“Soon,” he says. “I, uh… I’m talking to these people again tomorrow. I think I’m gonna accept their offer.” Pa lifts his gaze to look at me, and there are tears in his eyes. “The bodega was what allowed us to give you and Sophie a good life all these years. And now, if we sell it, it can help us keep doing that. We can use that money to send Sophie to a good school here in Mexico, and… if that’s where you want to be, it can also help pay for your education.”

A spark lights up in Pa’s eyes. I know how much pain he’s in, just imagining the idea of letting go of the business it took him so long to build, but I can tell he’s also imagining something else—a future where Sophie will have healed, where I will have graduated high school and gotten into a good college, a future where everything that’s happened in the last few months will seem like a distant memory.

“There’s something else—something you don’t know,” Pa adds. “They haven’t said anything because they haven’t signed the contract yet, but… Jorge and Amy found a house in New Jersey.”

“They’re moving?”

“That’s the plan. The apartment is getting too small for them, especially if they want to have more kids. And… they also said the house they picked has a finished basement. They threw it out there themselves—the idea that if you wanted to go live with them, you could. You’d have your own part of the house.”

Is this real life? I have to shake my head a little, close my eyes and open them again, just to make sure I’m really here, that Pa is really saying these things.

“I—I don’t know if…”

“You don’t have to decide right now. Think about what’s best for you. And I’m here for you, whatever you choose. You know that, don’t you, mijo?”

I press my lips together, swallowing a lump in my throat. “I know it, Pa.”

“New Jersey? But you’re a born-and-raised New Yorker.”

“So?”

“So… you should live in New York. Not New Jersey.”

“I know, Kimmie. But it’s a better option than going to Mexico.”

“Well, duh.”

“It would only be across the river. It’s not like I would have to transfer schools.”

“You wouldn’t?” Kimmie asks, lifting an eyebrow.

I feel myself blushing. “We asked our old neighbor, Mrs. Solís, if we could use her address for registration.”

“I guess I could live with that,” Kimmie says, smiling a little. “I wouldn’t want you going off to a different school, making new friends in Jersey.”