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T W E N T Y S E V E N
"I never thought we would see you again," Maria said, adding two plates to the already set dining table.
Before we got here, Maria and José were about to have dinner with the kids, and even though Evan and I had already eaten, we couldn't say no to them. Something I have learned throughout my years of friendship with Josefina was that you never say no to a Mexican mom's food because they would take high offense.
"The only way we knew you were okay was through the flowers your father sends to Jose's grave every month." She added.
I stared at her, furrowing my eyebrows together, confused about the information. My father has never mentioned anything to me about doing such a thing.
"Wait, what?" I asked, more than likely sounding stupid. Of course, my father has been doing something like that without telling me. It was Grant Miller we were talking about, after all.
"Every month, Grant sends a new flower arrangement to the cemetery. He leaves us notes telling us how you are doing along with pictures. You didn't know?" José explained after he finished giving the kids, whom I've learned are all Josefina's adorable nephews and nieces, their dinner.
A sense of emptiness and guilt ran through me as I realized she never got to meet them. She always talked about how she wasn't ready to be a mother but was definitely prepared to be an aunt. Jose would constantly whine about how her older brothers were taking too long with making babies.
She couldn't wait to be the cool and fun aunt—her words, not mine.
"That's how we came to find out you moved here to California and that now you are a mom of an adorable little girl." Maria's voice faltered at the last part. Her eyes got teary as she gave me a warm smile.
"I've wanted to reach out and contact your dad for years, but Maria never let me insisting that she felt that you were not ready to face us yet." José shook his head, helping himself to some of the delicious food in the middle of the table.
Evan didn't waste a second and started digging in without telling him twice. I couldn't blame him, though. The smell of the food made my mouth water since we entered the house.
It stings that my father never bothered to tell me that somehow he was reaching out to the people that meant everything to me during some of my most challenging times, but I admit that it means so much to me that he has done it.
"I'm sorry. I-" I trailed off, feeling quite ashamed that I never showed up at Jose's funeral or even bothered sending them a letter saying how much they meant to me and how sorry I was for the loss of their daughter. I was too busy being a coward and blaming myself for not doing anything to save her that day.
