ALEJANDRO
I straightened my tie for the third time, although the mirror said it was fine, the restaurant awaited, and so did my father. It's been three days since Vallecas, and the old woman's face and pains wouldn't leave my head.
Catalina was in the living room, humming as she surfed the net. I paused by the staircase, watching her do whatever it was she was doing, passionately.
“Mr. Montoya,” she mumbled, without looking up.
“I will be,” I said. “Just… dinner with my father.”
She glanced at me, a faint smile tugging at her lips. “He’s the cool dad, yeah?”
“I wished,” I muttered, recalling that she'd only met the family oriented version of my father, and never seen him on one of those business days.
“It's just dinner, you'll be alright.” She smiled warmly at me, diverting her gaze
