“I don’t know where to start.”
“With the good parts,” Raúl said.
And then he began.
First he told them about his first job, delivering spare parts by bicycle. Then he spoke of Elena, of how he met her at a neighborhood fair, how she made fun of his stiff hairstyle and still accepted a dance with him. He spoke of his home kitchen, of Sundays with pozole, of the years when he never missed a school festival, of the times he went without sleep to help his children get ahead.
And they listened to him.
They truly listened.
Not like someone fulfilling a polite duty, but like someone who understands that an entire life is being placed on the table along with the bread and salt.
Twenty minutes later, an improvised cake appeared, bought in a hurry from a nearby shop. It was a little crooked, the candles did not match, and the frosting seemed to be melting on one side.
But when they placed it in front of him, Don Ernesto stared at it as if it were a treasure.
“Make a wish,” said the woman with the bandana.
Ernesto lifted his eyes and looked at those unknown faces that, somehow, no longer felt like strangers.
He swallowed.
“I think one has already come true.”
He blew out the candles amid applause, whistles, and an out-of-tune “Las Mañanitas” that made even the customers at other tables laugh.
And just when the night seemed unable to become any more unexpected…
the restaurant door opened again.
