Page 132 of Raspados & Regret
Elías answers first. Fast and easy. “No.”
The word is not cruel.
That is what makes it worse.
It is protective.
It is careful.
It is him doing exactly what I asked him to do without making me ask again.
No.
My body reacts before my brain signs anything.
“Yes,” I say.
Elías goes still, and the woman’s eyes widen. Junior drops his elote. My tía’s head snaps up, and Elías’s mother turns from the syrup bottles.
Everything stops. Okay, not everything… but it sure feels that way.
My heart punches my ribs like it wants out.
The customer looks between us again. “So… yes?”
My mouth is dry.
My ears are hot.
My hands are cold.
Elías is staring at me like I just threw a lit match into a gas station.
I look at the customer, then at the line behind her, then at the tablet.
“So what’s your order?” I ask, my voice rough.
Junior whispers, “No fucking way.”
My tía says, “Junior—”
“What? I whispered.”
Elías sets down the syrup bottle. Very carefully. Then he grabs my wrist.
Not hard.
But not gentle either.
“Trailer,” he says. “Now.”
I let him drag me because apparently some part of me has decided I take orders from Elías Cárdenas in public.
The line murmurs, and phones start lifting.
My tía says, “Elías.”
He calls back, “We’ll be right back.”
