Emilia
"Come on! I need those boxes of tacos ready to go!" my aunt shouted from behind the counter.
Her name was Gianna, but everyone in town called her La Regina del Taco—and she was okay with it. Which was still hilarious, considering she was an Italian woman running a Mexican taco shop in the middle of Como, of all places.
"Make it fast! It's not nice to keep customers waiting. For heaven's sake, Rita, put down that lip gloss and get to work!"
I turned to my cousin. Rita was already looking at me. She slowly rolled her eyes in frustration.
Working at the taco shop meant all hands on deck from morning till night—or whenever Aunt Gianna decided the day was officially over. There was no special treatment whatsoever.
And it was just me.
Rita—my cousin.
Aunt Gianna.
And Lilia, my best friend, who came to my rescue whenever the workload got overwhelming or I needed to escape for a show.
With everything going on in that kitchen, I still didn't understand how Rita found time for lip gloss. She applied it between tasks—wipe the counter, gloss. Pack tacos, gloss. I kept expecting the day she leaned too close to the grill and regretted it.
Her dedication to beauty was almost admirable. Her skin was beautifully tanned and glowing. I'd never seen her wear the same hairstyle twice in a week. Not once.
Unlike me.
I tried. I just didn't get it right.
"Emilia, you'll take the delivery," Aunt Gianna said, still staring at Rita.
I had rehearsals with Lilia that night, and Aunt Gianna was aware of this. I hadn't expected to be the one going out for deliveries, but I guessed it could wait. Aunt Gianna didn't like to repeat herself.
"I get it. I'm on cooking duty tonight," Rita said, slipping the gloss back into her apron pouch.
"Did you see the order?" I tapped the ticket pinned above the grill. "Two boxes of tacos. Different fillings. Churros. Extra guacamole. Dipping chocolate. Who eats like that?"
"Maybe someone's heartbroken," she laughed—then went quiet. "But do people really eat that much when they're heartbroken? I couldn't even drink water when Simone broke up with me."
She exhaled softly, fixing the order.
Back then, getting Rita to talk had been harder than finding a network connection in a basement. She barely spoke. Barely moved. Just stared into space while tears slid down her face, like someone had squeezed onions directly into her eyes.
It was bad.
I was glad she was over it.
"Eh—basta talking now!" Aunt Gianna snapped. "Are you done packing the box? Is everything complete? Or do you plan to stand there chatting until midnight?"
Rita moved fast. She finished packing the tacos, sealed the box, and slid it toward me.
I grabbed the boxes and quickly headed out of the kitchen before my aunt decided to throw a saucer at my head for delaying a customer's order.
Outside waited my faithful ride—the company Toyota Tacoma. I was basically its assigned driver; I did almost all the deliveries.
I never took it to school, though, because the smell stuck. No amount of washing helped. You stepped out, and people inhaled like bloodhounds.
Mmm… food.
I checked the receipt and started loading the address into the GPS.
"Are you serious right now?" I laughed. "No way. Nobody living in a place like this ate tacos from our shop."
While the GPS loaded, I peeked into the box. A filling had shifted. I opened it slightly to steal a bite and shoved it into my mouth.
I glanced around. Great—no one was looking.
A little bit of chocolate was sticking to the side of the box. I wiped it with my finger and licked it clean.
The British-accented GPS lady finally spoke, directing me toward Collina d'Oro—a wealthy hillside area outside Lugano.
Great.
There were no more deliveries after this. It was the last one for the night. If I hurried up, I might still make it to rehearsal with Lilia.
I was finally getting another chance to perform, after the last time when I hadn't been at the bar when my name was called—even after begging to be added to the list. The organizer had labeled me unserious and crossed me out completely.
Until now.
I was excited.
I drove too fast and nearly scraped someone's car.
Music had always been my only dream. Performing was the tricky part, because most nights the audience barely noticed you existed.
After what felt like forever, I pulled up in front of a literal mansion.
I stared.
Then checked the GPS.
Then checked it again.
"I hope this is a mistake."
I looked from the boxes to the building.
La Regina del Taco was good—everyone said so. We knew what we were doing. But this?
We'd never delivered to places like this.
"Nope. No, no," I muttered, already calling Rita.
I wedged the phone between my shoulder and cheek, boxes balanced in my arms.
"Are you done so soon?" she asked.
"No. I know this may sound dumb, but I don't think I'm in the right place."
I sat still, waiting for her to agree.
Instead, she shouted, "What? Don't tell me you're lost again!"
"Hey—Riri—you're yelling. I'm not lost… I think."
"You should see this place," I said, staring up at the mansion. "It's huge. Like—ridiculous."
Then, out of nowhere, she changed the subject.
"Do you think this 'special request' person is hot?"
I blinked. "We were just talking about me being lost, and you're worried about a hot guy?"
"Yes," she said calmly. "It always matters."
I sighed. "Does it, though?"
"Do me a favor," she added. "If he's hot, get me his number."
"Hot guys are never single. That's why they're hot."
"I don't mind, love."
I could picture her already—one hand on her hip, tongue curled to the roof of her mouth.
I hung up before Aunt Gianna caught us mid-gossip.
I stepped out of the car. What choice did I have? Drive all the way back because I was intimidated by luxury?
Rich people ate too, right?
I looked down at the boxes. The filling had shifted again from the sharp bends and sudden brakes I'd made on the way there.
If I had noticed it earlier, I would've fixed it.
But it was too late now.
I put myself together and headed for the door.