“The whole deal was you’d help make sure my friends were okay,” Julian listed off on his fingers, “and I’d let you release my spirit so you could show everyone you’re a brujo, right?” His hands fell to his lap. “I’m doing what you want, I will willingly let you release me, Yadriel. I won’t put up a fight.”
But Yadriel wanted him to put up a fight. Couldn’t he see that?
“That’s what you wanted, isn’t it?” Julian nudged.
“Yeah,” he said reluctantly. His pulse throbbed in his veins.
Irritation finally started to edge Julian’s voice. “So what’s different now?”
“Everything!”
A long, drawn-out silence stretched between them.
Julian stared at Yadriel, his eyes narrowed ever so slightly, like Yadriel was a puzzle he was trying to solve.
He must’ve really rubbed off on Yadriel, because all he wanted to do was fight back and yell until Julian realized he was being stupid.
The problem was that he wasn’t being stupid. He’d made his point of view clear. His argument was even, dare Yadriel think it, logical. Warring emotions swelled in Yadriel, demanding to be felt, blinding him from any rational thought.
It was too fast. Yadriel wasn’t ready. He needed more time. Desperation clawed through him as he tried to come up with another option.
But the truth was, there wasn’t one.
Yadriel’s throat was tight. His palms were slick with sweat. “One more day,” he said, voice wavering.
Julian groaned. “We’re just buying time, Yads, what’s the point?”
“One more day,” he insisted, firmer this time. “Tomorrow at midnight, Día de Muertos will start, and—”
“And all the ghosts get to come back, yeah, I remember,” Julian grumbled.
Yadriel didn’t have the time nor patience to correct him with any sort of civility. “I’ll release you then. That gives us one more day.”
Julian looked ready to argue. When he opened his mouth, Yadriel cut him off.
“Tomorrow night, okay?”
Julian’s mouth snapped shut. The muscles in his jaw flexed. But eventually, he said, “Fine.”
It gave Yadriel little relief. “Fine.” He stomped over to his closet, peeled off his hoodie, and angrily threw it into his overflowing hamper. He opened his drawer and yanked out clean clothes before he shoved it closed with a snap.
Without a word, he left for the bathroom, slamming the door shut behind him.
Yadriel threw back the shower curtain and cranked on the water, twisting it to hot. When he got in, it was near scalding, but he wanted to feel the bite on his skin as he scrubbed himself clean. By the time he was certain there was no trace of that black gunk under his nails, or the smell of Tito’s rotting flesh in his hair, the hot water had faded to warm. His skin was flushed and raw.
Overcome with a wave of exhaustion, Yadriel leaned his forehead against the cool tile wall and closed his eyes. The water beat against his neck and cascaded down his back. He wanted to hold on to his anger because he was scared of what would be left to feel without it, but he was too tired to stay mad.
He’d been so distracted by his own thoughts that he hadn’t taken care to dry himself off properly before trying to pull on his binder. All his binders with the side clasps that were easier to get into were in the laundry, so he was stuck with a vest-style one. He managed to get it over his head, but when he tried to shrug into the tight, stretchy material, it clung mercilessly to his wet shoulders. Yadriel gave it a tug, wiggled, and squirmed, but it only seemed to get tighter. His frustration boiled over and he thrashed, practically tripping over the bath mat as he struggled. A moment later, he was stuck, only one arm through and the binder bunched and tight across his collarbone. Yadriel slumped, collapsing onto the toilet seat as he tried to catch his breath.
Why was he acting like this?
So many things had gone so right and so wrong in such a short amount of time. His dad had come around. He saw Yadriel clearly as he was. He had even agreed to let Yadriel be in the aquelarre this year. Yadriel would see his mom soon, and she would see what he had accomplished since she’d left. He would be welcomed and accepted by his community for who he was. Finally.
But now he would be losing Julian in the same night. Why did the pain of that impending loss hit him harder than anything else?
If they only had one day left together, Yadriel wasn’t going to tell anyone about him. Not his dad, not Tío Catriz or anyone else. Julian was his secret, and he wanted to keep him all to himself for as long as he could.
Eventually, by continued forceful tugging and wiggling, he got the binder on. When Yadriel went back into his room, Julian was sprawled out on the bed. Purrcaso was curled up on his chest, her nose tucked into her tail, fast sleep.
“This is still so weird,” Julian said, trailing his fingertip along Purrcaso’s crooked little spine.
“I told you not to make fun of her,” Yadriel said, slicking his wet hair back and out of his face.
Julian rolled his eyes, but an amused smirk still tugged at his lips. “Not what I meant.”
Yadriel flopped onto the bed next to Julian and stared up at the ceiling. They lay there for a minute, with only the distant sound of traffic and Purrcaso’s mighty purrs between them.
“Jules?” Yadriel finally ventured. His heartbeat like a finger tapping against his throat.
Julian hummed in response.
Yadriel stole a look over at him. His attention was on Purrcaso, his dark lashes hiding his eyes.
“Why don’t you like to speak Spanish?”
Julian’s hand paused, his fingers hovering above Purrcaso, who let out a displeased sound at the sudden lack of petting.
Silence stretched between them for a long moment. Yadriel thought he wasn’t going to answer the question. It seemed like a strange thing to carry so much weight.
When Julian finally spoke, his words were quiet and tentative.
“My dad didn’t know much English, so we pretty much only spoke Spanish at home.” He didn’t look at Yadriel but toyed with Purrcaso’s tail. “It’s not that I don’t like speaking Spanish, I mean, it’s me, you know? I think in it, I dream in it, but…” He trailed off, expression pinched as he tried to find the right words. “But it was also my dad, you know?” Julian made a frustrated sound. “I don’t know how to explain it. At school we have to speak English, and my friends mostly speak in English, too, so Spanish was more like … It was what we used at home. It was what I used with my dad—the only language I spoke with him. So, when he died…”
Yadriel felt a pang in his chest.
Julian’s shoulder pulled into a shrug. “I don’t know, man. Just didn’t feel right using it without him, I guess. Feels too…” He made a twisting gesture with his hand, frustration working his jaw.
“Intimate?” Yadriel offered.
Julian’s eyes snapped to Yadriel with a look so intent, it struck him like lightning. “Yeah,” he finally said. “Something like that.”
Yadriel gave a small nod.
“That sounds dumb, right?” Julian asked, eyeing him like he expected Yadriel to laugh.
“No, it definitely doesn’t sound dumb. It makes sense, not wanting to share something personal that means a lot to you.” Yadriel hooked a finger around the chain of Julian’s St. Jude pendant, letting it dangle. “Kind of like having a stranger wear this?” he guessed.
Julian stared at the silver medal. He reached out. The pendant swayed at his ghostly touch. “Yeah, kind of.” Julian withdrew his hand and cleared his throat.
Yadriel didn’t argue when he unceremoniously jumped topics.
“How does the whole Día de Muertos thing work, exactly?” Julian asked, glancing over at Yadriel. “All the food and altars and decorations and stuff.”
Yadriel stretched and tucked his hands under his neck. “Well, to welcome our ancestors back, we make ofrendas for our family members. We use their pictures, belongings, and favorite foods. Then there’s the standard stuff like mezcal, pan de muerto—”
“Sounds like a party.” Julian grinned.
“It is. One big party,” Yadriel agreed. “We decorate the cemetery with papel picado—the colorful cutouts, we string them up like banners all over the place. We use sugarcane to make arches.” Yadriel gestured with his hands, drawing an arch in the air. “We cover the arches in marigolds—cempasúchitl, specifically. They’re the gateways the spirits use to pass through from the land of the dead to the land of the living. The food and trinkets, the color of the marigolds and their really strong scent of apples lead the spirits back to the cemetery.”
“Do they have to be buried here to come back?” Julian asked.
Yadriel shook his head. “So many of our brujx are immigrants. From Mexico, South America, the Caribbean—all over the place. There are different cemeteries like ours all over the United States. So, no, they don’t have to be buried here. It’d be kind of weird to have people digging up dead bodies or lugging their ashes across the border,” he pointed out. “All you need is the ofrenda.”
“Is it like, all your ancestors ever? The cemetery is pretty big, but enough to hold hundreds of generations?” Julian gave him a dubious look, eyebrow arching.