The smell of fried dough reaches the upstairs washroom where I run my fingers through my curls. My stomach grumbles, pleading for a bite. Today should be a good day. The sun is out but so is a cool breeze, so hopefully it won’t be too stuffy in the church. Grandma made her signature empanadas which are solely reserved for special occasions, and my older cousins aren’t allowed to pick on me today as per Grandma’s orders. Today was “too important” and Grandma didn’t want me crying because of my cousins’ jokes or shoves. They say people tend to cry a lot at these things already. She didn’t have to worry about me though. I had no intention of crying on Jackie’s big day. 

My stomach grumbles again and I snap my head back up to look in the mirror. 

“Today is going to be a good day,” I assure my reflection. I wash off the coconut oil from my hands, throw on my black suit, and begin searching for my sister to help me with my tie. 

I bound down the steps to the kitchen where my cousin is fussing over the flowers and my Tia is fussing over the guests to be expected. No one notices me sneaking a peek under the foil. The empanadas lay like golden treasure shrouded in silver, waiting for me. Yes, today is going to be a good day. 

We get to ride in a long black car today that has some fancy name I can’t remember. There was no radio but Grandma filled the silence with a rundown of how these events typically go. There were only three simple steps for me: go to the church, walk down the aisle twice, and then go to the ceremony that comes after mass. Just three steps; I could do that. She began going more into detail but I stopped listening. Too distracted by my sister’s twitching hands picking at the lace of her dress. I don’t think she realizes she is terrorizing the fabric as her eyes have a faraway look in them and her lips whisper words of how much she adores Jackie. She must be really nervous about the speech she has to give. 

I want to grab her hand. To take her nerves and to stop her from ruining her dress further but a sudden choke of emotion strikes at the back of my throat, begging to be let out. So I decided against it and let my sister mumble her speech in rehearsal some more, tuning back into my Grandma’s instructions. I would not be the one to start the inevitable crying. No, not when I vowed it would be a good day. 

I am ushered to the back of the church as soon as we get there. I was told I had to wait here with the rest of the party. I tap my foot on the smooth tile mimicking the rhythm of a heartbeat. Tap-tap, tap-tap, tap-tap. I readjust my tie, making sure it’s centred. Tap-tap, tap-tap. I adjust it again and look up at my family members who are all looking down but not at me. Tap-tap. I just want this thing to start. I just want an empana– 

My sister pulls my arm and my attention. All of us suddenly forming a line. There is a specific order Grandma said we have to walk in. Everyone holding onto the arm of someone else. I wound up lost somewhere in the middle with my sister gripping my hand too tightly. I let out a low huff as no one is moving and I can’t tell what’s the hold up sandwiched between the adults. My stomach starts to grumble so loudly I feel my ears burn red. But as if noticing my embarrassment, the organist begins to play a soft, classical tune. I think the music is a bit too sad but nobody else seems to mind. I poke my head out of line ever so slightly to get a view of the room. People are split onto either side of the church, dressed in suits and dresses. All of them here gathered for Jackie, the woman of the hour. Everyone rose as she made her way down the aisle, the party following behind her. She was in a white dress that my Tia's deemed “simple but elegant”. I personally think it washes out her porcelain skin and light curls, so I decide not to look at her much. I take my seat with the rest of my family in the first pew reserved just for us as Jackie remains at the front of the church, streams of stained-glass light colouring her. 

The priest begins the mass, long arms outstretched and his Spanish clear, booming against the walls. I pick up a few sentences here and there but he’s talking too fast so it's hard not to think about other things. Like my complaining stomach and the empanadas they crave. Jackie is usually the one who translates for us, being the oldest cousin her Spanish was practically fluent. I continue to avoid looking in her direction. I go back to thinking about the delicious treats that await me. Today is going to be a good day.

My sister grabs my hand and I am notified that it is time for the second walk down the aisle. We make our way towards Jackie. I could do this. Just three simple steps. My feet just had to take three more steps. In those three steps ahead of me lay Jackie in white, flowers in her hands. A coffin. The last barrier to my empanadas. 

It should’ve been a good day, that day when it all happened. My sister said she didn’t have to go to work, all of my cousins came over and we were promised a visit to the park. Grandma made waffles for breakfast which we only get to have on Sundays. It was a sunny Tuesday. My sister took me on a walk that day and told me Jackie had died. That was the only time the sun saw my tears. We were now side by side again, on a walk that felt all too similar. 

I didn’t go to the viewing. My two younger cousins and I were not allowed to. We instead spent the day watching Meet the Robinsons, the only DVD that wasn’t scratched up in my Grandma’s basement. I made no complaints. Watching the Robinsons see their family in the past and the future beats watching my family in their miserable present. Standing in the middle of this church now, I understand just how miserable indeed. 

All I have to do is walk to Jackie and place the rose in her casket. I don’t even have to look at her. One last goodbye. One more walk. But my feet would not move. Even from three steps away, I see Jackie, only it doesn’t look like her. Her face is too flat and pale. She’s wearing the most makeup I’ve ever seen her wear. Her lips are pulled ever so slightly at the corners that it reminds me of the gargoyles perched on the roof outside. Is that what she is now? A gargoyle? A guardian? Frozen like stone forever? 

I just stand there, frozen like Jackie. My body for the first time in my life is unsure how to move. I feel my throat tighten and I know I’m about to cry for the first time since that day. And it will be in front of an audience. Just as the mixture of embarrassment and sadness begins to set in I feel a cold hand on my shoulder. My sister takes my rose to Jackie after asking me permission. She then ushers me back to our seats which feel like miles away. I’m grateful for her arms around me and her body blocking me from the nosey crowd. 

The rest of the service was a blur as I mainly focused on breathing. My sister cried during her eulogy. Her writing was more of a song than a speech, with a chorus of memories that made everyone simultaneously smile and cry. I remained focused on my breathing and heartbeat against my chest. Tap-tap, tap-tap, tap-tap. My sister was gripping my hand again. Tap-tap, tap-tap. I pulled away and tried to ignore the fuzziness of my legs. Tap-tap. My stomach stopped its grumbling and began to twist into knots. I refuse to even consider the thought of puking. I just want this thing to be over. I just want t–

The church bells chimed and it brought me back to my blue reality. 

Everyone made their way downstairs to the coolness of the church basement. My sister offers for me to cut in front of her in the line for the food but I turn away and find a table in the corner to sit at. My appetite ran off somewhere far away where I wish I could follow. She brings me back two empanadas anyways, sprinkled in sugar. I tell her I’m not hungry and my stomach twists in agreement. 

Despite how exhausted my body felt I couldn’t seem to find sleep when I got home. I tried to count the stars on my ceiling but was only reminded that Jackie was the one who put them up for me. I tried closing my eyes instead but got overwhelmed by how much the vast darkness reminded me of what it must feel like to be surrounded by dirt, six feet under. So I turned on my side, eyes wide open and watched my sister sleep. Finding relief every time her chest rose. 

Grandma, as if sensing that I was awake, appeared from the shadows of the hallway onto the edge of my bed. 

“Are you okay?” she mumbled. I only nodded before I curled entirely into her arms. I sobbed. 

“I know it’s a lot to deal with mijo, but–”

“No. I’m fine. I promise.” I choked out. I hate when my Grandma worries. Especially about me. But no matter how hard I tried to swallow and blink away my tears, my eyes remained burning and rimmed with water. 

“Oh okay. You just look upset. Is that right?” She began to wipe my tear-stained face. 

“I didn’t get to have any empanadas,” I sniffle out “and now they’re all gone.” She gives me a look full of tenderness only grandparents seem to possess. I try to speak again but I only continue to cry and she continues to hold me. 

I don’t remember falling asleep; only my Grandma’s fingers drawing small circles in my curls. But when I woke up, there on a clay plate in the sunspot that hit my nightstand was an empanada waiting for me to finally enjoy it. Today is going to be a better day.