The day is already halfway over by the time an older white guy actually stops for more than a few moments. We’re outside in December, but he’s sweating harder than I do in church. He rubs his chin and eyes everything individually for what feels like a century.
“Are you looking for anything specific?” I ask to break the silence.
“Forgot my anniversary. She likes purple.”
I spring into action, picking up an intricate purple-and-green beadwork necklace with a flowerlike pattern. “She’ll forgive you if you get this one! It’s my mom’s favorite!” I hold it to my neck so he can see it better.
“How much?”
“A hundred and ten dollars.” I say it with as much confidence as I can.
“I’ll take it for fifty.” He inspects it like it’s worth nothing more. I put the necklace back down and blink at him.
“I’m sorry, this one’s a hundred and ten.” Cutting the price even a dollar feels like an insult, and he wants less than half for it? The prices are already pretty low considering expenses for materials and how much time went into making them.
“Sixty. Final offer.” He strokes the necklace, and I hold myself back from swatting his sweaty hands away from my art.
“One hundred,” I offer. I hate hagglers, but I’m afraid I won’t sell anything if I don’t budge with this guy. I suck it up because I don’t want to be homeless if my mom kicks me out. I need this. Besides, he already contaminated it with his greasy sausage fingers.
“You know what? I’ll come back.” He starts to turn away. I’ve seen Mami do this enough to know that people don’t come back.
“Wait!” I shout louder than I need to. “Sixty is fine.” I hate the desperation that comes out in my voice.
He grins and gets out his wallet. I try not to let my eyes water as I bag up the necklace and accept his cash. Fifty dollars less than what I should be getting.
People start coming in droves around lunchtime, and thank God, because I need to make up for my lack of sales this morning. Normally being in a place so crowded by myself would be my worst nightmare, but I make my table my shield and the jewelry my weapons in order to face the oncoming traffic.
I prepare myself for the rush as several other tables start building up lines. A family of five walks to my table, and I smile at one of the adults. They smile back, but just as the family reaches my table, I spot Bianca and her mom at the entrance.
My heart jumps out of my chest and I can’t think straight. All I know is I can’t let them see me. I’m still holding back tears from Sausage Fingers, and if Bianca sees me upset, she’ll know I’m failing at this, too.
“I’m so sorry, I need to take a break! Come back later?” The words sound desperate enough that the family doesn’t get irritated. But I doubt they’ll come back. I grab the blanket off the grass and throw it over my table, then duck underneath.
The champurrado lady gives me a curious look. I press a finger to my lips, so she shakes her head and goes back to minding her business.
My gut pulls at me to get up and make my money, but I can’t. I can’t see them. Tears press against my eyes. I hate how she can still make me cry. She didn’t even have to do anything, and I’m hiding under a table, crying like a baby.
I sit for at least an hour before my back starts hurting. I check the time on my phone. I put it away as soon as I see it, since I don’t want to look at my dad right now. He wants nothing to do with me, so why should I keep him as my wallpaper? I guess I just don’t have the heart to change it, so I’ve been avoiding looking at the screen.
Okay, focus, Yami. There’s only a couple of hours left before I’ll have to pack up. I can’t stay hiding all day.