December 5th marked Peppi’s birthday. Little Pep never mentioned her age; she did, however, reveal her excitement about a newly acquired discounted Sevilla Transit bus pass. Gotcha, Peppi. Happy 65th birthday!
To celebrate, we accompanied Peppi to her favorite cafetería for churros and chocolate. I came downstairs to find her waiting on her sofa, completely made-up. She’d neatly pinned back her silver-gray hair. She wore a knit sweater and a delicate matching scarf. Of course, her lipstick hue matched the same rosy color of her birthday outfit.
Peppi marched into the cafetería and ordered for the three of us, our little make-shift Spanish family. Often, I forget how tiny she is until we’re walking side-by-side. Even in those sassy heeled loafers, she can’t be over five feet tall. Inside, she seemed so happy, grinning from ear to ear. I can sense the pride she feels when Sarah and I accompany her in public. It’s like she’s “showing-off” her two American daughters.
Toward the end of our snack, the topic of Sarah and my nearing departure came into conversation. It’s a sensitive subject. I insisted that we plan one last churro date before we return to the States.
“Oh no, Log-ah,” she corrected me, “It’s never the last time.”