Antes | Oscar Diaz

june.

"Ya," Claudia says, throwing her hands up. She's got her shitty laptop propped on the coffee table, about a dozen tabs open, and her ass hurts from sitting on the floor for so long. Oscar's in the middle of giving her two French braids, and he won't stop vetoing the apartments she's looking at. She's about to catch a case.

"That one's not even in Freeridge," he says, and redoes the braid he's working on. He's on try number three.

"It's two blocks south," she says, "it's a fifteen minute drive from here, and I can take the bus to class and work."

"You staying out in Brentwood once classes start?"

"I should move to Brentwood," she mutters, and then, because she knows Oscar's about to start talking shit, "don't."

He sniffs. She can imagine the purse of his mouth. He and Cesar are both prone to pouting when they don't get their way. On a nine-year-old it's cute; on a Santo? Claudia deserves a medal, and she stays reminding Oscar of it. He says, "There's gotta be decent places nearby."

"Your bedroom doesn't count," she says.

"You sure about that?" he says, and tilts her head back to press a kiss to her eyebrow. Despite herself, she smiles. "You gotta find roommates for most'a these, yeah?"

"Yeah," she says, scrolling through one of the websites again. She clicks on a studio option and nearly gags. Tries one-bedroom and it's only slightly better. "Querido," she says, "chulito mío."

"I know it's serious when you start calling me chero," he says, "so until then..."

"Oscar," she says, "baby, pa' qué nos quedamos aquí? We could find a two-bedroom easy. Rent's cheap over in La Avenida."

"Lots of Salvadorans there. You homesick?"

"I was born here, asshole," she says, and clicks on a two-bedroom, $1500 a month. "Whatchu think?"

"You got Avenida money?"

"We can save up," she says, "my mom had a comadre out there back in the day."

"She still there?"

"Dunno." Claudia chews on her thumbnail. She never could manage to keep her nails long. Her mom had beautiful hands. Despite the work she had as a maid and as a dishwasher at some bougie restaurant downtown, she always kept her nails real pretty. Used to have them that almond shape that made them look fake, favored an almost salmon shade of pink. Did her nails once a week, at least, used to do Claudia's toenails, both of them walking around with separators to keep from smudging the polish. Claudia misses her so suddenly it takes her breath away.

"La Avenida's nice," Oscar finally says, when Claudia's clearly been quite for too long. He's finally finished with the braids.

She swipes her fingers under her eyes, says, "Yeah, it is," and clicks x on the browser. Says, "I'm not gonna find any nice ones right now. I been checking every day."

"Some nice ones'll pop up," he says, like he knows, and then wraps his arms around her best as he can, her on the floor and him on the couch. He kisses her ear and just holds her. "Don't worry. You got three weeks still. And here, you know. Cuando quieras."

"I know." Cesar's in his room getting ready for bed. Tomorrow's his last day of school, and he's very excited about it being Field Day. Claudia remembers those days vaguely, remembers, too, some blurry image of her mother coming by to pick her up after. That was back when they lived in Pico Union, she's pretty sure. They bounced around Vermont Avenue like no one's business, ended up in Freeridge only after her mom got sick and couldn't afford any better. "You busy tomorrow?"