“I’m going to therapy.”
You sip your coffee.
“Good.”
“That’s it?”
“What did you want? A parade?”
THEY SERVED YOU DOG FOOD AT YOUR OWN 70TH BIRTHDAY—SO YOU CANCELED THE CARDS AND EXPOSED THE SECRET YOUR SON AND HIS GIRLFRIEND WERE HIDING
He smiles faintly.
“No.”
“Then good.”
Karla has the baby.
A boy.
A DNA test proves Daniel is the father.
Luis does not tell you this immediately. Silvia does, because Silvia knows everything within six blocks. When Luis finally brings it up, he looks ashamed all over again, but different now. Less theatrical. More honest.
“I think I deserved that,” he says.
You shake your head.
“No one deserves betrayal.”
He looks at you.
You hold his gaze.
“But sometimes betrayal makes us recognize what we were willing to do to others.”
He nods.
“I know.”
A year after the birthday, Luis asks if he can come over on a Saturday.
Not for dinner.
To apologize.
You almost say he already did.
Then you remember: he cried, explained, admitted, and suffered.
