I placed a large basket of paper flowers on the ground, each one of them was carefully folded by my own hands.
However, my mother looked at them with sheer disgust and said, "Take them away, take them away! My father doesn't need your offerings. Mateo already burned his. Get them out of here!"
With a single kick, she scattered the paper flower, that I personally folded, across the dirt.
The mountains were eerily quiet. I wiped the blood from my arm with the corner of my sleeve and crouched down, then picked up the paper flowers one by one from the muddy ground.
At least I made it down the mountain before sunset, since today is the Day of the Death Festival and our family had a tradition to gather at the old house for dinner.
As soon as I stepped into the courtyard, my mother poked her head out and started yelling, "You little brat! What took you so long? The whole family’s been waiting for you! Where’s your dignity as a man?"
I glanced inside. My aunt was sitting in the living room with Mateo and his fiancée. My parents hovered around them. They were eagerly handing them snacks and fruit and chatting away with bright smiles.
Meanwhile, my wife, Tia Perez, was slouching on the couch, fully engrossed in her phone. The sound of a chess game played from the speakers as she absentmindedly nudged our daughter’s baby walker with her knee.
When she saw me, my daughter’s face crumpled and, her tiny lips quivered before she burst into tears, looking utterly wronged.
Ignoring the pain from my wounds, I stepped forward and gently picked her up, rocking her in my arms.
Looking around at the lively, cheerful scene, then back at my daughter sobbing in my arms, a wave of regret and sorrow washed over me. No, we were less than outsiders.
When he saw me, Mateo smirked and tugged his fiancée closer as he pointed in my direction and said mockingly, "Oh wow, look at my cousin. He treats his daughter like she’s a precious little princess. So delicate!"
My aunt burst out laughing.
My mother doubled over, clutching the armrest of the couch. "Isn't that the truth? He coddles her like she’s made of glass! I can’t even scold her as a grandmother without him throwing a fit."
"Mom," I finally spoke, my voice firm. "She’s just a child. It wouldn’t hurt for her grandmother to look after her a little."
Tia shot me a glare. Her big eyes that were decorated with green eyeshadow flashed with irritation as she scolded, “Enough already. Is a grown man nagging like this? Go and make dinner. I’m starving."
A bitter resentment swelled inside me, but there was nowhere to vent it.
Silently, I strapped my daughter’s walker near the kitchen door and started preparing the ingredients.
My wounds from tumbling down the mountain were still fresh, the skin raw and unhealed. After an entire day of climbing, I hadn’t even had a sip of water. The words my parents said on the mountain echoed in my mind and made my heart ache even more.
My heart is getting sadder and sadder. For me, the house had become more like a cold, lifeless prison. These were supposed to be the people closest to me. And yet, the only person they ever smiled at was Mateo.
I gritted my teeth as I prepared the food. Is this really the life I am meant to live?
Mateo's laughter that erupted from the living room, pulled me back to the past.
When we were kids, my mother had always favored Mateo. Back then, we still lived in my grandparents’ house with my aunt.
Mateo was a late bloomer. He was short and scrawny for his age. My aunt, who always worried about his nutrition, constantly fed him supplemental vitamins. As a result, Mateo grew up as a short, chubby and dark-skinned child. Since his feet were wide and thick, he frequently outgrew his shoes and clothes.
However, instead of throwing them away, they were passed down to me. Since my mother never once bought me new shoes, I was always stuck wearing Mateo’s hand-me-downs. The shoes were either too loose or too tight.
Before school each morning, I stuffed my socks with wads of paper to keep my heels from slipping out. That way, no one would laugh at me.
Each time, I watched other kids play basketball with envy. I wanted to join them and yet how could I, when I didn’t even have a decent pair of shoes?
My mother would sneer at me. She told me I dressed carelessly and looked unkempt. She said I wasn’t confident, that I didn’t carry myself like a man. She said I wasn’t as bold or as masculine as Mateo.
