The bell at the front door rings again as she walks out, and this time, it doesn’t seem to stop ringing. An endless flow of people comes in and out of the bodega all afternoon. Some of them pretend that they’re here to buy something, and then they start a casual conversation when they’re at the checkout counter. Others walk in for a short talk and leave without buying anything. And then there are others who bring stuff with them—people like Carlos Acevedo and his wife, Laura, who hand me a Tupperware full of empanadas.

“It’s a quick and easy dinner,” says Laura. “Just put them in the oven for ten minutes, and you’re done!”

We also get food from Lola Suárez, who works with Ma at the hotel, and from Ceci Romano, who’s a cook at a restaurant in Little Italy and makes the most mouthwatering lasagna.

Antonio González, who’s one of the first friends Pa made when he arrived in New York, puts a hundred-dollar bill on top of the counter.

“Antonio, we can’t take this,” I say, sliding the bill back toward him.

“Yes, you can,” he says. “When I lost my job a few years ago, your pa gave me a discount on every single thing I bought from the bodega. He never asked me to pay him back, so this is it—it’s not much, but this is how I can repay him.”

Mr. Torres from the flower shop down the block brings a pamphlet for an immigration lawyer. “These are the people we called when my brother-in-law was detained,” he says.

“And did it work? Were they able to help him stay in the US?”

“Well… no. But it’s worth a try.”

Before we know it, Sophie and I are bathed in food containers, and advice, and stories of people who were and weren’t able to stay in the country, and good wishes for our family.

By the end of my shift, I’m happy to be able to finally turn the OPEN sign at the door to CLOSED and get some peace and quiet. But even though my mind is racing, there’s a little light shining deep inside of me.

As Sophie and I walk up the stairs of our building toward the third floor, I realize what the light is—it’s a feeling of comfort. I think of everything Ma and Pa have built—all the people they’ve touched, and helped out, and become friends with since they first came to this city twenty years ago. And when I open the door of our apartment to reveal the emptiness we’ve started to get used to, I’m reminded that there’s a whole community that has our backs. I’m reminded that despite everything that’s happening, we are not alone.

7

“MATT?”

“Oh, yeah. He’s definitely no longer with us.”

“Hello? Matt!”