“But—”
“No,” Poppy said, his voice quiet but firm. “I will not sell to your company.”
“Be reasonable, Mr. Gonzalez. We’re offering you a decent profit margin, and you’re facing eviction otherwise. The clock is ticking.” Mr. Silos tapped his fat, gold, diamond-studded watch. “The deal I’m offering here is a win-win. This is a no-brainer.”
Poppy sucked in his breath, and Zoey could tell he was trying very hard not to yell at Mr. Silos. Finally, Poppy spoke in a tone even lower and sterner than before.
“My answer remains no. Buen día, Mr. Silos. I hope you have a nice day.”
Mr. Silos gawked at Poppy as if he’d sprouted a unicorn horn and shimmering blue mane, but finally appeared to get the message. He shook his wrist with the fancy watch in the air, mouthed “the clock is ticking” once more, and left.
Poppy exhaled as the glass door chimed shut and leaned over the counter, rubbing the gray hair above his temples.
“What was that all about?” Zoey asked.
Poppy jumped as if he’d forgotten Zoey was there.
“Ay, mija, it’s nothing for you to worry about.” Poppy waved a hand dismissively through the air, like Mr. Silos was nothing more than a fruit fly to be shooed away from the bananas. But Zoey didn’t buy his casual act for a second. Dad was right. Poppy was in big trouble.
“It sounds like there’s a lot to worry about!”
Poppy tsked, waving another dismissive hand. “Mira, every business has its headaches. My headache is named Mr. Silos. Yes, it’s been a little slow at the bowling alley. Yes, if it doesn’t turn around soon, then I have to close in a few weeks—”
A few weeks?! Zoey gasped.
“But I’m going to turn it around, Zoey. I don’t want you to worry, eh?” Poppy glanced down at her and smiled.
“Mr. Silos said you were going to get evicted though.” Zoey’s eyes widened into dinner plates.
“Mr. Silos just works for a big development company that wants to tear down the bowling alley and make a fancy new hotel for tourists. So, mija, he comes here to talk about the worst-case scenario and try to scare me. But no, your Poppy is no coward, eh?” He shook a finger in the air. “Absolutely not. This place, it’s been in our family too many decades. I raise your mami here. I won’t sell. I can’t,” Poppy said earnestly. His cloudy brown eyes looked far away again.
Zoey wondered what her grandfather was remembering. Her own bowling alley memories were all like abridged YouTube ads. A collage of snippets, each lasting only a few seconds. Mami laughing when five-year-old Zoey rolled the bowling ball from between her legs and it got stuck halfway down the lane, followed by Mami chasing after her when Zoey went down the lane to roll the ball the rest of the way. Dad shooting mini basketball hoops with José, while Mami and Zoey cheered them on, waiting for their turn. Mami showing Zoey how to shine rental shoes behind the counter. Abuela and Poppy handing Mami free lollipops from the prize basket that cost customers ten tickets apiece, for Zoey and José’s dessert that night.
Zoey glanced back up at Poppy. He looked so forlorn that her heart ached at the sight. Forget the broken sign. Poppy had bigger problems to worry about. But right then, Zoey’s heartache solidified into steely resolve. She was going to figure out a way to save the bowling alley, no matter what.
3
Back at the house, Zoey tried talking to Poppy about Mr. Silos’s visit, but Poppy wasn’t cooperating.
“Poppy, I want to talk about Mr. S—”
“¿Qué?” Poppy said, burying his head in the refrigerator to find the ingredients for tonight’s dinner. “Sorry, mija. I can’t hear you. I look for the onions now!”
Zoey waited beside the fridge until Poppy finally shut the door.
“I was saying—”
Poppy jumped, nearly dropping his onions on the floor.
“Ay, mija, so sorry. I can’t hear you over the music. We talk later.” Poppy shrugged helplessly, but Zoey had just seen him poke at the volume button on the ancient radio/cassette player on his counter. Indeed, the voice of Julio Iglesias suddenly rocketed ten times louder out of Abuela’s old tape. Frustrated, Zoey gave up trying to talk to Poppy and vowed to try again to get his attention later that night, maybe over dinner.
The result of Poppy’s insistent culinary avoidance was ropa vieja, a traditional Cuban dish that translated in English to “old clothes.” Ugh. Zoey had zero desire to taste it. Sure, the stuff looked innocently enough like shredded beef, but it probably tasted like old socks. Otherwise, what was up with the name? She pushed the meat to one side and dug into her yellow rice with peas instead.
“Ropa vieja was your mami’s favorite food when she was your age,” Poppy said in his thick accent, smiling sadly. The skin around his glasses crinkled like tissue paper.
José served himself seconds and paused at the kitchen counter, practically inhaling his beef before heading back for thirds. “Man, we haven’t eaten like this in so long,” he said. The way he eyed the slow cooker reminded Zoey of Pooh Bear beaming at a long-lost pot of honey.
“Come más. Come más,” Poppy urged them all to eat more, shooting a Look at Dad that asked without saying out loud, Why doesn’t el Americano feed my grandchildren better?
Dad pretended not to see the Look. “Big news, guys!” he said instead. He tossed his napkin on the table and leaned forward eagerly.
Zoey’s stomach churned, even though she’d just bitten into her ropa vieja and found the tender beef’s peppery seasoning delightful. Usually, whenever Dad announced “big news,” what he meant was “time for a big move.”
Big news: We’re leaving Boston to fulfill my lifelong goal of starting up my own bar and grill in Las Vegas!
Big news: My cousin in Colorado needs an assistant manager at his sporting goods store. Goodbye, Nevada deserts! Hello, skis and snowboards!
Big news: New family business in Silicon Valley! We’re off to repurpose dead cell phones into inspirational fridge magnets!
But Zoey didn’t want to move again. Twelve states in twelve years was more than enough. Plus, they’d only gotten to Poppy’s house three days ago! Zoey had just finished unpacking, and for the first time since Mami died, Zoey felt close to her mother again. She really didn’t want to let that feeling go. José crossed his arms and leaned back in his chair beside Zoey, shaking his head and looking like a younger, angry version of their dad.
“I have this buddy, Ryan Antoli. From high school. He’s done real good the past few years, owns a motorcycle dealership. He needs a new salesperson,” Dad said, pouring himself a tall glass of soda. “And you’re looking at him!”
“Where’s the dealership?” José asked, sucking in his cheeks.
“Ah, that’s the best part,” Dad said. “Your old man’s got a job lined up in the Big Apple!”
Zoey sighed, and immediately felt bad for not mustering up more enthusiasm. Dad looked super excited about his new gig. Maybe this dream would actually stick.
“Where’d the cardboard boxes go?” All her packing things had disappeared from the front hallway yesterday. She’d figured Dad had thrown them out because they were planning to stay awhile. But they would need them now to repack.