Chapter 7Flowers, Abuela’s favorite colors as always. The box of chocolates he knows she likes to treat herself to and will spend an afternoon working through while reading a book. Magazines, three of them, the titles of which Beto is sure he has seen on her coffee table more than once. And, on a whim, he picked up some packets of seeds for the backyard that he’ll offer to plant whenever she is ready. He has combed his hair along its most sensible parting, even dressing in a way that somehow he hopes will remind Abuela that he is her favorite grandson. What else can he do but stand here hoping against hope that she will understand him, even if Beto already knows in his heart that she will?
“Abuela?” he calls out since she has a kitchen window open. He hears her muttering inside and smiles
