It was a couple days late by most American standards, but the echo of Halloween still hung in the air; coloured now by the reverent weight that accompanied Christmas mass. The whole of the cemetery bustled with families. Giggling children in face paint streamed between the headstones, running sugar-fueled circles around women in brightly embroidered dresses and black veils. Glass encased novella candles flickered atop the tombstones, which dripped with garlands of marigolds, cockscomb, chrysanthemum, and gladiolas.

Freddie followed a familiar and worn path through the cemetery, a basket of marigolds and other goodies nestled in the crook of one arm. Pausing before a towering, cross topped headstone, she stooped and spread a blanket out on the ground. Dusting off the headstone she unpacked her basket and set about tending the grave-space. Empty candleholders were switched out for new novellas; vases of old flowers emptied out and wiped down; fresh bouquets and garlands put in place. Once the flowers and candles were properly in place, Freddie turned her attention to the other things packed meticulously in her basket.

She unwrapped a set of small dessert plates and shot glasses, placing one of each at the base of the headstone before laying out the other for herself. Next out of the basket: a loaf of sweetbread, a bottle of tamarind water, candied pumpkin, and two exquisitely decorated sugar skulls. She split the bread and the pumpkin, then poured a shot of tamarind water for each of them before setting the sugar skulls on either side of the grave’s plate, amidst a myriad of other offerings.

Kissing the tips of her fingers, she pressed them lovingly against the name etched deeply into the stone:

Maria Antonella Luciana Constanza Flores

1833 - 1924

“Hola, Abuela,” Freddie whispered softly. “It’s been a while. The shop is looking good. It’s still not as busy as when you and Mamá were around, but I have a few regulars. And the yard is still… the yard,” she smirked, “I made sure of it.”

Biting into her slice of the sweetbread, she grimaced softly, “This is never as good as when you used to make it. I’m disappointed every year.” She brushed the crumbs off her fingers on her picnic blanket and downed the tamarind water with a contented sigh. “That never gets old, though.” Looking around at the offerings left by others throughout the day, Freddie smiled warmly. “It looks like you still have the heart of the people, Abuela. Even after all these years,” she shook her head softly, “Bless me with a little of that good favor, yeah?”

Brushing herself off, she stood and gathered her things, tucking everything neatly back into the basket. “Say hola to Mamá for me,” she whispered, bending down to kiss the headstone tenderly. “And enjoy your treats. Te Quiero.”

With a bittersweet smile, she heaved her basket from the ground and made  her way out of the cemetery, leaving a trail of marigold petals in her wake.