back earlier, maybe you could have got her stuff and I could have gone on the job with Cesar.” He shrugs. “I gotta be available when he calls.”

I don’t know what he and Cesar do on their jobs. But if Eddie can bring in some money, he’ll be less of a leech on Abuela. Because despite the fact that he’s a total slacker, she loves him like she loves me—unconditionally. And forgives him every shitty thing he does. And hands his lazy ass cash. And lets him crash here for weeks at a time when he asks, even though I’m the one who pays most of the rent, and he pays nothing.

“I can’t deal with you.” I head to the kitchen and tap on Abuela’s bedroom door. “I’m home. Can I get you anything?”

She stirs. “I’m coming out, mija. One minute.”

When she emerges, her face is worn and tired, the lines more prominent. But her smile is brilliant. “Sweet girl. How was class?” She hugs me, then moves laboriously to a chair and sits. “Eat, eat. I cooked. Toppings are in the fridge.”

“Class was good.” I figure I won’t tell her how I fell asleep and flirted with my hot professor. I grab a bowl and ladle the birria in.

“You are learning a lot?” She leans in.

I nod. “Yup.” I take a mouthful and nod. “Amazing.”

“I’m so proud of you.” She pats my hand. “This will give you so many opportunities.”

I nod again, hoping she’s right. “It will take a long time to get the degree, though.” Especially working two jobs to pay for it on top of everything else.

“Time passes anyway. Might as well be doing something with it. And opportunities may arise even before the degree. Just being there will expose you to new things, and people.”

Out in the other room, Eddie turns up the TV as if our voices bother him.

I grimace and open my mouth, but Abuela looks away, so I stop.

She hates dissention, and it distresses her when I complain about Eddie, so I limit my bitching. It’s just that he takes advantage of her so hard and so often that it makes me sick.

“You have a glow,” she observes. “Did you meet someone special today?”

“What do you mean, a glow?” I stir the spoon in my bowl.

She gives me her knowing look. “Maybe a man? A nice, Mexican man?”

One interesting thing about Abuela is that she knows things before she should. Not lottery numbers, unfortunately. But sometimes, before her old landline phone rings, she’ll get up and walk in that direction and announce the name of the caller. She always knows when the monsoon is coming, although that could be just ‘that feeling in her bones.’ And often, she’ll have information that no one’s told her. That last part is the one that makes me wonder if she has a gift. But she won’t talk about it, so I never ask.

“No, I didn’t meet a man.” I eat more birria. “Maybe my Mexican professor is a little cute. But that’s not the same thing.”

Cute is a very tame way to describe the complex feelings I have for Professor Locke, and cute would have no place in what I want him to do to me.

She nods. “I have a feeling about this one.”

“Abuela.” I roll my eyes. “You don’t know his name. You don’t know him. I don’t even know him.”

She shrugs. “Even so.”

I change the topic and we talk about her garden, which relaxes her. Eventually, Eddie gets a call and takes off without saying goodbye—we just hear the front door slam shut.

“I’ve got this.” Before Abuela can stand, I head into the living room to clean up his trash and vacuum up the dried mud particles he’s left behind. How did his shoes even get so dirty? It’s been dry as a bone these past few weeks. He’s such a disrespectful slob.

While I clean, I think about the project I need to do for my Photoshop class.

And I think about Professor Locke. A little smile comes