“I had already sewn her a jewelry roll and mixed her a new skin-softening oil — the best I could afford to do since I had lost my job — but you don’t turn a hundred and twenty-five every day.Abuelita turned her milky eyes to me and lifted a trembling, withered hand from her rosary to beckon me closer. “Quiero morir,” she whispered in my ear. I want to die.I shivered, not from the cold of the windowless room, but from recognition. “Yo también,” I told her in a voice just loud enough for her to he...ar. “Espera, por favor. Espera.”Me, too. Please wait.Grandpa Estéban eyed us suspiciously from his recliner. “What are you talking about, Melissa?”I straightened up and forced a smile, raising my voice a bit more to carry over the hum of the compressors. “I promised her some birthday cake. Would you like some? It’ll be good. Sara made it.”He grunted. Sara’s spice cake was a rare treat and he wasn’t too far gone to know it. “Just a spoonful of frosting.”“Can do.”MoreLessRead More Read Less
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