“Overjoyed” might be an understatement regarding Tita Rosie’s reaction to seeing her only child again after more than a decade. If she wasn’t filling his plate with third and fourth helpings, she was touching his face and bursting into tears, as if she couldn’t believe he was real.
I couldn’t believe it, either.
Considering everything he put her through, the kindest thing he did for our family was leave, just like his father before him.
“Let them go,” Lola Flor had muttered when I was a kid, as we watched first Tito Jeff and then Ronnie abandon us, Tita Rosie sobbing alone in her room each time. “The Macapagal women will do just fine without them.”
My grandmother had been right. Maybe it had taken awhile, but the Macapagal women thrived without them. Tita Rosie’s Kitchen, our family restaurant, sat right next door to the Brew-ha Cafe and was now doing so well that people from all over the Midwest came down to Shady Palms just to enjoy my family’s food. That’s right, our hole-in-the-wall restaurant was now a tourist destination. Thanks to that, we finally had enough money to hire outside help and, get this, my aunt and grandmother could actually take a whole entire day off.
My beloved Brew-ha Cafe wasn’t quite there yet, but was still on track to turn a profit within the next couple of years. We had a rough start back in the summer, but thanks to Adeena’s barista skills, my baking wizardry, and Elena’s plant witchery, we’d started to establish ourselves as the hang-out spot for the below-forty crowd. We also appealed to anyone who appreciated quality drinks, Filipino-inspired bakes, and an array of plants and organic bath and beauty products.
As I doodled in the edges of my notebook, trying to figure out what was easy to bake in bulk yet still had enough pizzazz to draw a crowd among the twenty or so tables and stalls that would be at the holiday bash, Adeena came over with a tray holding three small cups filled with a creamy concoction dusted with cinnamon.
“Tasting time!” she said. “This is the atole recipe I plan on serving at the big bash. Elena’s mom gave me the recipe and I added my own tweaks. What do you think?”
I picked up a cup and took a big sniff, little curls of steam enveloping my face. Along with the cinnamon, I detected a touch of vanilla and a faint scent that I couldn’t immediately place until I took a small sip.
“Corn! Is this thickened with masa harina?” I asked.
Elena nodded. “Yup! It’s pretty typical for breakfast, especially around Christmastime. I’d asked Adeena to make champurrado, the chocolate version, but she said there was also a Filipino dish called champorado that was rice-based, and we didn’t want the customers to get confused.”
“Aww, that’s sweet. And a good idea, since I think my family will be serving champorado at the big bash. I love this, Adeena! Are we all set with the beverages?”
“Think so. There’s Elena’s atole, my chai, and of course the house blend with bags of my hand-roasted coffee beans to sell alongside it. You sure you don’t want to include one of your drinks?”
“Three is plenty. Our table’s kind of small, so I want to make sure we have enough space for everything.” I looked down at my holiday bash planning list and scribbled down Adeena’s contribution before checking her off my list. “What about you, Elena?”
She was reeling off the inventory of potted plants, herbs, and other products she’d set aside for the party when the bells above the door tinkled, announcing our visitor: my cousin Ronnie. He was barely average height and had a slight build, but the way he held himself made it seem like he filled the entryway. That air of confidence, plus his carefully styled wavy black hair, golden brown skin, and cocky grin had led to more than one Shady Palms mom showing up on our doorstep, screaming at Tita Rosie because he’d broken another girl’s heart—most notably my cousin Bernadette （not a blood relation, don’t worry）。 If I was annoyed by Ronnie’s return, Bernadette was livid. She hadn’t stopped by the restaurant or cafe since he’d arrived, and I missed her.
That, coupled with the old feelings of resentment that always bubbled at the surface whenever I thought of him, and my anxiety about preparing for the holiday party made my voice come out sharper than I’d meant. “What are you doing here?”
The grin didn’t leave his face. He was way too smiley for seven in the morning—I didn’t trust anyone who smiled that much before the sun had fully risen.
“Good morning to you too, Cuz. And to you, Adeena.” He nodded at her before turning his attention to Elena. “Sorry, we haven’t met yet. I’m Ronnie Flores, Lila’s cousin.”