Chapter 7 – Back Home
January 2012 – Los Angeles, California
The plane landed at 10:47 a.m. at Los Angeles International Airport. From up there, Gustavo had already recognized the coast, the warm tones of the city, the familiar rooftops. When the landing gear touched the ground, he felt a light thump in his chest. He was back.
He was wearing a simple navy blue T-shirt, dark jeans and sneakers, and he was carrying a black backpack on his back. Despite the short vacation time, he arrived with his heart full of expectations. He missed his parents, the lazy Sunday lunches, the Dunphy family's meaningless jokes, and above all Haley's constant presence.
In the arrivals area, his parents were already waiting for him with improvised signs.
"GUSTAVO," read one, written in colorful, crooked letters. Clearly his mother's work.
"Dr. Silva (almost)," read the other, in his father's hands.
Gustavo smiled when he saw them and quickened his pace, dropping his backpack on the floor for a moment just to hug them tightly. His mother's perfume, his father's firm touch — everything seemed exactly the same. It was as if a year apart had lasted a week and at the same time a decade.
"My son, you're thinner. Are you eating properly?" His mother looked him over from head to toe, already pulling his shirt to examine it.
"Mom, it's Harvard. There's no Sunday lunch, there's a debate about the constitution."
"And your hair, look, are you letting it grow now?" his father commented, patting him on the shoulder.
"Academic style. It has to look serious, right?"
The way home was filled with quick stories. His parents wanted to know everything. Every detail. Every class, every teacher, every coffee drunk during the early hours. And Gustavo, with a slight hoarseness caused by the flight, tried to summarize what had been one of the most intense years of his life.
When he reached the front gate, he stopped for a moment. The house was exactly as he remembered: the porch with the flowerpots his mother insisted on rearranging every week, the garage with the old silver Corolla, and the walls painted a light beige that the sun turned almost golden at dusk.
"Home sweet home," he murmured, smiling.
"It's still your home, you know?" his mother said, pulling his suitcase.
Later, already settled in, showered and in clean clothes, Gustavo walked to the front sidewalk. The sun was setting, painting the sky with shades of orange and pink, and he felt a warm breeze that only LA could offer in the middle of winter.
Across the street, the Dunphys' classic front door opened.
"GUSTAVO!" a familiar voice shouted.
Haley ran in with her typical slight disarray wrinkled striped shirt, jean shorts and flip-flops. Behind her, Claire waved a dish towel in her hand, and Phil appeared with a camera filming everything.
Gustavo opened his arms. "Haley!"
She hugged him tightly, her face hidden in his shoulder. They remained silent for a few seconds, in that kind of hug that doesn't need words.
"You look different," she said, stepping back a little to look at him. "More… grown up."
"Harvard has that effect on people. And you look the same. You look… Hailey." He laughed.
"Is that a compliment or an insult?"
"Definitely a compliment."
They entered the Dunphy house, which was in total chaos, as usual. Luke was running around with a remote control helicopter, Alex was arguing about a science fair project, Claire was trying to get Phil off a table where he was staging a "trial" with the turkey dinner.
"Gustavo!" Phil shouted, getting down from the table. — Tell me, if someone is accused of eating the last piece of pie and fleeing to Mexico, is that considered international extradition?
— That depends. Was the piece of pumpkin?
Phil's eyes widened.
— This kid is a genius. A genius, Claire!
They all sat down to dinner. Gustavo between Haley and Luke, with Phil and Claire at the head of the table. Conversations flew around the table, and the feeling of belonging enveloped everything like a warm blanket.
— So, Gustavo — Claire said, serving more salad. — Did you survive the first year?
— With lots of coffee, little sleep, and a few free therapy sessions with my classmates.
— And do you already know if you want to be a defense attorney or a prosecutor? — Alex asked curiously.
— I want to be a prosecutor. And then, if all goes well, an officer in the LAPD. Specializing in criminal law.
Luke's eyes widened.
— Are you going to wear a badge?
— I hope so.
"You'll be able to arrest me?"
"Only if you keep hacking the neighbors' Wi-Fi."
"Wow."
Later, Haley and Gustavo sat on the Dunphys' porch, just like old times.
"It was weird without you here, you know?" she said, looking up at the sky.
"And for me, it was hard not having you around. The first few weeks, I called almost every night."
"Why didn't you call?"
"I thought you were busy living your life."
She smiled, a little embarrassed.
"My life is a lot less intense than yours. But… I missed our conversations. Our walks to the park."
— Are you happy there? — she asked, looking directly at him.
— I am. It's tough. It's lonely sometimes. But… I'm on the right path, you know? I feel it. Every sleepless night is worth it when I remember why I'm there.
— And what's the reason?
He thought for a few seconds before answering.
— Justice. Doing the right thing. Protecting people who don't have a voice. And… making you proud, too.
She looked away, smiling.
— You already made me proud the day you helped me understand that Walt Whitman poem.
— That poem was horrible.
— Yes. But you gave it meaning. Like you always do.
The night wore on. Gustavo looked up at the starry sky and felt that time had stopped for a moment. Everything was in its place: his family, his second family, Haley by his side.
And, for the first time in months, he didn't think about trials, deadlines, or criminal law.
Just about breathing. And being home.
Chapter 8 – Choices and Dreams
January 2012 – Los Angeles, California
It was a mild Thursday afternoon. The Los Angeles sky was clear, with that blue tone that seemed to have been hand-painted. The warmth of the Californian winter embraced the residents with laziness and softness. Gustavo was sitting on the sidewalk in front of the Dunphy house, eating a pistachio ice cream, as always, with his sneakers leaning against the hot asphalt and his mind sailing slowly.
"Do you still insist on this flavor?" Haley said, coming out of the gate with a glass of strawberry milkshake.
"Pistachio is misunderstood, just like great geniuses," Gustavo replied, without taking his eyes off the sky.
"Only if it's the genius of boredom," she teased, sitting next to him on the sidewalk step.
They remained silent for a few seconds, watching the movement on the street, the distant sound of a lawnmower, the birds jumping from branch to branch.
"So... I need to tell you something," Hailey began, arranging her hair with her fingers.
"Oh, here it comes," Gustavo said, arching an eyebrow.
"It's not bad at all. It's about Dylan."
Gustavo turned his face to look at her attentively, but kept his tone light.
"He didn't ask you to marry him, right? Because if he did, I'm going to call Phil to stop him."
Haley laughed.
"No, not yet. But... we're fine. Seriously. For the first time I feel like... I don't know, that he understands me."
Gustavo made an ironic face.
"Dylan? Understanding someone?"
"I knew you'd react like that!" She gave him a light push on the arm. "But look, even though he's... silly sometimes, he makes me laugh. And he listens to me. He's working seriously now, he wants to rent a small apartment. And he doesn't pressure me to know what I'm going to do with my life. He just... accepts me.
"That's rare. And important," Gustavo said, now with a more sincere tone. "And are you happy?"
She looked at the floor for a moment, as if the question made her think more than she expected.
"I am. With him, I can be myself. Without judgment. Not everyone takes me seriously. Not even my family, sometimes. But Dylan looks at me like I'm a shooting star."
Gustavo smiled, this time for real.
"So he's good for you. That's what matters."
"Do you approve of him?"
"I never really understood Dylan," she admitted. "But... he clearly loves you. And if he treats you well, and does you good, who am I not to approve?"
Haley looked at him with sincere gratitude.
"You're Gustavo. The guy who knows everything, except about country music and relationships." — Country music is auditory torture. And about relationships, I just don't practice them. But I observe them a lot.
She laughed, but soon became serious again. She took a deep breath.
— You know, sometimes I wonder... if I'll really find my path. Everyone is deciding what they want to be. You're at Harvard, Alex will probably be president, even Luke wants to be a drone pilot now. And I'm just... standing still.
— That's not true — Gustavo said, turning completely to her. — You have something that many don't: passion. When you talk about fashion, your eyes shine.
Haley lowered her gaze, almost as if she wanted to hide her smile.
— Fashion is kind of futile, right?
— No. Fashion is expression. It's living art. It's how you choose to present yourself to the world. You don't realize it, but whenever you put together an outfit or talk about trends, you sound like a creative director talking about a new movie. It comes out of you naturally.
She watched him for a few seconds. As if he had never heard it that way before.
— No one has ever said it to me like that.
— Then let me be the first — he said, with a slight smile.
— What are you suggesting, your lawyer?
Gustavo finished the last piece of ice cream before answering, with a firm but affectionate tone.
— I'm saying that if you want to open your own store. A boutique. A space just for you. With your name, your brand, your essence. I'll invest. No rush. No demands. In your own time. But... when you're ready, Haley, I'm here.
The silence that followed was not empty. It was filled with emotion.
She bit her lower lip, trying to contain the emotion that came without warning.
— Are you serious?
— I don't play with dreams. Especially those of my best friends.
She threw herself on his shoulder, in a tight side hug.
— I don't deserve you, you know?
— Yes, you do. You deserve the world. He just hasn't realized it yet.
— What if I fail?
— Then we'll learn from it. Together.
She took a deep breath, still hugging him.
— You're going to be an incredible prosecutor.
— And you're a badass businesswoman. Who wears high heels and holds meetings drinking cappuccino from a glass cup.
— I prefer iced tea.
— Okay. So a badass businesswoman who sets trends drinking iced tea.
That night, Haley came home with her eyes shining with ideas. And Gustavo, lying in his bed, thought about how helping someone believe in themselves was as powerful, if not more so, than winning a hearing.
Two days later, they were sitting on the floor of her room, surrounded by fashion magazines, fabric scraps, sketches and even some clothes that Haley had customized.
"Look at this," she said, showing a sweatshirt that she had transformed into a stylized crop top with metal studs.
"That would sell easily. I'm serious."
"You know what would be cool? To have a line called "Imperfect Haley."
"Excellent name. Honest. Commercial. With identity."
"You should be my marketing manager too."
"And the company's lawyer, of course. Just don't ask me to walk the runway."
She laughed.
"Imagine! Gustavo in a blazer and skinny jeans walking down a runway in slow motion."
"That's fashion's nightmare."
Phil appeared at the bedroom door with a camera.
"I'm documenting the birth of an empire," he said.
"Daddy, get out!" Haley shouted, laughing.
"Too late." We've made history.
By the end of that week, Haley had a notebook full of ideas, the beginnings of an amateur business plan, and, for the first time in a long time, a goal.
And Gustavo, sitting on the porch on the last night before returning to Harvard, watched her go on and on about sustainable fabrics and digital marketing. He didn't interrupt her. He just watched.
The friend who had once been impulsive and lost now dreamed of foundations. And that, to him, was worth more than any victory in court.
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