Page 73 of Run Home

“I have a special reason to eat here today,” I tell him as he comes out of the truck to greet me. Holding my hand toward Sam, I say, “Esta es mi novia.”

“La catira bellísima? Tu novia? Si Luis!” Daniel exclaims. When he notices Sam’s genuine smile but lost expression, he switches to English. “I’m telling this guy I don’t believe him that the beautiful blonde is his girlfriend. How has he tricked you?”

Sam laughs and replies, “Believe me—I’m the one who tricked him.”

“Mentirosa,” I chide her, pulling her closer and kissing her cheek. “Daniel is right—a gorgeous woman like you settling for me is hard to believe. I’m a lucky man. Sam, meet Daniel Romero, owner and chef of the best food truck in the whole Kansas City metro.”

Daniel shakes Sam’s hand and asks, “Have you ever had Venezuelan food before?” When she shakes her head, he says, “Well, we’ll make one of everything.”

I tell him, “Maybe not one of everything—I have a game to play tonight and can’t be late to warm-ups. We’ll come back again another time, but start her off with all the best stuff. Every classic taste of home.”

While we sit and wait for our food, Sam fills me in on her conversation with Veronica at the salon yesterday.

“I told you,” I say. “It’s all your talent.”

Sam gives me a sarcastic look. “I told you. That Veronica thought my customers were coming from my girlfriend status.”

“Well, we were both right,” I concede. “But I’m more right because Veronica agreed with me.”

“Menso, she agreed with us both,” Sam teases, rolling her eyes. She holds out her hand on top of the table, and I happily take it.

The small bird tattoo on Sam’s wrist stands out in the bright sunlight, and I point to it. “What does your tattoo mean?”

She narrows her eyes, and I know she’s thinking about my refusal to explain the words on my wrist. Before I can worry that she’s going to point out the hypocrisy, she smiles and starts talking. “It’s from a painting my mom commissioned to hang in their living room. Before Ian and I joined the family, my parents fostered other children temporarily for several years. But Mom always said that every child was forever in her heart, even if they weren’t forever in the official West family.

“The painting is a tree with five birds perched in the branches, and fourteen birds flying above it. My parents are the tree, giving stability and love to all the birds, for however long they need it. The flying birds represent the kids who lived with them for a short time but didn’t stay, and the five in the tree are all of us siblings,” Sam explains.

She pauses, and I rub my thumb across the tiny bird sitting on a branch. Her voice is softer when she says, “I got it last year to give myself a visual reminder that I belong somewhere. To remind me that I’m loved when I have a hard time remembering.”

My thumb freezes in its trail across her wrist. I tense, trying to think of what to say.

I haven’t told Sam I love her yet, even though I do. But I don’t want this to be the first time I say it. I don’t want it to seem like I’m only telling her to reassure her. But I do love her, and I do want to reassure her that she’s loved.

Unfortunately, my mental paralysis has once again kept me silent for too long, and Sam swiftly changes the mood. “I also got it as a motivator to myself to find my own place to roost, to find what I wanted to do with my life and not work as Griff’s assistant forever. And look at me now. Successfully roosting.”

She grins as she says it, and between my sunglasses and hers, I don’t have a clear view of her eyes. But I know the grin isn’t crinkling those corner laugh lines. I know the sadness that she erased from her tone lingers in her eyes. I know I should figure out what she needs to hear and say it.

But I don’t know. Instead, I flip over my arm and say, “I got this two years ago around the time of the twenty-year anniversary of my mom’s death. It was her favorite poem. She had it framed in the house, and now it sits on top of a bookshelf next to a photo of her in my dad’s apartment.”

Sam’s mouth pinches with emotion, and she studies my tattoo. Before I can decide whether or not to translate the words and explain their significance, Daniel brings over baskets of food, and Sam and I release our hands to clear space on the table. He points out the different fillings in the arepas and empanadas, but I tell Sam to start with the cachapa—salty cheese folded inside a sweet corn pancake.

I hold my breath waiting for Sam to take her first bite. Daniel hovers with similar anticipation. The melted cheese stretches as she pulls the fork to her mouth, and I know I’ve won when she moans.

“Have I mentioned I hate you?” she says, mouth still full.

I grin at the statement, reminiscent of the first time I took her to our favorite sushi place. “That’s mean,” I play along.

“I can’t believe you’ve let me live this long not knowing that this little bite of heaven exists,” she says. “What kind of boyfriend are you?”

Daniel laughs heartily at that and sticks around long enough to get her reaction to the empanadas and arepas before he returns to the truck to cook for the other customers lining up. I avoid sharing more about my tattoo by telling Sam stories about all my favorite foods growing up and how I discovered this place.

While I was serious about it being a bad idea to eat such heavy food before a game, I can’t resist taking a few bites of everything. Something sings in my heart to experience this sliver of home along with Sam.

Something stings in my heart when I glance down at the words inked across my wrist. At the sliver of home I’ll never experience with Sam.

Swallowing down the painful thought along with a bite of cachapa, I tell Sam, “We’d better head back to my house. I gotta get my suitcase and head to the stadium so I’m not late. But you’re coming tonight, right?”

“Yes,” she confirms, licking guasacaca sauce from her thumb. She adds, “I’m sitting with Lily in the suite. Will you have time to come up before you fly out? Or should I plan on seeing you when you get back in town?”