What we want.
Because there isn’t supposed to be a time. She’s an inmate, an ex-Queen-Pin who went down for a mass drug charge, and you’re a guard. This isn’t Love Island, that little voice in my head reminds me just as my dad’s booming voice erupts through the receiver.
“Andrés? Are you listening to me?” he asks, sucking me out of my thoughts.
Shaking my head, I tighten my grip on the steering wheel and blow out a flustered breath as the light flips to green. I’m almost home. “I wasn’t, Pops, I’m sorry. It’s been a long day. What were you saying?”
“Your mother wants to know if you’re coming down for the Fourth.”
Since when do we celebrate the Fourth like that? We’ve always grilled and maybe had some family over to blow up fireworks, but nothing huge. “I mean, I guess. I wasn’t really planning on it, but if she needs me there, I’ll make the drive.”
“She doesn’t need you here,” he laughs, Colombian accent shining through a bit more than usual. “She just wants you here since it’s the first holiday en la casa nueva. You’d think we’re Americanos with how many people she invited.”
I’m not surprised. My mom loves entertaining, and they haven’t done anything since moving into the new house a few weeks back. If she could host something every weekend, she would. Flipping on my signal, I make a right off the main road into the gated apartment complex. “Couldn’t wait until Noche Buena could she?”
“No,” he laughs again, and it’s one of those fond, fully-bellied laughs. “No, she couldn’t. You should’ve seen her face when I suggested as much.”
“The sheer horror, I’m sure.” I chuckle too, perfectly envisioning Mama’s face as I roll down my window and hold my access card up to the reader.
“Tu lo sabes.” You know it. “So how's the new job?” he goes on, locking my jaw, teeth crashing and grinding together.
Oh, you know, the usual. I’ve got this thing I can’t explain for one of the inmates. Snuck in a cell phone for her so she could call home whenever she wants and not abide by the rules.
“It’s going good,” I lie, pulling into one of the empty spaces in front of my building. “Same shit, different location, really.”
“You don’t sound too happy about that.” He’s trying to pry, but on the surface, you’d think he’s just amused based on his tone. I’ve been dealing with this conversation for so long, though, I can read right through it.
“It’s work, Pops. Since when am I supposed to be happy about work?”
“If you hate your job, you’re doing it wrong,” he counters.
Here we go again.
Rolling my eyes, I shut off the Wrangler, grab my bag from the passenger seat, and hop out onto the pavement. “Doing what wrong? I’m damn good at my job.”
“Being good at it and loving it are two different things. Life’s too short to be stuck in a position you have no passion for.”
He would say that. Why? ‘Cause he and Ma hate my job. They hate that I work in prison. This topic right here? He can revisit it over and over again, ruffling only my feathers in the process. And I get why he does it, to some extent. He wants the absolute best for me, always strived his hardest to give Ma and me a good life, but it’s like being in retirement has made him forget one fundamental concept. “Passion doesn’t always pay the bills. Not for everyone anyway.”
“Que es tu pasión?” What is your passion, he asks, bypassing the main point of my reply.
Starting up the steps to the third floor, I shake my head. “Same answer as the last time we talked about this, Pops. I don’t have one.”
My dad sighs, the distant sound of the ocean erupting somewhere behind him. “You need to find your purpose, Andrés. Don’t settle for a mundane life. La tienes que vivir.” You need to live it.
And yet, he settled. For as long as I can remember, my dad got up at the asscrack of dawn, went to work, was gone all day, came home, and then it was more routine from there. Dinner, shower, TV time, etcetera. “Last time I checked, our lives have always been pretty mundane, and I’m perfectly fine with that.”
“Which is why I want more for you. You deserve more than the little I could give you.”
Now it’s me who sighs as I clear the last set of the steps and cut a right toward my unit. “Pops, you know I love you, and I know you mean well, but it’s been a long day. I do not want to get into this right now. If I let you, you’ll go on until you’re blue in the face, and Ma starts yelling at you about boundaries.”
He laughs, but he knows it's true. This is where my parents are vastly different. She tends to go more silent when she doesn’t agree with something. Not that she hasn’t voiced how she feels about my career choice, but she’s a one and done kind of woman. She’ll bring it up once, state her respectful opinions, and that’s it.
“Okay, okay, you’re right. I’m sorry,” he concedes. “So, what do you want me to tell your mother about the Fourth?”
Fiddling around with my keys, I pull the one for my door and slide it into the lock. Somewhere behind me, I hear a hushed, “psst.” Sparing a glance over my shoulder, I find Kass poking her head out of her door, twiddling her manicured fingers at me by way of greeting.
This is the first time I’m seeing her all week, actually. We didn’t have our usual Monday meeting. She texted me to fill me in on the change of plans, but I was so caught up texting with Benni, I read
