Chapter Text
Oscar still moves like he’s being watched. It’s been two weeks since he was released from the hospital and slipped away to Bakersfield, showing up on Ray’s doorstop afterwards in a cruel role-reversal of when Ray was released from jail last summer. Ray almost couldn’t recognize him—the bruises were still fresh, the swelling in his face not quite gone. Later, he realized Oscar was missing a molar, just barely noticeable when he smiled (not that he smiled much, those first few months away from LA).
When Cesar calls, Oscar ducks out of the room like he’s got a secret to keep. They argue about Cesar staying in LA—Ray can hear them. He never had custody of these kids so he doesn’t have much say about where his younger goes, but his dead brother’s wife is probably not the worst choice. Alejandra has raised kids before, though her oldest didn’t make it, so maybe Ray should be more concerned. Maybe Oscar justdoesn’t want to disrupt the kid’s life worse than he already has. Ray’s not going to ask if Oscar’s not going to tell him.
Today, Ray says, “Whatchu gonna do about your life, mijo?” and doesn’t take the dirty look Oscar gives him personal.
“Whatchu mean?” Oscar’s picking at his eggs. Ray wasn’t around when he was fifteen, but he imagines this is what breakfast would have been like.
“You gotta get a job eventually,” Ray says, “you can stay with me, no problem. But I know the facility’s hiring. Need some kitchen help.”
“You gonna finally fix my life, pops?” The vitriol is obvious, but Ray’s been here before, with men he knew half as well as he knows Oscar—his son is just like him. Maybe even in the good ways.
“I think Cesar’d like to hear what you’re up to,” Ray says, careful, watching how it makes Oscar straighten up, “might convince him there’s something up here waiting for him, once he’s ready.”