I’m not sure if there was ever really any love between my grandparents; maybe something that could be mistaken for love on a slightly overcast day. There were a lot of slightly overcast days.
But then there was sun. An unusually bright, overbearing, hot sunny day, in a fit of rage no one could fully comprehend that my grandmother bought and set up a security camera in front of her house. She had kicked out my grandfather 8 sum years ago, the reason lost to old arguments that date back to 1972 but might also have something vaguely to do with the 1994 peso crisis, or more likely the missing shrimp of 2010. Much like the neighbors dog, even with cold demeanors that feel like slightly overcast days and unwelcoming broom swipes, my grandfather lingers back. In October my grandmother had bought ten–or $48.77 worth–of pumpkins, wanting to decorate for Halloween. The excess of pumpkin was less about what she wanted for her front yard and more for what she thought my younger cousin would like. He of course was obsessed, named the pumpkins after everyone in the family. He’d point and say ‘look this is my mom because it’s fat, this is my dad because it has pimples, this is grandpa because it’s wrinkly, this moldy one is the dog because it smells bad.’
One unusually hot afternoon, my cousin came over to visit. He fell to his knees at the front door, screaming. Like entire worlds fell apart. Or government parties that promised change.
MY PUMPKIN.
Sobbing, hyperventilating, he tore himself apart like rosary draped women mourning their sons, husband, lovers–he screamed at the dog. Said it was her fault, surely, she must have eaten it. He chased her around the yard, trying to get her to vomit to salvage the pumpkin.
Humoring him, my grandmother checked the cameras. My grandfather was standing on the front porch picking his teeth after having dinner he stretched lazily eyeing the pumpkins. He bent down with heavy grunts lowering himself. He slapped a couple of pumpkins like they were one of the many women he’s cheated on my grandmother with. He slapped one three times before he grabbed it by the stem, slowly stood up, groaning the entire way up, and waddled off hiking his pants up to his lower ribs. He threw the pumpkin into the back of his 2015 civic, and drove off to the retirement home. “Pinche viejo loco.” My grandmother murmured, angrily walked off.
Eventually, there was another overcast day. My grandmother made caldo, invited my grandfather over, making it a point to save him the best part, the fish head.
She served him a generous bowl the size of a small pot, and he ate, content to eat anything other than the food at the retirement home that he claimed would make a Cuban cry.
My grandfather’s downfall was his insistence of filling up empty space with conversation. Even in the few moments of comfortable silence he had with my grandmother.
“Mija, I had the best dessert yesterday.”
“You’re not supposed to be eating dessert, you have diabetes.” My grandmother retorted as she cleaned the kitchen.
"No, but it was healthy, I had some boiled pumpkin, with cinnamon and milk! It was great, amazing really.”
I think something broke in my grandmother, or maybe it was already broken.
“When did you get a pumpkin?” Her voice was annoyed and bitter.
Before I could play mediator–or anything like it–my grandfather snapped at her. “You know I drive, I bought it from the store!”
“When?”
“Tuesday.” Shut up.
“Really where did you get it?”
“I got it at Food4Less. On sale.” Please shut up.
“Liar.”
“Eh?”
“You liar!” My grandmother hissed and slapped him with a dirty dish towel. “I saw you on the camera! You idiot! I know you stole my pumpkin!”
“You’re crazy!”
“No, you are! What is wrong with you?!”
There were plenty and then some wrong with him. My grandfather rolled his eyes, scoffed, stood up from the table, half-finished caldo. “I don’t need to deal with this!” He yelled as he grabbed the fish head from his bowl, wrapped a napkin around it and left.
Later that evening, it was sunny and hot, and my grandfather came back holding a pumpkin. He waddled to the porch and dropped the pumpkin next to all the others while he made pointed faces mimicking my grandmother.
