January, 2001
Rafael Barba loved suits, but at all costs avoided black ones. In his mind, they were made for the express purpose of going to funerals. Unsurprisingly, it was exactly where he was headed.
He looked down at his watch, calculating how long it would take him to get to the funeral home from his flat.
He kept looking at himself in the mirror, as though the second he looked away something would dramatically change. He almost thought he didn't look disheveled enough - no bags rested under his eyes, his skin having a healthy amount of color. His father died. His father was dead.
Granted, he never had a particularly great relationship with his father. Miguel Barba was the definition of manipulation. Nothing Rafael did was ever good enough - no amount of grades, friends, or accomplishments. Miguel would go on about how abrasive Rafael's personality was; that he could never be successful with the way he acted. Miguel was sweet to his mother - until she came home a moment late, or didn't have dinner on the table the moment he got home from work. No matter that Lucia was working hard to help the school district - her job was to be a wife.
"Family first, Rafael, don't forget that when you find a wife." He'd snap at Rafael as Lucia would run into the house to start whipping up dinner. "Don't let yourself starve because tu esposa doesn't know how to get home on time. Then again, why would you get married? Why would anyone want to deal with you, eh?" Miguel would chuckle, taking another sip of his beer while Rafael clenched his fists, doing homework at the kitchen table to be by his mother.
Miguel was rarely physically abusive - he's occasionally slap Rafael, more to show dominance then cause pain. Rafael would sometimes see bruises on his mom's arms - mostly from being grabbed by a too-tipsy Miguel. But he'd never hit his wife - not abuse in a way that counted.
That was part of the reason Rafael had wanted to work for a prosecutor's office - he wanted to be able to help the victims whose tormentors teetered on the line between abuse and "misunderstanding." He wanted to try hard cases and win - to show that just because something is difficult, doesn't mean the action should be ignored.
He adjusted his cuff links, finally deciding there was no more reason to stall. He had to be there for his mother - she always viewed his father through rose colored glasses, and that hadn't changed.
He walked down the steps to the first floor of his building, pushing through the doors. It was awful outside - January, not cold enough to snow but no warm enough for rain. Slush filled the streets as sleet flew through the air. He angled the umbrella he brought with him to help the best it could.
The walk was short, yet still his toes were numb in his dress shoes as he walked up to the funeral home. It was unextraordinary - beige walls, a reddish border along the floor and ceiling. He could see the corner of the casket, peaking out from a threshold that lead to the other room.
"Rafael!" He heard his mother call, swept into her arms before he could say a word.
"Hi." He replied,placing his arms around her. She was shaking, but as she pulled away she smiled. His mother - a pillar of strength, regardless of how close she was to falling apart.
The room had various people from the neighborhood and family members. A line had formed to go up to the casket - he ignored it for the time being, making the rounds.
Thankfully some of his friends had come early. He should have felt more comfortable around them. He should have been able to take off the "brave face" he'd been showing his family, but at the same time he felt like he still needed to maintain an image. How did he feel about his father's death?
Sadness wasn't the answer. Missing him didn't seem like a thought that would cross his mind. It felt less like pain and more like a hole - sitting in his stomach despite the weight off his shoulders. Like the stress of his father's existence just moved in his body. What was this?
Finally it was becoming strange that he hadn't yet approached the body. He went up, dropping to his knees on the kneeler placed before the casket. A quick Our Father then he opened his eyes, looking at the corpse in front of him. A physical form that meant nothing now. Hands that caused him to flinch when they were raised would never move on their own volition. The green eyes - the ones that matched his own, would never see the light of day. What a concept.
He made the sign of the cross before standing up, going back over to his mother. He hugged her again, waiting patiently for her to pull away.
He looked at the clock - it was an hour into the two hour viewing, with the second being later that evening from 6-8. He heard someone clear their throat; he looked down to see he had zoned out.
Amelia Silva stood before him, respectfully dressed in a black dress with black tights and flats.
"How are you, Rafael?"
"Doing as well as I can." He replied politely. She tilted her head to the side, as though she didn't believe him.
"Are you staying with your mother?" She asked, her hands slipping behind her back. Her body language seemed nervous. He frowned a moment before shaking his head.
"No, I'm still staying at my apartment." He replied. Going back to his parents home now would be even weirder had he stayed there at all in the last seven years - even during undergrad and law school he avoided going home for any reason.
"Oh. I guess that's easier then?" She asked, her head tipping again. He didn't understand why she was so curious.
"Yeah." He said, stretching the syllable. She smiled, before shyly sliding away towards her parents, who were off talking to one of Rafael's uncles. Rafael frowned, moving across the crowd.
"Hey, what's up with Julio's sister?" He asked Alex Munoz, who stood with Eddie and Yelina.
"What do you mean?" Alex replied,looking over towards Julio's family.
"She's acting strangely." Rafael replied, shrugging.
"You mean besides the fact that she's in love with you?" Yelina said with a smirk on her face.
"Umm….what?" Rafael scoffed, looking back again at Amelia, who seemed to peek at him from the corner of her eye before looking away quickly.
""Rafi you seriously are going to pretend you haven't noticed she's turned red around you for the last decade? I'm pretty sure you were the first boy she ever had a crush on." Yelina continued. Rafael looked at the two other men, who shrugged their shoulders.
"No opinion." Alex said,looping his arm around Yelina. "Why, are you interested? You could use a girl now that you're back in New York." Yelina narrowed her eyes at him.
"Mi amor, this is not the time or place." She said, gesturing. The mood sombered.
More small talk, more polite conversation. Going on about the "fond memories" of his father; lamenting over his "future children not getting to know their grandfather." Rafael went through the motions, finally grabbing his umbrella to walk back to his apartment.
"Rafael!" He heard a voice call him, he stopped, watching as Amelia tiptoed through puddles to avoid splashing, trotting over to him. "Hi."
"Yes?" He replied,holding the umbrella out to cover them both from the sleet which had warmed into rain.
"I just...really. How are you?" She asked, once again looking up to him. She wasn't that much shorter - maybe four or five inches, but Rafael felt like he towered over her.
"I'm fine? As I told you before?" He said, looking at her like there was something wrong with her.
"Umm. My parents plan on going to the second viewing again. Do you want company in the meantime? I can make you lunch. If we go to my house I have rice and pork chops - I can make them more Cuban, but they won't be as good as your abuelas."
"You're not Cuban, Amelia." He replied, a slight smirk on his face. He did just plan on going home - his mother was with his father's family, a situation he'd excused himself from, claiming he had work to do during the break.
"Eh, it's just cooking with some different vegetables. I think I can figure it out." She smiled, reaching her hand out and touching his wrist. He found it so strange how easily she could casually touch people - he'd noticed the way she's gently touched his mother's arm that day while giving condolences, how she'd nudge her brother whenever she wanted his attention throughout their youth.
"I should have everything you need at my flat. I only live a few blocks away." He said, cocking his head in the direction he was headed. A grin spread across her face.
"Okay." She said, walking in pace with him as they went down the street and then up the stairs in silence. Well, sort of - she had a habit of humming quietly. She didn't even seem to notice that she was doing it.
They finally got to Rafael's door, which he swung open - two deadbolts with different keys.
"Two locks? This isn't that bad of a neighborhood." She pointed out. He just shrugged.
"Better safe than sorry." He replied, opening the door. Her eyes widened as she walked in. The apartment was deceptively nice - cherry wood bookshelves filled with books - from law school textbooks to a worn copy of To Kill A Mockingbird. She went over to the shelves, sliding her fingers along the spines of the more familiar titles. She looked at the leather couch in the center of the room, feeling the soft leather, looking at a desk tucked in the corner by a window.
"It's so beautiful." She said, before walking over to the kitchen. "Can I find everything or do you not want me opening cabinets?" She said, holding her hands up innocently.
He found her a small rice pot, a skillet and let her dig through the fridge and pantry for food. She started happily and quickly chopping vegetables, humming.
"Do you have a radio, Rafael?" She asked, looking up at him. He nodded, turning on a stereo, filling the air with a spanish music station familiar to them both. She smiled, singing quietly as she started to cover the pork chops in flour to fry them.
Rafael sat at the small two person table near the kitchen, staring at the door, lost in thought. Why did he even bring her here? It supposed it was convenient - better than being alone. Besides, she had wanted to come. Why wouldn't he take her kindness?
"Como estas?" She asked, breaking his concentration. His eyes met hers.
"Good." He replied, sighing. "Just...thinking. It's been quite a day."
"I'm so impressed by how you're handling it." She said honestly, beginning to fry pork chops, stirring the rice. Rafael didn't respond, looking back to the door. A few minutes later she brought over two plates of food, sitting across from him.
"Do you always cook meals for people you hardly know?" He asked with a grin, taking a bite of the rice. She rolled her eyes at him, poking at her food. "Thank you, this is good." He said, cutting into the pork chops.
"You're welcome. Do you cook? Since you had all the ingredients?"
"God no." He replied, shaking his head. "Abuelita comes over with groceries, insisting that I have 'real food' in the house. Normally she'll bring it on Sundays, drop in mid-week, realize I haven't cooked anything and then make enough meals to last me through the weekend. Repeat."
They ate mostly in silence, Rafael thinking about what Yelina had said. Everything about this situation was odd - Amelia hardly spoke, always looking lost in her own thoughts. Yet here she sat in his apartment.
"Do you want more? There's more rice still." She said as Rafael had almost cleared his plate. He hadn't realized that he went the whole day without eating. He couldn't remember the last time he ate. Did have he have dinner yesterday?
"Sure," he said, standing up. She stopped him, taking his plate and adding more food before sitting back down. He continued eating as she cleared her own plate and starting doing dishes.
"You don't have to do that, you know." He said, watching her.
"I mean if my options are doing dishes here or going home and praying the rosary, I'm pretty happy here." She said.
"You don't want to pray in memory of my father?" He said, trying to hide the sarcastic tone in his voice. Her brow furrowed.
"Rafael… I know you and your father had a poor relationship."
"And how exactly would you know that?"
"You don't think anyone ever noticed that no one ever slept at your house? You'd come to our house, or Julio would say you stayed at Alex's. No one ever went to your apartment." She pointed out, looking at him like it was the most obvious thing in the world. He opened his mouth then closed it. He didn't have a counter argument. She didn't try to push him further; just took his mostly empty plate from in front of him, finishing the dishes and packing up the small portion of leftover food in the fridge.
"There's still about an hour and a half until the next viewing. Would you like me to go?" Amelia asked, walking towards the door. "I can stay - we can play cards. Or just read. Or pray. I don't know how you feel about being alone right now." She said, fidgeting. She never seemed to stand still.
He considered her choices. What would he do if he was alone for an hour and a half? The hole in his stomach seemed to grow, reminding him that despite his apathy towards his father being gone, he still was feeling something. He sighed.
"Rummy?" He asked, going over his desk and pulling out a deck of cards. She nodded, sitting down again and smiling.
Her shyness seemed to evaporate as they played - their competitive natures both came out, teasing each other over holding valuable cards. When the time came for them to go to the second viewing, Rafael was winning by a hair - their running tally was 250 to 235.
"Two more hours." She said as they stood. He understood what she meant - the burial was two days later. This was the last opportunity to ever see his father''s body. Shaking the thought out of his head, he lead her down the stairs, holding the umbrella over the two of them as they walked back to the funeral home.
A/N: An explanation for people who aren't latino/know latino people (since some of you are from outside America! Hi everyone!), I'm trying to explore themes here that being a 1st/2nd generation immigrant/American face,such as: being a traditionally "good wife," when adhering too closely to that culture is dangerous, gender roles, etc. So if you're like "why is Amelia being so weird in this chapter," that's kinda why? I'm a second generation immigrant (Puerto Rican, my grandparents came over before my mom was born) and it's weird the dichotomy between "you should always get your boyfriend/husband his food first and you can't eat until he's been served and you should be quiet and listen to him" and the "I'm an independent woman and my place in society isn't defined by such matters" Sorry I hate long author's notes, I feel like it takes away from the story, but I wanted to make the cultural references pretty clear because I think they're important, particularly to Barba's character after the "October Surprise" episode.
