His arms were raised moving around like a zombie trying to grasp something. A curtain of black surrounded Amare. Splashes of an unknown liquid riveted underneath his converse. He debated slowing down but the feeling of eyes crawling over his figure had him continue.
A gust of wind blew past his ear.
Shivering he covered his ear. "Who's there! Where am I?" Amare shouted. Only an echo responded.
He blinked. His arms wrapped around himself he considered crawling. A sudden movement across his shoe made him lose the idea.
He called out in the darkness. "Mom?" No answer. His face in flames he tried again. "Mama?" He sniffed. The air became thinner. His nose inhaled as much air as it could but the mucus prevented it from entering.
Amare's voice began to quiver. "Where are you, mama?... I'm scared."
"Mijo?"
He gasped awake. Sun rays and the car dashboard were the first things in sight. He winced, shifted then rubbed his eyes.
"Sorry for waking you up. We are almost home." Dr. Santos maneuvered the car swiftly. He tapped the wheel in the beat of the Latin music softly playing on the radio. "I also need to give you pointers before we get home."
Amare drowsily peeked out the window. "¿Que pointers?" He flinched.
The rows of cars stuck in traffic and big city buildings were replaced by pine trees and rocks. The harsh reminder that he was not in his home any longer. He would have sworn he saw one or two pairs of eyes stare at the car as they passed by. Perhaps deer or bears. Or so he hoped.
Distraught he asked. “How much longer ‘till we get home?”
His father maintained his focus on the road as he guessed. “Casi treinta? Yeah, about thirty minutes.”
A blanket of silence fell upon them. He fidgeted with the car lock and Dr. Santos hummed. A ballad in English played.
“Tu Ingles a mejorado, papa.” Amare praised his father’s English. His father’s diction had improved but there were a few words that had his Chapin accent.
Mr. Santos' face lit up and his chest puffed up. Shoulders moving side to side in a little dance. "Thank you very much." Amare smiled. With a bright smile, his father beamed. "Neveah has helped me a lot to improve."
"Neveah?"
He watched his father’s face turn red. A silent cue passed. Amare almost spoke again. "Well, you see she’s my fiance…"
"Oooh okay okay." Amare let out a breath. A pause ensued. “Was that the ‘pointers’?”
Santos chuckled. “It was part of it.”
The car ride was once again silent. The heater was on every few minutes. “We don’t want to waste gas.” Mr. Santos said. Amare gave him an unsure smile while shivering.
To say he was nervous was an understatement. Whether it was the nerves or the cold he just kept shivering. His teeth began to chatter as he rubbed his hands together. He wiped the back of his neck a few times breaking out in cold sweat.
“Mijo.” The car began to roll into the town. “Do you want to get a sweater?”
Amare awkwardly smiled and shook his head. He was more intrigued by the layout of the town. Mom and pop shops lined neatly in rows. Flags of varieties were posted all over. A breath of relief left his lung at recognizing the Pride progress flag.
“That’s the Belladonna flower shop. Mrs. and Mrs. Louvel are good friends of Neveah. They come by often with their kid and some flowers. Linda gente.”
Muttering Amare let out a polite “Oh nice.” He tapped a beat on his leg and asked. “Where’s your workplace?”
“Thankfully we live next door to my workplace.” The town rolled out of view and they passed by a graveyard. “Here we are!”
The car parked in the driveway of an old house. Tinted windows and creaky wood boards leading to the front step of the house. The fresh scent of dust and water lingered on the front porch. Amare looked to find the house surrounded by a gate almost at the edge of the graveyard. A few more houses were down the street but from the boarded-up windows and graffiti art on them, Amare knew they had no neighbors.
“Papa? I thought you worked at a hospital or something.” Amare helped his father bring up the heaviest bag from the trunk of the car.
Santos laughed. “Ay, mijo. That was ages ago!” He struggled to find his keys. “After I moved here I noticed the decrease in my clientele. Therapy is not quite liked or ‘needed’ around here. Thankfully I was friends with the funerario who helped me.”
A sad smile ghosted on Mr. Santo’s face. “He was a good man Don Morticio.” He shoved the door open. “I have worked here for about, six years? Yeah.”
Amare could feel his knees buckling. He wasn’t sure if it was the overwhelming information or the flight but his head was ready to burst. The cold outside made him feel worse. He just hoped he didn’t get a fever.
Upon entering, he noticed the inside was completely distinct from the outside. It was as if he had entered some parallel world. The smell of distinct spices and warmth soothed his body. But above all else, the strongest smell was that of-
“Canela.” He smiled fondly. Cinnamon. An ingredient his grandmother commonly used whenever he would come over. He looked at his dad who patted his back.
“Neveah made you some snickerdoodles and buñuelos con miel. Arroz con leche para acompañarlo.” They left his bags near the front of the stairs and walked towards the scent. “Oh take off your shoes. Neveah doesn’t like outdoor shoes in the house.”
On the counter, the snickerdoodles, fritters with honey, and rice milk were steaming in their containers. Amare’s mouth watered and his headache diminished. He brushed a hand running along the counter. Delicately lifting a mug from the mismatched set placed in front of him.
“Surprise!”
The mug slipped from his fingers and spread all over the floor. Riveting a loud ripple against the grey and white marble.
“Sorry! I am so sorry.” Amare nervously laughed and got down to pick up the glass. He hissed once touching the hot pieces.
“Oh love it’s ok!” A tender voice called out to him. “I knew I should have counted to ten before surprising you. Gosh silly me.”
His eyes landed on the owner of the lovely voice. She reminded him of cinnamon. Dark brown hair twisted into a hair bun with a few curls letting loose framing around her reddish-brown ochre skin. To say she was tall was an understatement. Even as she crouched down and helped Amare pick up his mess she towered over him. Regardless she appeared almost angelic with the kitchen light shining above her. She smiled.
“Hi!” She cheerfully spoke to him. “I’ve heard a lot of nice things about you from your dad. I hope we can get along.”
He smiled along with her and dumbfoundedly nodded. “Yee of course.”
She squealed and opened her arms. As quick as she did she retracted back. “Wait, may I hug you? I don’t want to invade your personal bubble.” Neveah placed her hand on the corner of her lips and whispered. “According to your dad, I do that a lot with people.”
Amare chuckled with her and opened his arms. Her embrace felt as warm as she was. “I appreciate that um…” He lost himself trying to name her. He hadn't forgotten her name but it didn't feel right to say it.
"Neveah?" Mr. Santos entered the kitchen. His face widened in surprise. "Mijo, I see you have found Neveah for me."
Neveah shuffled towards Santos and embraced him. "He's so adorable! It's like seeing a mini version of you." They talked to each other in a hushed tone. Probably whispering sweet nothings to each other.
Amare looked away and continued to munch on a sweet. Leaning against the counter he drowned out the squeals of the two lovers messing around. Reflecting on how different this was from his mom.
Reserved, cold, almost fabricated for show. His stepfather never hugged nor kissed Amare’s mother just as she never showed any signs of affection. It was hard to read them both. Of course, there were phantom smiles when guests were around. Not to mention the spared glares whenever anyone crossed each other through the house.
“Amare?” He blinked towards them. “We want to show you your room.” His soon-to-be stepmother smiled excitedly. He nodded and returned the smile. The change of atmosphere was exactly what he needed.
“Neveah?” He placed his empty plate down. “Can I call you mom?”
After all, he did have to replace the one he just lost...
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