Epilogue: Disownment
Feb. 16th, 2013 11:53 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
"We got any plans for Thursday?" Jesse asks over Sunday breakfast.
Adrienne and I glance at each other with puzzled expressions, but Papi looks thoughtful.
"Alé, is Jerome free Thursday and Friday?"
I check a few screens. "Si, Papi."
"And Jack's visiting his folks, isn't he?" It's not a question, but I nod anyway. Slowly, Papi grins. "Perfect. He won't hear about it until it's too late. Pack for two days," he orders us, "but leave room for fancy clothes and swimwear. I'm taking you to meet my mother."
Oh my god. He remembered. We're going to do it, we're going to get him disowned and then go out to eat.
I can't wait for Thursday.
===
The rental car attendant, unsurprisingly, is omnic. Xie confirms our reservation cheerfully and wishes us a pleasant stay. Even less surprisingly, Papi has rented the flashiest, most expensive black convertible to be had in the entirety of Los Angeles, something the attendant compliments him on. Papi drives to the hotel like the streets are an active battlefield and casually informs the hotel clerk that if he makes no fuss over us, he'll get a tip and an autograph when we check out. A little star-struck, the clerk checks us quietly into our three-room suite. 'Rienne and I will be sharing the bedroom on one the side of the communal room; Papi and Jesse will be sharing the other bedroom. She changes in the bathroom, I change in the bedroom, and then while I'm waiting for the bathroom to be free so I can do my makeup, I check on the clerk. Looks like he's taking night classes and, judging by complaints on social media, is in desperate need of a car that runs reliably. That'll work for a tip, as long as he holds up his end of the deal.
Adrienne looks stunning when she's done. Her short hair is swept back with gel, allowing her elegant earrings to swing free and accentuate the graceful column of her neck. Her dress, of course, is something Papi made - very flowing and graceful - and her heels make her as tall as Papi. She looks like she's late for a runway walk somewhere.
My goals are different. My dress and shoes are traditional. Conservative, even. They adhere to cultural standards that haven't applied since before I was born. My cosmetics are subtle, making me look "naturally beautiful" without looking made up. I do take a bit of pride in the fact that my thick, glossy, hip-length hair is my actual hair. I haven't gotten disenchanted enough with it yet to shave most of it off again. All in all, though, I look like A Good Girl.
Jesse, of course, looks like the trash cowboy he is. Papi's dressed him in colors that play down his mixed blood and make him look like a complete gringo. And Papi himself is dressed smartly in black: dress pants, silk button-up long-sleeve shirt, expensive sunglasses, and shoes shined so well you can see your reflection in them.
The hotel clerk does a double-take as we follow Papi out to the car, but he doesn't say a word.
=
Estelita Reyes, it turns out, lives in a cramped townhouse in a neighborhood that's seen better days. I'd be worried about leaving the car parked on the street, but with the roof up, it locks and alarms very securely. Jesse waves Adrienne and I ahead of him, and we follow Papi up the cracked sidewalk, past brown grass and withered bushes, to the front door with its torn screen. The doorbell rings somewhere inside the house, and a minute later the door opens. An overweight old woman in a brightly-colored dress at odds with her thin, greying, curled hair frowns at us through the screen.
"I told you, I don't know where he is! I haven't seen him in months!"
"Ms. Estelita Reyes?" Papi asks, trying to sound neutral.
"Si, and you are...?"
He takes off the sunglasses. "Your son."
The reaction that gets is so dramatic that there's no doubt she's related to Papi. She gasps, clutches her chest, swoons, and staggers back far enough into the house that he can enter and guide her to an dingy upholstered chair that's threadbare in more than a few places. I grab the screen door and pass it to Adrienne, who holds it for Jesse, who closes the front door behind us as we follow Gabriel inside. Then, as if we'd practiced it, we line up oldest to youngest with Jesse on Papi's right and 'Rienne and I on his left.
"They said you were dead!" Estelita wails.
"I was dead."
"Then what happened, how have you come back to me?"
"I got better," he answers dryly.
"Why didn't you call, or write, or visit?"
"I was dead, Mami."
"I meant before that! Thirty years I don't see you, why are you here now?" she demands petulantly.
Papi steps back and gestures to us. "To show you my children," he announces proudly. "My son, Jesse."
McCree tips his hat politely. "Ma'am."
"That's a gringo name," she snaps, ignoring him entirely. "Why you bring a gringo into my house, Gabriel?"
"Because he's your grandson, Mami," is the taunting reply.
She mutters something very uncomplimentary in Spanish that I hope Jesse isn't fluent enough to understand, speculation about how pale his mother's skin was and her motives for getting pregnant.
"My daughter, Adrienne."
"A pleasure to meet you," my sister lies.
In Spanish that I'm really hoping neither of my sibs can understand, Estelita spits, "It's not bad enough you had to stick it in a white girl, but then you knock up a French whore? I don't want this granddaughter, Gabriel. I am disappointed in you."
Time to pour on the charm. I step forward and smile, and she smiles back, relaxing at how much of A Good Girl I appear to be. "It's so nice to meet you finally! I heard so much!" I say in Spanish.
"Ah, aren't you a good daughter?" Estelita coos. "At least you got one decent child," she snaps at her son. Then she turns back to me. "Tell me about yourself...?"
"My daughter, Alessandra," Papi supplies.
I take a deep breath. "Well...my mother died in the Massacre, so my childhood was hard. Begging, stealing, a little hacking. Then as a teenager, I started getting into whoring and blackmail."
Estelita looks too horrified for words, and my nonchalant tone isn't helping. Papi smiles proudly.
"Of course, augmentation will only take you so far and I wanted to be the best, so when I turned twenty-one I ditched my meatsack body and went one hundred percent omnic. And that's how I met Papi!" I finish brightly. "Of course, that was when he and my sister were assassins for Talon."
"This is a joke," she demands of her son.
"No joke, Abuela," I say earnestly. Then I open a few screens showing mission footage. "We must have killed...hundreds, maybe thousands of people together. As a family." The screens switch from mission footage to comparisons: Widowmaker to Adrienne, Reaper to Gabriel, and my omnic body to my organic one.
"That is not my son," Estelita says furiously, pointing to Reaper.
Jesse takes a cigar out of his pocket and contemplates it. "No, that's Dad all right. Nearly punched me clear across Houston when he heard I tried to hire my younger sister as a whore," he says before sticking the cigar between his teeth.
"I remember that," Adrienne says with quiet excitement. "She was wearing the red dress. Papi was furious and I was annoyed with him because I was going to shoot you, but he punched you out of my line of sight."
"Gabriel! You tell your mother right now that this is all a joke! You were not that...monster...and you did not kill those people!"
"I told you I was dead," he says with a shit-eating grin. "After the explosion, they tried to save me with nanites but there was a fire and I burned to ash. So yes, I was that monster, and not only did I kill all those people, but I ate a good number of them. Alive."
There's stunned silence for ten, twenty seconds before Estelita takes a deep breath and starts shrieking.
"HOW DARE YOU! YOU ARE NOT MY SON! I HAVE NO SON! GET OUT OF MY HOUSE!"
There's a lot more in that vein, but it's pretty repetitive even when she switches to Spanish, although we all get called the Devil at some point as we calmly and proudly file back out and saunter down the sidewalk while she yells at us from the door. Papi unlocks the car remotely before triggering the roof to retract, and opens the back door so 'Rienne and I can slide in. Jesse closes it for us before climbing into the front seat. Then Papi's in the driver's seat with his sunglasses back on, and the motor roars to life. He revs it a few times, waiting for the roof to go down all the way before he starts to drive slowly down the street, and like goddamn movie stars we lounge insolently and wave to the neighbors who are looking out their doors to see what all the commotion is about.
Once we turn the corner, he puts the roof back up and we all burst into maniacal laughter.
"Perfect," Papi says proudly as he navigates out of the neighborhood. "You're all perfect and I love you. Now, who's hungry? There's a couple of places I want to check out, see if they're still around after thirty years, see if they're actually open. This is Thanksgiving, after all."
Adrienne and I look at each other for a moment before bursting into a fresh round of laughter. Thanksgiving, the American holiday of friends, family, food, and giving thanks. And we just used it to validate our adopted family and get Papi disowned from what was left of the family he was born into.
In the front seat, Jesse sits up suddenly. "Wait. You mean this was on purpose? You dragged us out here to meet your mom because you wanted to piss her off? You shoulda told me, Dad," he complains. "I would have done something like shadow-sis did."
"You were there," Papi tells him. "That was plenty."
"I still feel like I could have been more offensive if I'd known what was going on," he says sulkily.
'Rienne laughs quietly. "We could go back and you could take your clothes off."
Jesse mutters something unintelligible.
"No, quiet-sis, that wouldn't work. He looks too good without clothes for that to be offensive."
Papi catches my eye in the rear-view mirror. "She has a point, though, Alé. They both do. We could have been a lot more offensive. I think we need to brainstorm over tacos. What do you all think?"
With all the grinning and wicked chuckles, I don't think any of us actually bothers to say yes.
=
"Good," Papi says as he pulls up to a little Mexican restaurant that looks family-owned. "They're still around, and they're open. Now to see if they're still any good."
A little bell rings as we walk in the door, and a bored-looking ratty little man in his late 20s or early 30s leaning against the host's podium calls out, "Welcome to Los Santos," without even looking up from the little pad he's watching.
Papi walks up to the podium, arms crossed, and waits. We spread out around him.
It's almost a minute before the overgrown teenager sighs and looks up. "How many?"
"Four...if this place is still any good," Papi growls. "You Abuela still a terror in the kitchen, Miguel?"
Miguel goes wide-eyed that this well-dressed stranger knows his name and his grandmother. "N-no. My uncle..."
"He here?" Papi demands.
"Y-yes..."
Papi lowers his sunglasses just enough to stare Miguel in the eyes. "You go back there and get him out here. Tell him Big Dog's back. We'll find our own table."
Miguel looks like he wants to protest but he's too scared, and then he bolts for the kitchen. We pick a round booth in the corner and slide in, Papi in the back flanked by 'Rienne and Jesse, and me on my sister's other side. A minute later, a portly older man leaning heavily on a cane limps determinedly out of the kitchen and makes a beeline for us, trailed by the cringing Miguel. Jesse vacates the booth and Papi takes his shades off as he slides out to give the man a fierce, aggressive hug that nearly knocks him off his feet.
"Go get menus," the man snaps to Miguel as Papi releases him, then steals a chair from another table to sit heavily in.
Jesse takes what had been Papi's seat in the booth, leaving him the end so he can chat with what's apparently his old friend.
"You Mami finally get sick of your ugly face, Juan?" Papi teases.
Juan laughs. "I made her favorite recipe perfectly, and she died of shock," he jokes back. "What about you, Big Dog? Heard you were dead."
"Got tired of it and came back."
"Got bored ruling Hell and gave it back to the Devil?"
Papi grimaces. "Devil kicked my ass."
Juan laughs. "Well, he's about the only one who had a shot at doing it. So what, you in movies now? That why you dressed so pretty and why you brought movie stars to my restaurant?" he asks, giving 'Rienne a broad wink."
"Nah. These're my kids. Jesse, Adrienne, and Alessandra." He nods to each of us in turn.
"McCree, right?" Juan asks, leaning over to shake Jesse's hand. "You're kind of distinctive, and I remember your old man talking about you when you were just a little shit. Adrienne," he says, bowing awkwardly over her hand and air-kissing it. "You look stunning. It's a pleasure to meet you. Alessandra..." He trails off, looking intently at my face and then turning to frown at Papi.
"She's actually mine," Papi confirms. "Takes completely after me. Punched the Devil in the dick and dragged me out of Hell."
Juan starts to laugh, but it dies. "You're serious. My god, Gabe, what happened?"
"I told you: died, went to hell, Devil kicked my ass, my daughter punched him in the dick and dragged me out."
There's silence for a long minute. Juan looks shaken. Luckily, Miguel comes back with menus and distracts everyone passing them out before scurrying away again.
"You eat free," Juan says firmly, pointing at Papi as he heaves himself to his feet and puts the chair back.
Papi snorts. "Not a chance."
"I mean it, Big Dog. I'm not taking your money. Mi Mami would take a break from terrorizing Heaven to come down to yell at me if I did."
"I'll just charm her, like I always did." Papi gives it a beat. "Besides, it's not me you have to worry about."
Juan follows the direction of his friend's gaze and sees me with screens open, checking the finances of the restaurant and the owner. Looks like there's a few payments left on a loan for...some sort of remodeling. As he watches, I transfer funds and pay it off.
"Did you just-?"
"Si."
"You always were a lucky son of a bitch," Juan tells Papi. "Speaking of your mother..."
The rest of us break into wicked chuckles again, and Papi's wearing a wide, shit-eating grin. "Just came from visiting her," he says. "She didn't appreciate my perfect kids. Apparently, she has no son."
"She always was a piece of work." Juan shakes his head. "Well, you tell my nephew what you want, and I will go make it for you. Alessandra, thank you for punching the Devil in the dick and dragging this bastard out of Hell. He's a good man."
After Juan's limped back off and Miguel's taken our orders, Jesse looks at me. "You mean Big Dog wasn't just something you came up with for when he didn't want to be called Reaper?"
"Nope."
He leans back. "How...?"
Papi laughs. "Don't question it, mijo. All your secrets are belong to Sombra."
=
After a dinner that turned out to be more like a private party featuring endless tacos and family-sized margaritas (and a bit of terrorizing Miguel when he tried to hit on me), we've got a list of scandalous ideas and enough alcohol in our collective bloodstreams to follow through. Papi smiles tolerantly as he herds us into the car, having managed to stay sober through judicious sipping and nanite programming, and it's off to find an open drugstore.
Hair scissors. Bleaching products. Purple dye. Dye brush. Rubber gloves. Plastic wrap. Hair clips and ties. Fine-point marker. Snacks. Tanning oil. Ice for the to-go cup filled with margarita that we didn't drink before we left.
Back in the common room of our hotel suite, Jesse fetches a towel from the bathroom while I add ice to the cup, Adrienne flexes her fingers in anticipation, and Papi opens packages. The first order of business is to separate the thick stripe of hair that runs down the center of my head, tie it up and secure it with clips. Then, on a chair in the kitchen, draped in a towel and armed with alcohol, I give the order and my family descends on me, scissors flashing. The cranial augmentations that had been hidden under my hair start to appear as locks are shorn away, and the activity changes from determined to jubilant. 'Rienne starts humming French nursery rhymes as she clips carefully, trimming down almost to my scalp between the bands.
"That's the shadow-sis I remember," Jesse murmurs as he moves around to the back, cutting my hair down to finger-length so Adrienne can follow and clean it up quicker. "I mean, don't get me wrong, we all know I think you were gorgeous with the long hair, but it just...wasn't...you. It's like seeing Gabe without a shaved head, y'know?"
I can't really argue with that. Three weeks with a full head of hair didn't make me feel normal, it only made me feel like I was wearing a disguise the whole time.
Papi taps one of the bands as he clips next to it. "How do these stay on? They're sitting directly on your skin. Don't they itch as your hair grows?"
"Nope," I answer cheerfully, holding the cup up so he can take a sip. "Microscopic anchors replacing the hair follicles. Goes right down through my skull to interface with my brain. Was a bitch having it done the first time."
"Well, that explains why we couldn't just shave your head," Jesse says from behind me, where the bands are closer together.
"Just clip it down to the level of the bands," I tell my family. "I'm gonna let it grow until it annoys me again."
Once the trimming is complete, Papi and 'Rienne take down the middle section and cut it to the proper length before donning gloves and applying chemicals to the bottom eight inches or so. When what's left of my hair has been secured in plastic, Jesse removes the hair-covered towel and shoves it in a corner to deal with later. Adrienne goes to shower all her glam off. The rest of us cuddlepile and laugh as we search for the most blasphemous music possible to play as we drive slowly by Estelita's townhouse, with bonus points for growling, screaming, gratuitous percussion, and electric guitar. Double bonus for being in Spanish. Then it's my turn to shower, and afterwards I set an alarm and flop into bed with a sigh of contentment.
"It is a freedom," 'Rienne says quietly from the other bed. "To have had long hair and cut it off, to define yourself rather than being defined by it. We are judged so much by our appearances, and so many of our decisions about our appearance are decided by how others will judge us."
"Tell me about it," I groan. "Jesse was right, all that hair is gorgeous, but it is not me. I think he leaves his the way he does as a way to say hey, fuck you, you don't control me."
'Rienne giggles. "That would make sense. And Papi shaves his head to say there is nothing about me you can control, do not even try."
"Mmmm." I want to say more to that, but I'm too tired.
=
Morning comes far too early. Quiet-sis helps me put purple dye on the bleached portion of my hair, and then we steal a little more sleep until it's time to wash it out. She puts on coffee and orders room service while I'm showering, and when I emerge in my purple two-piece, Papi and Jesse both beam at me.
"That's my little shadow," Papi murmurs, giving me a hug and a kiss on the head. "Sit. Have coffee. I'm not going to start drawing on you until I'm actually awake."
An hour later, fed and caffeinated, 'Rienne and I are sporting matching marker "tattoos" of Reaper's mask on our shoulders and thighs. Everyone is wearing jeans and tee-shirts over our swimwear, and the tanning oil has been tossed into the bag holding our towels because we're going to hit the infamous swimming hole after our scandalous drive-by and this time, I will make sure there's no footage.
The hotel clerk does a double-take as we collectively strut past, but keeps his mouth shut.
In a corner store parking lot a block away, we strip to our swimsuits. I'm in shimmery purple, of course, and Adrienne is in a gorgeous turquoise one-piece. At some point, Jesse got his hands on a male bikini patterned after the Texas flag, and he's only a little self-conscious at displaying nearly all of his body. Papi, of course, made his own. It's black with Reaper's mask in white, and it's the absolute minimum amount of material needed to cover his package with black strings holding it in place. The patrons and employees of the corner store are treated to a free show as we (carefully, avoiding our fake tattoos) oil each other up for maximum glisten. Then Jesse puts his hat back on and takes a relaxed position behind the wheel while I climb into the back seat to flank Papi with Adrienne, and we don't bother sitting.
"Let's move out," Papi orders.
To the primal growl and escalating percussion line of the song we decided was going to offend Estelita the most, Jesse cruises slowly and smoothly out of the parking lot. Traffic pauses to let us pass, encouraged by the sight of three mostly-naked, oiled, sexy people dancing slowly and provocatively in the back seat. By the time we get within sight of Estelita's townhouse, all the neighbors have come out to watch. Papi's climbed onto the trunk and is demonstrating moves I can only envy while 'Rienne and I dance like we're going to start having sex any moment.
I blow Estelita a kiss as we pass. She looks like she's going to have a stroke, or maybe just explode, if she doesn't vent the outrage making her shake. The old lady who apparently lives next door nudges her and points to Papi with an appreciative grin, which makes her storm inside and slam the door.
Once we're around the corner, I cut the music and Jesse pulls into the first driveway that presents itself and we all throw our clothes back on. Papi takes the wheel and puts the roof back up, and we all laugh with malicious glee as he hurls us back into traffic.
"Tell me you got video, Alé," he begs, glancing at me in the rear-view mirror.
"Of course," I shoot back, grinning.
Jesse cackles. "She'll never look at Black Friday the same way again."
"We may have been naughty," Adrienne deadpans. "I'm proud of us."
"I'm proud of us, too," Papi says, practically purring. "You are the best kids ever, encouraging my bullshit."
"Hey," Jesse protests. "Your bullshit is our bullshit, too. Familia Reyes for life, Dad."
"Even when Morrison finds out what we did?"
"Pfft, how's he gonna find out?"
I open a few screens. "Fifteen social media postings so far. Want me to squash them, Papi?"
"Nah. Let 'em look."
"You sure? Could ruin your big reveal."
The silence stretches while Papi's ego wrestles with itself.
"...nuke them."
=
After a morning of swimming, we head back to the hotel and check out, collecting Jerome at the same time. The clerk checks us out with as little fanfare as when he checked us in, so Papi scrawls him a personalized note and lets him take a selfie.
"Don't post that anywhere until after Easter," Papi warns him. "After Easter? Go wild, tell as many people as you want with my blessing. But not before then."
"You have my word, Mr. Reyes sir," the clerk says shakily.
"Check your email, amigo," I tell him.
He does, and his jaw drops. "A car loan?"
"Not just a loan. See the other one? I set up an account for you. Payments will make themselves."
"A car." He sounds like he's going to hyperventilate. "I-I was expecting maybe twenty dollars, not twenty thousand for a car!"
"Go big or go home," Papi says smugly. "While I'm thinking about it, though...the Easter Gala. We'll need rooms. Can we reserve those now?"
"Sure," the clerk says in a dazed voice.
Moments later, penthouse reservation confirmed, we're weaving our way through traffic with Jerome following us. One lunch of brick-oven pizza later, we head back to the rental car place and Papi poses for a selfie with the omnic attendant, giving xir the same warning about not sharing it before Easter. Then we file onto the ship and settle in for a comfortable trans-Atlantic cuddlepile.
"Next year," Papi says lazily, "we're doing Thanksgiving at home. Fuck the traditional stuff, though. Everyone makes their specialty."
Equally lazy murmurs of agreement are all the response he gets.
Adrienne and I glance at each other with puzzled expressions, but Papi looks thoughtful.
"Alé, is Jerome free Thursday and Friday?"
I check a few screens. "Si, Papi."
"And Jack's visiting his folks, isn't he?" It's not a question, but I nod anyway. Slowly, Papi grins. "Perfect. He won't hear about it until it's too late. Pack for two days," he orders us, "but leave room for fancy clothes and swimwear. I'm taking you to meet my mother."
Oh my god. He remembered. We're going to do it, we're going to get him disowned and then go out to eat.
I can't wait for Thursday.
===
The rental car attendant, unsurprisingly, is omnic. Xie confirms our reservation cheerfully and wishes us a pleasant stay. Even less surprisingly, Papi has rented the flashiest, most expensive black convertible to be had in the entirety of Los Angeles, something the attendant compliments him on. Papi drives to the hotel like the streets are an active battlefield and casually informs the hotel clerk that if he makes no fuss over us, he'll get a tip and an autograph when we check out. A little star-struck, the clerk checks us quietly into our three-room suite. 'Rienne and I will be sharing the bedroom on one the side of the communal room; Papi and Jesse will be sharing the other bedroom. She changes in the bathroom, I change in the bedroom, and then while I'm waiting for the bathroom to be free so I can do my makeup, I check on the clerk. Looks like he's taking night classes and, judging by complaints on social media, is in desperate need of a car that runs reliably. That'll work for a tip, as long as he holds up his end of the deal.
Adrienne looks stunning when she's done. Her short hair is swept back with gel, allowing her elegant earrings to swing free and accentuate the graceful column of her neck. Her dress, of course, is something Papi made - very flowing and graceful - and her heels make her as tall as Papi. She looks like she's late for a runway walk somewhere.
My goals are different. My dress and shoes are traditional. Conservative, even. They adhere to cultural standards that haven't applied since before I was born. My cosmetics are subtle, making me look "naturally beautiful" without looking made up. I do take a bit of pride in the fact that my thick, glossy, hip-length hair is my actual hair. I haven't gotten disenchanted enough with it yet to shave most of it off again. All in all, though, I look like A Good Girl.
Jesse, of course, looks like the trash cowboy he is. Papi's dressed him in colors that play down his mixed blood and make him look like a complete gringo. And Papi himself is dressed smartly in black: dress pants, silk button-up long-sleeve shirt, expensive sunglasses, and shoes shined so well you can see your reflection in them.
The hotel clerk does a double-take as we follow Papi out to the car, but he doesn't say a word.
=
Estelita Reyes, it turns out, lives in a cramped townhouse in a neighborhood that's seen better days. I'd be worried about leaving the car parked on the street, but with the roof up, it locks and alarms very securely. Jesse waves Adrienne and I ahead of him, and we follow Papi up the cracked sidewalk, past brown grass and withered bushes, to the front door with its torn screen. The doorbell rings somewhere inside the house, and a minute later the door opens. An overweight old woman in a brightly-colored dress at odds with her thin, greying, curled hair frowns at us through the screen.
"I told you, I don't know where he is! I haven't seen him in months!"
"Ms. Estelita Reyes?" Papi asks, trying to sound neutral.
"Si, and you are...?"
He takes off the sunglasses. "Your son."
The reaction that gets is so dramatic that there's no doubt she's related to Papi. She gasps, clutches her chest, swoons, and staggers back far enough into the house that he can enter and guide her to an dingy upholstered chair that's threadbare in more than a few places. I grab the screen door and pass it to Adrienne, who holds it for Jesse, who closes the front door behind us as we follow Gabriel inside. Then, as if we'd practiced it, we line up oldest to youngest with Jesse on Papi's right and 'Rienne and I on his left.
"They said you were dead!" Estelita wails.
"I was dead."
"Then what happened, how have you come back to me?"
"I got better," he answers dryly.
"Why didn't you call, or write, or visit?"
"I was dead, Mami."
"I meant before that! Thirty years I don't see you, why are you here now?" she demands petulantly.
Papi steps back and gestures to us. "To show you my children," he announces proudly. "My son, Jesse."
McCree tips his hat politely. "Ma'am."
"That's a gringo name," she snaps, ignoring him entirely. "Why you bring a gringo into my house, Gabriel?"
"Because he's your grandson, Mami," is the taunting reply.
She mutters something very uncomplimentary in Spanish that I hope Jesse isn't fluent enough to understand, speculation about how pale his mother's skin was and her motives for getting pregnant.
"My daughter, Adrienne."
"A pleasure to meet you," my sister lies.
In Spanish that I'm really hoping neither of my sibs can understand, Estelita spits, "It's not bad enough you had to stick it in a white girl, but then you knock up a French whore? I don't want this granddaughter, Gabriel. I am disappointed in you."
Time to pour on the charm. I step forward and smile, and she smiles back, relaxing at how much of A Good Girl I appear to be. "It's so nice to meet you finally! I heard so much!" I say in Spanish.
"Ah, aren't you a good daughter?" Estelita coos. "At least you got one decent child," she snaps at her son. Then she turns back to me. "Tell me about yourself...?"
"My daughter, Alessandra," Papi supplies.
I take a deep breath. "Well...my mother died in the Massacre, so my childhood was hard. Begging, stealing, a little hacking. Then as a teenager, I started getting into whoring and blackmail."
Estelita looks too horrified for words, and my nonchalant tone isn't helping. Papi smiles proudly.
"Of course, augmentation will only take you so far and I wanted to be the best, so when I turned twenty-one I ditched my meatsack body and went one hundred percent omnic. And that's how I met Papi!" I finish brightly. "Of course, that was when he and my sister were assassins for Talon."
"This is a joke," she demands of her son.
"No joke, Abuela," I say earnestly. Then I open a few screens showing mission footage. "We must have killed...hundreds, maybe thousands of people together. As a family." The screens switch from mission footage to comparisons: Widowmaker to Adrienne, Reaper to Gabriel, and my omnic body to my organic one.
"That is not my son," Estelita says furiously, pointing to Reaper.
Jesse takes a cigar out of his pocket and contemplates it. "No, that's Dad all right. Nearly punched me clear across Houston when he heard I tried to hire my younger sister as a whore," he says before sticking the cigar between his teeth.
"I remember that," Adrienne says with quiet excitement. "She was wearing the red dress. Papi was furious and I was annoyed with him because I was going to shoot you, but he punched you out of my line of sight."
"Gabriel! You tell your mother right now that this is all a joke! You were not that...monster...and you did not kill those people!"
"I told you I was dead," he says with a shit-eating grin. "After the explosion, they tried to save me with nanites but there was a fire and I burned to ash. So yes, I was that monster, and not only did I kill all those people, but I ate a good number of them. Alive."
There's stunned silence for ten, twenty seconds before Estelita takes a deep breath and starts shrieking.
"HOW DARE YOU! YOU ARE NOT MY SON! I HAVE NO SON! GET OUT OF MY HOUSE!"
There's a lot more in that vein, but it's pretty repetitive even when she switches to Spanish, although we all get called the Devil at some point as we calmly and proudly file back out and saunter down the sidewalk while she yells at us from the door. Papi unlocks the car remotely before triggering the roof to retract, and opens the back door so 'Rienne and I can slide in. Jesse closes it for us before climbing into the front seat. Then Papi's in the driver's seat with his sunglasses back on, and the motor roars to life. He revs it a few times, waiting for the roof to go down all the way before he starts to drive slowly down the street, and like goddamn movie stars we lounge insolently and wave to the neighbors who are looking out their doors to see what all the commotion is about.
Once we turn the corner, he puts the roof back up and we all burst into maniacal laughter.
"Perfect," Papi says proudly as he navigates out of the neighborhood. "You're all perfect and I love you. Now, who's hungry? There's a couple of places I want to check out, see if they're still around after thirty years, see if they're actually open. This is Thanksgiving, after all."
Adrienne and I look at each other for a moment before bursting into a fresh round of laughter. Thanksgiving, the American holiday of friends, family, food, and giving thanks. And we just used it to validate our adopted family and get Papi disowned from what was left of the family he was born into.
In the front seat, Jesse sits up suddenly. "Wait. You mean this was on purpose? You dragged us out here to meet your mom because you wanted to piss her off? You shoulda told me, Dad," he complains. "I would have done something like shadow-sis did."
"You were there," Papi tells him. "That was plenty."
"I still feel like I could have been more offensive if I'd known what was going on," he says sulkily.
'Rienne laughs quietly. "We could go back and you could take your clothes off."
Jesse mutters something unintelligible.
"No, quiet-sis, that wouldn't work. He looks too good without clothes for that to be offensive."
Papi catches my eye in the rear-view mirror. "She has a point, though, Alé. They both do. We could have been a lot more offensive. I think we need to brainstorm over tacos. What do you all think?"
With all the grinning and wicked chuckles, I don't think any of us actually bothers to say yes.
=
"Good," Papi says as he pulls up to a little Mexican restaurant that looks family-owned. "They're still around, and they're open. Now to see if they're still any good."
A little bell rings as we walk in the door, and a bored-looking ratty little man in his late 20s or early 30s leaning against the host's podium calls out, "Welcome to Los Santos," without even looking up from the little pad he's watching.
Papi walks up to the podium, arms crossed, and waits. We spread out around him.
It's almost a minute before the overgrown teenager sighs and looks up. "How many?"
"Four...if this place is still any good," Papi growls. "You Abuela still a terror in the kitchen, Miguel?"
Miguel goes wide-eyed that this well-dressed stranger knows his name and his grandmother. "N-no. My uncle..."
"He here?" Papi demands.
"Y-yes..."
Papi lowers his sunglasses just enough to stare Miguel in the eyes. "You go back there and get him out here. Tell him Big Dog's back. We'll find our own table."
Miguel looks like he wants to protest but he's too scared, and then he bolts for the kitchen. We pick a round booth in the corner and slide in, Papi in the back flanked by 'Rienne and Jesse, and me on my sister's other side. A minute later, a portly older man leaning heavily on a cane limps determinedly out of the kitchen and makes a beeline for us, trailed by the cringing Miguel. Jesse vacates the booth and Papi takes his shades off as he slides out to give the man a fierce, aggressive hug that nearly knocks him off his feet.
"Go get menus," the man snaps to Miguel as Papi releases him, then steals a chair from another table to sit heavily in.
Jesse takes what had been Papi's seat in the booth, leaving him the end so he can chat with what's apparently his old friend.
"You Mami finally get sick of your ugly face, Juan?" Papi teases.
Juan laughs. "I made her favorite recipe perfectly, and she died of shock," he jokes back. "What about you, Big Dog? Heard you were dead."
"Got tired of it and came back."
"Got bored ruling Hell and gave it back to the Devil?"
Papi grimaces. "Devil kicked my ass."
Juan laughs. "Well, he's about the only one who had a shot at doing it. So what, you in movies now? That why you dressed so pretty and why you brought movie stars to my restaurant?" he asks, giving 'Rienne a broad wink."
"Nah. These're my kids. Jesse, Adrienne, and Alessandra." He nods to each of us in turn.
"McCree, right?" Juan asks, leaning over to shake Jesse's hand. "You're kind of distinctive, and I remember your old man talking about you when you were just a little shit. Adrienne," he says, bowing awkwardly over her hand and air-kissing it. "You look stunning. It's a pleasure to meet you. Alessandra..." He trails off, looking intently at my face and then turning to frown at Papi.
"She's actually mine," Papi confirms. "Takes completely after me. Punched the Devil in the dick and dragged me out of Hell."
Juan starts to laugh, but it dies. "You're serious. My god, Gabe, what happened?"
"I told you: died, went to hell, Devil kicked my ass, my daughter punched him in the dick and dragged me out."
There's silence for a long minute. Juan looks shaken. Luckily, Miguel comes back with menus and distracts everyone passing them out before scurrying away again.
"You eat free," Juan says firmly, pointing at Papi as he heaves himself to his feet and puts the chair back.
Papi snorts. "Not a chance."
"I mean it, Big Dog. I'm not taking your money. Mi Mami would take a break from terrorizing Heaven to come down to yell at me if I did."
"I'll just charm her, like I always did." Papi gives it a beat. "Besides, it's not me you have to worry about."
Juan follows the direction of his friend's gaze and sees me with screens open, checking the finances of the restaurant and the owner. Looks like there's a few payments left on a loan for...some sort of remodeling. As he watches, I transfer funds and pay it off.
"Did you just-?"
"Si."
"You always were a lucky son of a bitch," Juan tells Papi. "Speaking of your mother..."
The rest of us break into wicked chuckles again, and Papi's wearing a wide, shit-eating grin. "Just came from visiting her," he says. "She didn't appreciate my perfect kids. Apparently, she has no son."
"She always was a piece of work." Juan shakes his head. "Well, you tell my nephew what you want, and I will go make it for you. Alessandra, thank you for punching the Devil in the dick and dragging this bastard out of Hell. He's a good man."
After Juan's limped back off and Miguel's taken our orders, Jesse looks at me. "You mean Big Dog wasn't just something you came up with for when he didn't want to be called Reaper?"
"Nope."
He leans back. "How...?"
Papi laughs. "Don't question it, mijo. All your secrets are belong to Sombra."
=
After a dinner that turned out to be more like a private party featuring endless tacos and family-sized margaritas (and a bit of terrorizing Miguel when he tried to hit on me), we've got a list of scandalous ideas and enough alcohol in our collective bloodstreams to follow through. Papi smiles tolerantly as he herds us into the car, having managed to stay sober through judicious sipping and nanite programming, and it's off to find an open drugstore.
Hair scissors. Bleaching products. Purple dye. Dye brush. Rubber gloves. Plastic wrap. Hair clips and ties. Fine-point marker. Snacks. Tanning oil. Ice for the to-go cup filled with margarita that we didn't drink before we left.
Back in the common room of our hotel suite, Jesse fetches a towel from the bathroom while I add ice to the cup, Adrienne flexes her fingers in anticipation, and Papi opens packages. The first order of business is to separate the thick stripe of hair that runs down the center of my head, tie it up and secure it with clips. Then, on a chair in the kitchen, draped in a towel and armed with alcohol, I give the order and my family descends on me, scissors flashing. The cranial augmentations that had been hidden under my hair start to appear as locks are shorn away, and the activity changes from determined to jubilant. 'Rienne starts humming French nursery rhymes as she clips carefully, trimming down almost to my scalp between the bands.
"That's the shadow-sis I remember," Jesse murmurs as he moves around to the back, cutting my hair down to finger-length so Adrienne can follow and clean it up quicker. "I mean, don't get me wrong, we all know I think you were gorgeous with the long hair, but it just...wasn't...you. It's like seeing Gabe without a shaved head, y'know?"
I can't really argue with that. Three weeks with a full head of hair didn't make me feel normal, it only made me feel like I was wearing a disguise the whole time.
Papi taps one of the bands as he clips next to it. "How do these stay on? They're sitting directly on your skin. Don't they itch as your hair grows?"
"Nope," I answer cheerfully, holding the cup up so he can take a sip. "Microscopic anchors replacing the hair follicles. Goes right down through my skull to interface with my brain. Was a bitch having it done the first time."
"Well, that explains why we couldn't just shave your head," Jesse says from behind me, where the bands are closer together.
"Just clip it down to the level of the bands," I tell my family. "I'm gonna let it grow until it annoys me again."
Once the trimming is complete, Papi and 'Rienne take down the middle section and cut it to the proper length before donning gloves and applying chemicals to the bottom eight inches or so. When what's left of my hair has been secured in plastic, Jesse removes the hair-covered towel and shoves it in a corner to deal with later. Adrienne goes to shower all her glam off. The rest of us cuddlepile and laugh as we search for the most blasphemous music possible to play as we drive slowly by Estelita's townhouse, with bonus points for growling, screaming, gratuitous percussion, and electric guitar. Double bonus for being in Spanish. Then it's my turn to shower, and afterwards I set an alarm and flop into bed with a sigh of contentment.
"It is a freedom," 'Rienne says quietly from the other bed. "To have had long hair and cut it off, to define yourself rather than being defined by it. We are judged so much by our appearances, and so many of our decisions about our appearance are decided by how others will judge us."
"Tell me about it," I groan. "Jesse was right, all that hair is gorgeous, but it is not me. I think he leaves his the way he does as a way to say hey, fuck you, you don't control me."
'Rienne giggles. "That would make sense. And Papi shaves his head to say there is nothing about me you can control, do not even try."
"Mmmm." I want to say more to that, but I'm too tired.
=
Morning comes far too early. Quiet-sis helps me put purple dye on the bleached portion of my hair, and then we steal a little more sleep until it's time to wash it out. She puts on coffee and orders room service while I'm showering, and when I emerge in my purple two-piece, Papi and Jesse both beam at me.
"That's my little shadow," Papi murmurs, giving me a hug and a kiss on the head. "Sit. Have coffee. I'm not going to start drawing on you until I'm actually awake."
An hour later, fed and caffeinated, 'Rienne and I are sporting matching marker "tattoos" of Reaper's mask on our shoulders and thighs. Everyone is wearing jeans and tee-shirts over our swimwear, and the tanning oil has been tossed into the bag holding our towels because we're going to hit the infamous swimming hole after our scandalous drive-by and this time, I will make sure there's no footage.
The hotel clerk does a double-take as we collectively strut past, but keeps his mouth shut.
In a corner store parking lot a block away, we strip to our swimsuits. I'm in shimmery purple, of course, and Adrienne is in a gorgeous turquoise one-piece. At some point, Jesse got his hands on a male bikini patterned after the Texas flag, and he's only a little self-conscious at displaying nearly all of his body. Papi, of course, made his own. It's black with Reaper's mask in white, and it's the absolute minimum amount of material needed to cover his package with black strings holding it in place. The patrons and employees of the corner store are treated to a free show as we (carefully, avoiding our fake tattoos) oil each other up for maximum glisten. Then Jesse puts his hat back on and takes a relaxed position behind the wheel while I climb into the back seat to flank Papi with Adrienne, and we don't bother sitting.
"Let's move out," Papi orders.
To the primal growl and escalating percussion line of the song we decided was going to offend Estelita the most, Jesse cruises slowly and smoothly out of the parking lot. Traffic pauses to let us pass, encouraged by the sight of three mostly-naked, oiled, sexy people dancing slowly and provocatively in the back seat. By the time we get within sight of Estelita's townhouse, all the neighbors have come out to watch. Papi's climbed onto the trunk and is demonstrating moves I can only envy while 'Rienne and I dance like we're going to start having sex any moment.
I blow Estelita a kiss as we pass. She looks like she's going to have a stroke, or maybe just explode, if she doesn't vent the outrage making her shake. The old lady who apparently lives next door nudges her and points to Papi with an appreciative grin, which makes her storm inside and slam the door.
Once we're around the corner, I cut the music and Jesse pulls into the first driveway that presents itself and we all throw our clothes back on. Papi takes the wheel and puts the roof back up, and we all laugh with malicious glee as he hurls us back into traffic.
"Tell me you got video, Alé," he begs, glancing at me in the rear-view mirror.
"Of course," I shoot back, grinning.
Jesse cackles. "She'll never look at Black Friday the same way again."
"We may have been naughty," Adrienne deadpans. "I'm proud of us."
"I'm proud of us, too," Papi says, practically purring. "You are the best kids ever, encouraging my bullshit."
"Hey," Jesse protests. "Your bullshit is our bullshit, too. Familia Reyes for life, Dad."
"Even when Morrison finds out what we did?"
"Pfft, how's he gonna find out?"
I open a few screens. "Fifteen social media postings so far. Want me to squash them, Papi?"
"Nah. Let 'em look."
"You sure? Could ruin your big reveal."
The silence stretches while Papi's ego wrestles with itself.
"...nuke them."
=
After a morning of swimming, we head back to the hotel and check out, collecting Jerome at the same time. The clerk checks us out with as little fanfare as when he checked us in, so Papi scrawls him a personalized note and lets him take a selfie.
"Don't post that anywhere until after Easter," Papi warns him. "After Easter? Go wild, tell as many people as you want with my blessing. But not before then."
"You have my word, Mr. Reyes sir," the clerk says shakily.
"Check your email, amigo," I tell him.
He does, and his jaw drops. "A car loan?"
"Not just a loan. See the other one? I set up an account for you. Payments will make themselves."
"A car." He sounds like he's going to hyperventilate. "I-I was expecting maybe twenty dollars, not twenty thousand for a car!"
"Go big or go home," Papi says smugly. "While I'm thinking about it, though...the Easter Gala. We'll need rooms. Can we reserve those now?"
"Sure," the clerk says in a dazed voice.
Moments later, penthouse reservation confirmed, we're weaving our way through traffic with Jerome following us. One lunch of brick-oven pizza later, we head back to the rental car place and Papi poses for a selfie with the omnic attendant, giving xir the same warning about not sharing it before Easter. Then we file onto the ship and settle in for a comfortable trans-Atlantic cuddlepile.
"Next year," Papi says lazily, "we're doing Thanksgiving at home. Fuck the traditional stuff, though. Everyone makes their specialty."
Equally lazy murmurs of agreement are all the response he gets.