“La Creel” by Andrés Reconco (fiction ’18)

La Creel

My mother was obsessed with soap operas and pan dulce. One day, after my photo shoot, I went to a panadería she likes. It’s a Cuban place with little sweet breads stuffed with guava and cheese. I hadn’t planned on visiting her, but the photoshoot went well and it’s still early. My mom likes to drink coffee late while she watches television, so, I buy some sweet bread and then drive to her apartment. The lock to her door is tricky but after a couple of tries I get inside. She’s on the couch, watching a show about the best Telenovelas of the 80s and 90s.

“Trajiste pan!” she says when she sees me come in. It’s not cold but she’s wearing a burgundy sweater and she has a blue fleece blanket draped on her legs.

“Son panecillos cubanos,” I say. “The ones you like.”

 She looks into the bag and says, “Que rico. Voy a poner el cafecito.”

 I don’t see her often but whenever I do I can’t help but focus on the deepening creases around her eyes, the thinness of her hair, the way her skin is so dry it looks shiny, like scales. She grunts when she gets up from the sofa, and then grunts again when she bends over to get the pot for coffee. While the water heats up we sit in front of the TV and watch reruns of old novelas.

“Uy,” she says. “That novela came out when I was thirty! Look at how young Veronica Castro was! Wow. You know, she still looks really young but that’s only because she can pay for it. Rich people don’t get old. I’m getting old. Everything hurts now.”

Behind us the water begins to boil.

The coffee she makes comes in little yellow packets we empty into our cups of hot water. It tastes terrible but I drink it anyway.

“This coffee is really good,” she says. “I’ll buy you some for your house. Does Sofia drink coffee? I forget.”

[…continue reading “La Creel” at West Branch.]