I wake up peacefully to the light hum of the city filtering through the cracked window, and distant construction blending into an ambient background noise. The air in the apartment has the moist smell of undried laundry, and of a man who rarely showers because he never leaves the house. My bed is now a mess of tangled sheets and a flattened pillow, but it’s warm, and I burrow myself deeper into it for a moment longer, relishing the fact that I don’t have any place to be right now. Of course there’s school, but that doesn’t count to me.

  A smug smile pulls at my lips as I remember how things played out this morning. Dad took my side. Victoria could have pushed harder, could have really created a loud fuss about how I needed to be “a good example for Ernie,” but she didn’t. She wastes way too much energy, that one.

  I let out a satisfied sigh, rolling onto my back, stretching my arms above my head. Hanging out with my friends last night was worth it, laughing at Sam’s ridiculous thoughts until my stomach hurt, feeling free. Unlike Victoria, I actually know what it’s like to have friends and a social life. I highly doubt that she will ever attract a boyfriend into her life either.

  I picture her years from now, grey-haired and living alone, surrounded by dozens of stray cats she’s “saved” from the streets. I giggle to myself a little bit at the thought. Maybe I should suggest that as a career path. Animal rescue, specializing in dirty, feral street cats. Dad must have heard my giggle because I feel his attention draw my way. I roll over to face in his direction. He often sits facing the wall, lost in his own thoughts, and unsurprisingly, that’s exactly what he’s doing today in his usual spot.

  He never really moves much anymore. It’s like he’s been frozen in time, trapped in this apartment while life goes on without him. Once, he was someone important, someone with a career, a reputation. Now, he just sits there, emptied out by a world that beat him down and never looked back. It’s not his fault he’s become this... it’s just what happens when life strips everything away until there’s nothing left to take.

  I frown, shifting under the covers. It’s not fair that they took everything from him. He’s locked up in this apartment like some forgotten relic. Mum has gone, his job was taken away from him, and no one gives a damn. The world just continues on.

  At least he understands why it is so important for me to go out and enjoy myself, to actually live my life. Though today feels like one of those hoodie-and-sweatpants kind of days. Maybe I’ll see if Dom’s got thoughts about the tryouts later… or just chilling tonight.

  My eyes drift to my phone resting on the charger beside my bed. The screen flares to life when I disconnect it. Six unread texts. One is from Victoria, predictably trying to bully me into going into school for the second half of the day.

  All the other texts are from Dom.

  I glance down at my phone, a warm smile spreading across my face as I scroll through his messages. Wow, he must really miss me.

  As I’m reading the last one, another comes through.

  "Please get back to me, babe. Are you going to get lunch with us at La Fiesta Mexicana?"

  La Fiesta Mexicana… that place’s just a ten-minute walk from here.

  It’s set up to serve street food and drinks from a stationary, converted food truck to people gathered around outdoor tables in a park filled with pumping Latin music. I like Dom’s choice. Today is Taco Tuesday and probably comes with its own kind of celebration.

  I reply, “Sure, what time?” before remembering it was in one of his earlier texts. 12pm and it’s already 12:15. A response comes instantly. “Now.”

  That figures.

  I sigh, already mourning the lazy day I’d envisioned for myself. But tacos sound good, and Dom is waiting.

  So much for a hoodie and sweatpants kind of day!

  I drag myself out of bed, my feet hitting the cold, hard floor. The apartment is cramped, cluttered with discarded clothes, half-full cups, and my organised stacks of clothes Victoria keeps nagging me to clean up. The light from the window is weak, filtered through smog and streaks of grime that builds up faster than Victoria remembers to wipe it off.

  I shuffle toward the makeshift bathroom setup in the corner—a curtained-off section of the room with a drain in the concrete floor and a showerhead attached to the exposed pipes above.

  I pull the curtain closed around me and turn the tap on. A thin stream of icy water hits my skin. It is barely enough to rinse with, but still sharp enough to jolt me awake more than the rush of running late ever could. Reaching for the artificial rose-scented body wash, I lather up, scrubbing away the sweaty, blanket-heavy smell from my skin.

  Once I’m done, I reach for a towel and immediately regret it. Damp. Thanks Victoria. She was supposed to wash these on Sunday. I sigh and make do, wrapping the wet fabric around me as I step out, walking past Dad’s statuesque figure. He doesn’t even glance my way, his eyes still locked ahead, trapped in whatever thoughts keep him anchored to that chair.

  I head to the piles of clothes by my bed and go straight for my ‘only worn once’ pile, digging through until I find something that feels right.

  I get dressed in some medium blue skinny jeans, frayed at the knees to look intentionally fashionable, and a thermal black top that hugs my body. It’s not cold enough to need a jacket if I wear something warm like that. My black boots are worn, but the good thing about black is that it doesn’t stand out so noticeably.

  By the time I’ve brushed my bed hair as long, straight, and untangled as it’ll go, forty minutes have passed, and there are two more unread texts and three missed calls on my phone. Dom must be wondering where I am. It’s time for me to leave.

  I grab my bag, slinging it over my shoulder.

  "Bye, Daddy. I’m going out!"

  Without looking my way, he responds mindlessly,

  "Bye, Rose Petal."

  I cringe at the pet name he gave me as a child and still uses, but if that’s the price for being his favourite and no one else is around to hear it, it’s a price I’m happy to pay for my freedom.

  The tale has been taken without authorization; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.

  I leave the apartment, locking the door behind me. The second I breathe in the thick city air, spices, and the warm waft of street food rising from the crowd outside, my stomach reminds me of its hunger. Mmm, Mexican food.

  I arrive at the park and pause for a moment to take it all in. The wide space is dotted with long rows of white wooden tables, each flanked by matching stools that look hand-painted and slightly chipped from constant use. Bright sunlight bounces off their surfaces, warming the paint and adding a lazy afternoon glow to the scene. Towering stands rise from each corner of the setup, metal poles holding up speakers high above the crowd’s reach. They pulse with the rhythm of Cali Pachanguero, a Colombian classic that spills into the open air, infusing everything with vibrant energy.

  The park is alive. Groups of people sit at the tables with plates stacked with tacos, colourful toppings spilling over, and plastic cups clinking with beer and pale margaritas. Some chat with tacos in hand, others laugh loud and carefree, released by the irresistible pull of the rhythm. Friends dance near the larger tables, laughing as they try out salsa steps with loose, playful energy. Some stumble and recover with dramatic flair, others twirl each other clumsily, but no one seems to care. The music lifts everyone in its rhythm. Nearby, couples move closer, hips in sync, their smiles slower and more secret, like the beat belongs just to them. The whole scene is warm and easy, like time has paused for everyone to simply enjoy being here.

  Just beyond the tables, a football field stretches across the side of the park, alive with movement and noise. The grass is uneven but firm, worn in all the right places from constant play. At each end, white wooden goal frames stand tall without nets, inviting quick shots and friendly rivalry. Laughter rises from the players as they chase the ball, many still holding drinks, their shouts mixing with the music. The whole field pulses with the kind of carefree energy that makes it impossible not to smile.

  Around fifty people fill the field, weaving in and out of loosely organized games while holding onto beers or plastic cups of margarita. The vibe is lighthearted, with more banter than competition, and bursts of laughter ripple across the park. Every so often, someone slips or spills their drink mid-kick, and the surrounding crowd at the closest tables erupts in cheers and teasing applause, celebrating the moment like it’s part of the game.

  At the front of all the tables stands the former food truck and restaurant, La Fiesta Mexicana. The old food truck has been cheerfully repainted in warm reds, faded yellows, and soft greens, its sides adorned with hand-drawn patterns of chilies and sunbursts that give it a worn but homely charm. Brightly painted wooden signs lean against the awning poles, hand-lettered with names of tacos and drink specials, while the air is thick with the comforting smell of grilled beef, smoky spices, and tortillas crisping on a hotplate inside. A queue winds beside it, people swaying to the beat as they wait for their orders, some fanning themselves with folded napkins, others already nibbling from paper-lined trays.

  It’s only half full, given that it’s a weekday afternoon, but the energy makes it feel packed. Normally, I’d hear Dom’s deep laugh or Sam’s booming voice before I even made it halfway through the crowd, but today their voices are swallowed up by the music and chatter. I weave between tables, scanning faces, until the sound of English finally cuts through from a table near the football field. Found them!

  “Hi, gang!” I call out as I stroll up to the table, leaning in to press a short, familiar kiss to Dom’s lips.

  Dom, in his usual effortless cool with faded jeans and a white shirt with the sleeves lazily rolled, nods to Sam without looking, a small wave of his hand. Sam, never one to miss a cue, hops up from his seat with exaggerated enthusiasm and grabs an extra stool to place beside Dom.

  Sabina, sitting upright and rigid in her tight black top and perfectly done makeup, narrows her eyes to stare daggers at me, her glossed lips curved into a sour smile. She looks like someone who’s had just enough of everyone today. I go over and wrap one arm lightly around her shoulder in a casual side-hug, leaning in to plant an air kiss near her cheek without really touching her. She lifts a brow, her voice tight.

  “Look who decided to grace us with her presence after all! Where have you been?”

  Before I can respond, Sam plonks the stool down for me and shoves an oversized chicken taco into his mouth, still managing to speak through it. “Yeah? We waited for a bit and were getting hungry!” I respond sarcastically as I sit down, sliding onto the stool beside Dom like I’ve been here the whole time.

  “Well, it doesn’t look like you’re going to die from hunger anytime soon. Where did you get all of this food?”

  The table is loaded with at least fifteen small tacos spread out across a mix of trays. Some are stacked neatly, others slightly crooked like they were placed down in a hurry. A couple of beers sit untouched in plastic cups, and scattered lime wedges glisten faintly in the afternoon sun.

  Dom responds with a sly grin. “Sam has been very resourceful. He grabbed them off empty tables after people ordered too much and left to go back to work. If we don’t eat them, the birds will, and it’s only fair that we have the food rather than them.”

  Sabina cuts in, “Dom is being modest. It was his genius idea and look, beer too!”

  Dom brushes off the compliment and turns back to me, his eyes hardening a little. “So where were you?”

  I stretch a little in my seat and smile mischievously. “I skipped school today. After our late night, I had a good sleep and just stayed in bed. When I finally looked at the time, I saw your texts and was surprised you were up and out.”

  His eyes soften again as he chuckles, running a hand through his messy hair. “I didn’t sleep long. Some of the soccer crew wanted a morning session before tryouts, so I met them at the school rooftop to train.” He tilts his head to the left, gesturing toward the park field. “Although I probably should’ve told them to come here. Could’ve coached from these seats.”

  Sam lets out a loud laugh and grabs another taco. “Haha, yes! Tacos could’ve been my breakfast too!”

  Dom adds, “Although Sam missed the training session entirely, and he got his sleep. Sab came along to watch, and he wasn’t even there.”

  “Hey…” Sam starts, his mouth still full, but Sabina cuts in, clearly pleased with herself.

  “I’ve seen Sam play plenty of times. It was a refreshing change watching you teach those kids. You have some cool moves!”

  Dom brushes off the compliment again. “They just need a leader. If they’re looking to me for formation and play style, then at least they’re not arguing about it between themselves. That’s what matters.” He turns fully now to face me, his expression sharpening with intent, eyes locked on mine. “Ernest looks like a seriously talented young player. Do you think you can work on getting him to tryouts today without his overbearing sister getting in the way? Fucking hell, what’s Victoria’s problem with me?

  I can’t help but to smile a bit. “He will be a great asset to the team. I’ll get him to come to the tryouts, I know he wants to.”

  Dom smiles back at me, that warm kind of smile that always makes me feel a bit steadier and rests his right hand lovingly on my left thigh under the table. His touch is grounding, a quiet reassurance that I’ve missed more than I realized.

  “As for Victoria,” I say, brushing the thought off with a roll of my eyes, “as much as I’d love for her to be the topic of discussion this afternoon, I’m starving. Are any of these half-eaten leftovers, or were they just abandoned and haven’t yet been touched?”

  “All untouched,” Sam answers between bites. “And all ours. Oh! Another table’s leaving. I’ll be back with more!”

  He bolts from the table and makes his way over to snatch up another taco tray just as a couple stands to leave. Well spotted.

  I reach for a taco, the soft tortilla still warm in my fingers. The first bite floods my senses with flavor: chicken marinated in lime and cumin, melted cheese, tomato, a burst of heat from a hint of chili. Then another and another. Beef, fish, something spicy, something smoky… so many tastes I haven’t experienced in a long time.

  I let out a soft sigh, finally relaxed.

  It is such a freeing afternoon, away from my nagging sister and school obligations. We eat as many tacos as we want, sip our drinks, and spend the next few hours talking and laughing, the music all around us. Dom’s hand stays on my leg, a steady presence, a reminder of his love, care and protection of me.

  The afternoon slips by in warm light and loud music. Under the bright sky, surrounded by friends and noise, I feel completely myself. Completely safe, for now, until the tryouts pull us back to our scripted lives.