Who the hell does this hijo de la chingada think he is? That was a stupid question, of course, I know who he is. Ernesto Damos, also known as “El Rey”, is the CEO of the Sol del Rey tequila empire. It’s just my luck the person who’s bed the highest ends up being one of the biggest asshole’s to live in LA.

It doesn't matter what day or month of the year, one of his siblings is always in the news. Not only do they own one of the biggest domestic and imported liquor deals in the U.S., but they have recently acquired a fourth of the hospitals around the city. Which, gracias a Dios, does not include the one I work at.

The moment I laid my eyes on that handsome devil, I knew my life as it is was over. Hell, the second he uttered the words, “The man who owns you”, I could feel myself getting wet. Literally, speedwalked out of the room with his assistant and headed straight to the bathroom, cleaned myself before meeting the driver at the car.

But, now that we have our first initial meeting out of the way, I’m now sitting in this fancy ass car internally panicking because, one, I still haven’t come up with a way to tell papá how his medications and treatments will be paid off, and two, I now have to pack a suitcase and leave. 

To make matters worse, papá is still confused half the time about what appointments he has or what medications he needs to take on different days. This, and Miguel having to leave to start school in a few days. I was planning on going with him and getting him settled in, but I’ll have to ask if maybe Kari can travel up there with him.

"Señorita, we've arrived." The driver calls out from the driver's seat, as the car slows to a stop in front of my humble little home in East LA. Esta casita ha sido mi hogar y mi refugio desde que papá y La Bruja, aka my mother, bought it when I was seven–back when life was simpler for little Ale.

“Do you know how long I have before we have to leave?” I ask as I grab my purse and open the door.

“Mr. Navarro specifically says you have an hour to pack, and after that, I am to drive you to the airport, so please pack your passport.”

“Oh ok, I’ll try and be quick.”

The walk up to the front door is quick, but I stand outside for a few minutes trying to get my thoughts together. It was a thirty-minute drive from El Santuario, and I still don't have an excuse, but I can’t waste anymore time standing out here. I open the door and enter the house, throwing my purse on the chair next to the door, and yell, "Apa, ya llegue!" Half hoping I was speaking into an empty house, but no such luck, papá yells right back.

"Qué onda mija, how was your day?" he asks.

Jesus Carrillo, also known as Don Chuy, has been a hardworking field hand in California since he migrated here at 15. He spends his time with me reminiscing about his days working out in the fields of Sonora, and how he decided those fields weren’t enough, hopped into an empty train cart with his friends, and rode it all the way to the border of the U.S. Crossed over on a visa, and started working the fields. A few years later, he got his amnesty and brought my mom over with him, and then I was born.

Those were our happiest years. That was until she started working as a housekeeper in the rich neighborhoods and saw how easy their lives were. Mother dearest got entangled with one of the married men she worked for. That affair ended two marriages and our family.

Papa showed us exactly what it meant to be strong during that time. He did not once tell Miguelito to man up or not cry, in fact, he cried with him. That woman didn’t deserve the love and devotion que mi papi le daba. He worked those fields tirelessly day after day in the scorching California sun until I was able to graduate as an RN and help out more. Now, it’s my turn to take care of the family just like he did.

"Todo bien ‘pa got the issue with Miguel’s tuition resolved”, liar, “how did you feel with the new medication today? Any nausea or dizziness? What about an appetite? Were you able to keep any food down?"I ask, walking over to touch his forehead. Honestly, it’s more for me than anything– I just want to fuss over him.

Rolling his eyes at me, he grabs my hand from his head, embracing me in a warm, but weak, hug. It’s been months since he’s worked out in the fields, but the earthy smell of them still clings to his skin. That smell has always been a comfort to me–like knowing I’m home.

"I felt good all day, mija, so stop fussing. We were able to make dinner for tonight." He moves to the side so I can take a look into the kitchen. Sure enough, there's a pot of caldo on the stove– all steamy and smelling so delicious. I was so preoccupied with my thoughts that I didn't even smell the food.

"Ay apa, you know I don't like you cooking. What happens if you pass out and fall on top of the stove and burn yourself, or you pass out and land on a knife you were holding, or–wait a minute, who is we?"

"Don't be so exaggerated, mija. Irmita came over and helped me. She let me cut all the vegetables and the meat. I knew you would make a fuss, so I called her over."

"Oh, is that right?” I smile. “So, Irmita, huh? Dang dad you still got some pegue."

"Ahuevo," he says as he laughs. The wrinkles around his smile remind me of how precious the time I have with him right now is.

I giggle as I make my way to the top cabinet and pull down two bowls. "Why is it that Mexican parents always pick the hottest day of the year to make the tastiest caldo?" He chuckles as he takes a seat at the small table in the kitchen. The house is big enough for three bedrooms, but not big enough to include an actual dining room. LA, what can I say?

"Because we could all use the nutrients. You know it's the caldito that makes you healthy."

Ever since starting his cancer treatments, he's become much more aware of what he eats. Even goes so far as to check the labels at the store. He swears it was the canned pozole I made him eat one time—we didn't have time to actually make it—that was what caused his cancer.

I give him a peck on the cheek as I place his plate in front of him and take the seat next to him.

"Papi, there’s something I need to talk to you about."

He stops the spoon mid-air and sets it back down into the bowl.

"A ver mija, you know I'll support you through anything, but if you're pregnant, I can't help you there. It'll be months before I can work again. Your brother is hours away. Maybe we can get Irmita to come and help sometimes. We could also sign up for—"

I bark out a laugh, and that's what stops his ranting about not being ready to be a grandpa.

"No papi. That's not what I was going to tell you." I say in between fits of laughter. He stares at me with his lips pressed tight and a raised eyebrow as if he didn't believe me.

"Look, I took a new job. I’m going to be working for a private client here in L.A., but there will be times I'm going to have to leave for a while." I can already see his mind whirling. Oh god he thinks I'm dealing drugs or something. "Dad, before you start with your crazy narco conspiracies…I got a job as a home nurse." I stay quiet for a bit because damn it’s a damn good lie and I didn’t even think about it until this very second.

"A home nurse?” he asks.

I nod and smile, hoping he’ll believe the lie as well, but he squints his eyes, turns his head, keeping his eyes still on me, and takes a spoonful of caldo into his mouth.

"Anywaaay. I just wanted to let you know that I may be gone for several days at a time, depending on what my boss needs. Which just happens to be tonight,” he pauses to say something, but I interrupt him before I need to make up another lie to cover this one. “Please don't make this any harder than it has to be, Papi. The job pays really well, and it'll help keep paying the bills and your medication. Not to mention I’ll be able to send some spending money to Miguel."

Papa doesn't acknowledge me with a reply and just keeps eating his caldo.

"Bueno pues, I'm going to go pack a bag, and I'll be right back." No response. I stand up, kiss him on his bald head, and head down the hall towards my room.

Shutting the door behind me quickly, I look at my watch and realize I have less than twenty minutes to pack now, so I head straight into my small closet and grab the old duffel bag that's been stuffed in the corner.

I unzip it and set it down wide open on the bed. I go from drawer to drawer picking out all the essentials I might need. Deodorant, toothbrush, underwear–not sexy underwear because fuck that. I grab my phone charger and my laptop as well. Which reminds me, I need to call the hospital and tell them I won't be coming to work, and to set me as PRN so when I do come back, I still have a job.

Zipping up the bag, I take one last look around the small and crowded room. It's not much, but it's home. I'm gonna miss my worn-out San Marcos blanket. Damos, better have comfy, warm blankets, or I will throw a fit.

As I'm walking through the hallway towards the living room, my phone rings. “Damn it. The driver says I had one hour.” I curse, thinking someone working for Damos is calling to tell me time is up. When I look at my phone though it's my best friend Karina whose name pops up. Oh, god this is worse, but I have no choice, so I answer her call.

"Hey Kari. What's up?"

"Don't you what's up me, bitch?”

“Hey, what’s with the attitude?” I’m so stunned, I have to stop walking halfway down the hall.

“You fucking quit!? How could you do this to us! We were literally eating lunch earlier this morning, and you didn’t think telling your best friend that you quit your job was something she’d like to know?” Her criesare coming through the phone so loud that I have to duck into the bathroom so my dad doesn't hear.

"Kari, por Dios, calmate, you're going to give yourself an aneurysm."

"No. NO! You are not getting off the hook so easily. Why did Holly take you off the rotation? Did something happen to Don Chuy?"

"Papa is doing just fine, Kari. I just happened to find a job that paid more, that's all.” I explain to her, placing the duffle bag on the floor and sitting on the edge of the tub. "You know I need the extra cash for the meds and, well, I don't want Miguel's grades suffering because he needs to work, so I'm paying for his extra necessities."

"Fine! I get it. I understand, but could ya warn a bitch first before you go and make life-altering decisions?" I can't help but laugh at how my best friends always need to be attached to my hip. Since we were little girls, we've been inseparable, but she's right, I should have called and told her, quitting wasn’t part of my plan. Mr. Damos has been in my life less than a day, and he’s already getting on my nerves.

"I promise next time I make any decisions, I'll give you a heads up." I calmly say, as I open the cabinet above the sink and reach for my migraine pills–for sure I'm going to need to take these.

"Okay pues. Just be safe, Amiga. I'm gonna miss you and all that bullshit. It’s going to be hard to find con quien chismear with, but I guess I’ll be supportive or whatever."

"I am ever so grateful to her highness for being oh so understanding of my situation." She laughs as I grab the bag and throw the pill bottle inside. "Okay, I gotta get going. My new boss sent his driver to pick me up, and I've kept him waiting long enough."

"Arre pues, love you girl. Call me when you're on your off days. There’s a new taco stand a few blocks away that I want to try out. Heard from Tere que estan perrones.”

"You got it. Love you too." A second later, two beeps let me know she’s hung up. Standing up, I turn towards the mirror and straighten out my hair and take a deep breath. 

This is fine. It’s totally fine. Nothing bad is going to happen to them. They’re taken care of, and that is all that matters. Damos can't really be that bad if he helped me. Right? Right?! 

I take one last deep breath–hold it until my chest burns–and slowly exhale. 

Papa sits on the couch in front of the TV watching his novela. Something about some vaqueros who also bake bread. "Okay, Papi, ya me voy. Please take care of yourself, and if you need to call Irma over, so she can keep you company." Papa looks away from the TV, stands, and walks to where I stand by the front door, y me persigna. "Que Dios esté contigo y te proteja, mija." He kisses my forehead, and I grab for his hand and kiss the back.

Quickly, I turn away–before I start crying– grab my purse, and walk out of the house.