Chapter 13 Gabe

Today is the day. Mama told me at breakfast. I was eating Abuela’s cinnamon eggs when Mama said the owner of her new job was coming for dinner. I didn’t think anything about it until she said his name.

Salvatore.

Like my dad. And then she told me the truth. He is my dad. My real dad. And he wants to meet me.

I almost dropped my fork. My heart felt like it jumped all the way into my throat. I didn’t know if I wanted to laugh or cry or run around the house screaming.

Maybe all three. All day, I tried to be perfect. I helped Mama cook dinner. She let me stir the beans and taste the sauce and even chop the cilantro with the tiny knife she only lets me use when she’s watching super close. I didn’t mess up once.

Then I set the table. I made sure the forks were all pointing the same way because Mama says details matter. I put out the good plates, the ones Abuela only uses on holidays.

Abuela watched me from her chair, smiling soft. “Mijo, you’re working so hard.”

“It has to be perfect,” I told her. “Dad’s coming.”

Her eyes got shiny, but she nodded. “Sí, mi amor. Perfect.”

After that, I cleaned the living room even though it wasn’t dirty. I fluffed the pillows and straightened the books and lined up my toy cars on the shelf so they looked cool but not like I was showing off. Then I went to the window. And waited. Every time a car drove by, I pressed my face to the glass. My heart jumped every time I saw headlights. I kept thinking:

What if he doesn’t like me?

What if I say something dumb?

What if he thinks I’m weird?

Mama came over and smoothed my hair. “He’ll be here soon, Gabe.”

“I know,” I said, but my voice sounded squeaky.

She kissed my forehead. “Go stand by the door so you can greet him, okay?”

I nodded and ran to the front door, bouncing on my toes.

Then I saw it.

A black car pulled up in front of the house. Not fancy, but nice. Clean. Strong-looking. Like something a dad would drive.

My chest felt like it exploded.

“He’s here!” I yelled, and before Mama could say anything, I yanked the door open.

A man stood on the porch holding flowers and a box. He was tall. Really tall. With dark hair and eyes like mine. Eyes that looked surprised and soft at the same time.

“You’re here!” I said, because I didn’t know what else to say.

He stared at me like he couldn’t breathe. Like he was seeing something impossible.

And then he smiled.

Not a big smile. A small one. But it felt warm. Like sunshine.

“Yeah,” he said quietly. “I’m here.”

I grabbed his hand without thinking. “Come on! Mama and Abuela are waiting!”

I pulled him inside and led him to the dining room. Mama was putting food on the table, and Abuela was sitting in her chair, smiling like she knew a secret. He handed Mama the pink flowers and Abuela the marigolds. They both looked so happy I thought they might cry. Then I saw the box in his other hand. “What’s that?” I asked.

He knelt down and held it out to me. “Something for us to build together.”

I opened it. My mouth fell open.

“A 1967 Mustang Fastback,” I whispered. “V8 engine. Rear‑wheel drive. It’s the same model from Bullitt.”

He blinked. “You… know that?”

I nodded fast. “I love old cars. They’re my favorite.”

His smile got bigger. Warmer. Proud. “Well,” he said softly, “then I guess I picked right.”

And for the first time ever, I felt it. Like I belonged. Like he was mine. Like I was his.