Pedro remains impassive. I feel like this is goodbye forever. Like we’ll never get the chance to talk again while the other is listening. Truly listening.

“Last time we talked, you brought up your father,” I say, and Pedro immediately looks defensive. “I didn’t have a chance to tell you how I wish I’d been there for you. To tell you that you’re not ungrateful for having left home. And I don’t know if I’m crossing the line here, but I think there’s something you need to know. Something about your grandfather.”

I tell him about my unexpected encounter at the cemetery with Seu Romário. Pedro listens to me, his expression frozen.

“I don’t know if you knew about my dad’s past at Sugar and the way he died,” I say. “But your grandfather loved him like a son. Maybe when Seu Romário is being stubborn, when he yells at you to respect tradition, when he refuses to change, he’s just trying to honor my dad’s memory. Maybe he just wants to keep things the way my dad left them. It’s all guilt, Pedro. He loves you.”

Pedro averts his eyes. Another bus arrives.

“I should go,” I say, fighting back tears. Pedro still won’t look at me. “Let me know when you want to meet up to bake our cake for the contest?” Still nothing. A muscle twitches near his jaw. That’s it. I’ve lost him forever. “Goodbye, Pedro.”

I get on the bus quickly, without looking back, so he won’t see me crying. I sit in the back and lean my head against the window, the glass streaked with rain. The A/C is blasting. I sit shaking, my arms wrapped around my waist, not just because I’m freezing, though. Because I feel like I just left a part of me behind.

I’m startled when Pedro sits down next to me, gently placing his jacket on my lap.

“You’ll catch your death like this,” he says.

My heart is beating so fast in my chest, I’m light-headed. “Why—why are you here?”

I put his jacket on, his scent immediately all around me.

“I thought I wasn’t good enough for Grandpa, and all that time I had no idea he... He was feeling guilt over your father’s death.”

We talk some more about my encounter with his grandfather, and the long conversation I had with Mom afterward. He listens carefully, but there’s bitterness in his eyes. Conflicted feelings. My heart breaks to see him like this.

“None of this is your fault,” I say. “Your grandfather has been stuck trying to honor my father’s memory. So has my mother.”

He looks at me, his eyes bright with tears. “Thank you for telling me. I’m sure it was hard for you to hear all that from Grandpa, too.”