Page 12 of Capicú Summer

I hate when she acts clingy, and with Adri returning, I have a feeling it’s gonna be ten times worse. I should probably get used to the idea or cut her loose. I don’t want the headache.

“Not tonight.” I shrug off her touch and bend down to unpack the first box. “Busy.”

Looking up at her, I watch as her big doe eyes narrow into small slits. “Since when?”

Since Adri stepped back onto this block and ripped open every wound I thought I’d buried, I want to reply, even though I don’t. Instead, I give her a sad excuse. “Cuz I’ll be chilling with the guys.”

“So?” Estrella rolls her eyes. “You can still come by.”

I suck in a breath, already seeing where she’s going with all of this. “Listen, with the tournament coming up, I have to focus.”

“Focus,” she parrots. “Yael, since when?” Estrella's eyes go wide, a scoff escaping her lips. Her gaze moves to the window that directly shows Adriana sweeping the sidewalk, and her expression shifts. “Still, Yael? Really?”

“Don’t start,” I warn.

She looks like she’s about to burst into a fit of rage, her face reddening as she holds back the urge to fight for a man she has no business claiming. To fight for the spot I’ve never given her. And just when I think the dam is about to explode, Estrella composes herself, her words low and calm with a hint of sarcasm.

“I’m not starting anything,” she says, even though she absolutely is. “Just asking a question. You seem real busy for a man who likes to fuck after spending all night drinking Henny. It's really funny that you look really awake right now for someone who has been asleep for five years.”

My brows furrow together, and I shoot a glance her way. “What does that even mean?”

“I don’t know, papi,” she teases. “Maybe it’s for me to know and for you,” Estrella points an accusatory finger my way, “to figure out.”

With that, in typical Estrella fashion, she leaves with a huff and storms outside with me right on her heels. There’s no way I’m about to sit and watch the girl I occasionally fuck make a fool out of herself while also hurting the one person I cannot bring myself to stop loving. My hand hooks around her elbow, pulling Estrella towards me before she can cross the street.

Doña Blanca steps out of the store and through gritted teeth demands, “Suelta, mi hija.”⁠*

And I do.

For a moment, we just stand there and glare. Feeling the heat of everyone’s stare, the block quietly waiting for the next move. Waiting for the next chisme to pop off. That won’t be happening, I won’t give no one the benefit of witnessing any drama. So, I walk away and set up the sign to fuck with Ruben, shifting my attention to my normal shenanigans. Thankfully, the women opt for the same, heading into the salon. I huff out a mouthful of air, the only drama I enjoy is the one right here. That's actually fun and makes me money. I grab the corner of the sign and glance down making sure you can read the words clear enough from a distance. Pulling out my phone, I snap a picture—the flash bouncing off the glass, and post it on my page. I don’t have a big following but the funny signs get the block talking. And the bodegas could use the buzz.

A smile spreads through my face as I stare down at the picture, the bold green letters loud even through the screen.

Best pastelitos on the block. Don’t argue with facts.

It wasn’t a lie.

We do have the best pastelitos on the block. You can even search us on the internet, see the reviews for yourself. The dough is truly homemade by yours truly. So is the sazon and sofrito. Even the garlic is peeled by my own fingers. You won’t get that quality next door. You need to enjoy what you do, which I do. Cooking is art. And I’m the artist who creates it.

The door across the street squeaks open, startling me out of my thoughts and the pigeons from their tut. Glancing over my shoulder, I see Ruben is already outside, ready to talk his shit with his own sign in hand.

“Tu ta loco mijo,”⁠* he says, waving his own sign, which reads:

Stop for los tres golpes. Why eat a snack when you can have a meal.

The words make me bite back a chuckle, the joke a familiar one. That’s Adri’s flavor. One she used to write. Back then, I considered it her way of flirting, and I guess I still do given the grin painted on my face. I turn my wooden sign to face him, my hand waving over the words.

“Can’t argue with facts, man.”

He shakes his head. “Imma show you how we really throw it down this summer.”

“You've been saying this for how many summers now, c’mon, papi.”

Before he can clap back, Ruben’s mother steps out of their store, and of course, she would stop right beside Adriana. I look away fast, before I’m trapped in the trance, making myself look even more like a fool. I’ve been there and done that, and shit sucks.

“Listen, papi, how about you get some of our sobao and eat that instead of your words.”

Our regulars start drifting into their usual spots. Some sit around us, others pause their morning chores just to watch and later gossip. The old heads sit around the square domino tables, coffee in hand, ready to start their day. I lean into the stand, watching Ruben as he scowls at me from across the street. I never understood the beef between the stores until the day my abuela, on her deathbed, explained why. And if anything, learning the truth only helped me realize why I never saw Adri as my rival.