His second-to-last shift at "Santa Gracia" began with a brutal welcome. A truck arrived with next month's merchandise, and he barely had time to put on his uniform before throwing himself into unloading boxes. To make matters worse, Mr. Henrick helped at first, but couldn't stay long without attending to the bar.
When he finished, the shift was practically over.
He entered the kitchen, his body tired, and greeted Bella, who responded with a simple nod. He dedicated himself to washing the dishes accumulated throughout the day, expecting their usual conversation, but she said nothing.
The endless sound of running water became distant, as if the kitchen were in another dimension. He knew time was running out, that this would be one of the last moments they would share that space, and yet, there they were, trapped in an awkward silence.
When the shift ended and he made to leave.
"Aren't you going to tell me anything?"
Her voice stopped him dead in his tracks.
He turned to meet her gaze. Those eyes that had always been sparkling and full of life now reflected nervousness and discomfort. And he didn't want to see her like that.
He knew exactly what to say. "Relax, there's nothing to say, don't you think?"
Bella's eyes filled with tears. She lowered her head, resting both hands on the work table. "You're right... I, at least, should."
Tomás let out a soft laugh, trying to lighten the moment. "Hey, relax. Being so serious isn't your thing."
Bella looked up, smiling. This time, without joy.
"See you soon," he said.
"See you."
As he changed out of his uniform, he repeated to himself that he had done the right thing. That it was better this way.
But if he had looked in the mirror at that moment, he would have seen the truth in his reflection.
He was devastated.
And so he left that night, holding back his pain until he got home, where it all became part of his new novel.
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When he woke up that morning, his mother had already left and his cousin was still asleep. He prepared breakfast for two, just in case Daniela woke up while he ate. As the bread slowly toasted in the toaster, he started preparing dinner early. A long time ago, cooking had been torture, but now, in the repetition of the same gestures, he found a certain peace. Control. Knowing that the vegetables wouldn't resist, that the process was predictable, that in the end there would be a tangible result. All of that gave him meaning.
The aroma of toasted bread mixed with that of vegetables in the pan. The sizzling of the oil, the slow sound of the coffee maker filling the carafe with a dark, aromatic stream. He gently stirred the pan before adding the meat and spices. The smell of the seasonings enveloped the kitchen, making it cozier than usual. Perhaps that was what he always sought when cooking: an echo of childhood, the blurry shadow of a woman moving among the stoves, a warm smile amidst steam, the touch of a hand in his hair.
He poured broth into the pan, covered it, and let the food finish cooking over low heat. Then, he set the table.
When Daniela came down, she followed the aromas to the dining room. "Oh, I see you prepared an offering for yours truly."
Tomás took a sip of coffee. "I couldn't have breakfast without preparing something for you."
Daniela slumped into the chair and spread butter on a crispy slice of bread. "Thanks, little rebel."
Tomás raised an eyebrow. "Rebel?"
"Didn't you get suspended? You got fired from your job... what else?"
Tomás pointed to his face, where traces of the blows still remained. "Hey, don't you see that I'm the one who got hurt? Shouldn't you be comforting me?"
Daniela poured several spoonfuls of sugar into her coffee under Tomás's watchful eye. "Hardworking little men don't need my compassion," she stirred her coffee, spilling a little onto the saucer. "You're like a soldier. Every day, at the same time, you do the same thing. No matter what happens, you never fail in your obligations."
"You say that as if it bothers you."
"No, of course not. It just seems... strange. Like you're trying to prove something to someone."
"I don't understand what you mean."
Daniela bit into her bread and chewed thoughtfully. "Neither do I. It's just an impression. But tell me, do you understand that my aunt isn't going to pay attention to you, no matter what you do? I think so... at least."
Tomás looked at her coldly, but she didn't seem to care. "I no longer expect her approval."
"And yet, you leave her food every day, even though most of the time she doesn't even touch it."
"That's not true. Lately she eats everything."
Daniela let out an ironic laugh. "How naive you are." She took another sip of coffee. "I'm the one who eats it. I felt bad seeing so much food go to waste."
Tomás remained silent.
"I'm sorry, I didn't mean to make you feel bad," Daniela continued, "but maybe you should stop insisting."
Tomás took a long sip of coffee. When he looked up, the anger that had surfaced from her words had already dissolved, like the steam rising from the cup. "Well, the important thing is that someone eats. As long as the food isn't wasted, there's no problem."
Daniela smiled nonchalantly. "For me, no problem. I arrive quite hungry from university," she said, spreading more butter on another slice. "Although... I think you two should just separate, if you can't stand each other anymore."
"She's just hurt."
Daniela frowned. "Don't you think enough time has passed? She should get over it."
"Don't talk about her like that. You're talking about my mother."
"Hey, unlike you, she's my aunt. You and she have nothing in common. In fact, how can she be your mother if she doesn't see you as a son?"
Tomás pressed his lips together. "Are you trying to make me angry?"
"No. I just feel sorry that you keep trying in vain."
Tomás smiled with resignation. "Sometimes I think about giving up, but she's my mother," he whispered. He finished his coffee, took his plate, and stood up. "She could have abandoned me a long time ago, but she didn't. Why would I abandon her?"
Daniela let out a sigh as she watched Tomás disappear into the kitchen. His walk was calm, but in the way he held the empty cup, in the tension of his shoulders, she could see the invisible burden he carried.
She shook her head and took another bite of bread. It's absurd.
Since she came to live with them, she had seen that routine repeat day after day. Plates served, the table set for a person who barely deigned to look at him. How much longer did he plan to continue like this?
She finished her coffee and stood up, taking her plate to the kitchen. Tomás was at the counter, rinsing his cup with an almost meticulous calm. For some reason, that scene made her feel even sadder than everything else.
"Hey."
Tomás barely turned his face, still rinsing the cup. "What?"
Daniela placed the plate in the sink with a slight clink. "Do you really think she'll change someday?"
He took a moment before responding. "I don't know."
Daniela crossed her arms. "Then why do you keep going?"
Tomás turned off the water tap and stood for a moment with the cup in his hand, as if he were deciding whether to answer or not. Finally, he put it aside and looked at her.
"Because I haven't changed."
Daniela blinked, not quite knowing what to say. "I don't understand."
"She can ignore me all she wants. She can pretend I don't exist, that I'm not her son. But that doesn't change the fact that she's still my mother."
Daniela felt a lump in her throat and hated him a little for it. "You're still expecting something from her."
"No," Tomás softly denied. "It's not that."
He leaned on the counter, thoughtful, searching for the words. "I don't do this because I believe one day she'll wake up and hug me. I don't do it for her to thank me. I do it because it's my way of telling her I'm still here."
Daniela lowered her gaze, feeling strangely small at that answer. "You still see her as your mother, even if she doesn't see you as her son."
"Yes."
Tomás smiled with a sadness that Daniela found unbearable. "It's not about her understanding it. It's about me not being able to see her any other way."
Silence settled between them, broken only by the dripping of the poorly closed faucet and the distant sound of the city waking up.
Daniela looked away, uncomfortable with the feeling that anything she said now would sound empty. She leaned on the table and murmured, almost with annoyance: "You're an idiot."
Tomás let out a fleeting, but genuine laugh. "I know."
Daniela glanced at him and, without saying more, left the kitchen. Thinking that perhaps his struggle wasn't absurd. Just sad.