Chapter Three
I GOT out of the car with a muttered good-bye. Raymond cast me a side-eye full of suspicion but didn’t voice any concerns. He never did if he thought he would be rebuffed.
Raymond and I bickered more than 50 percent of the time, but he could read me as well as Nunzio. Even when I thought I was being discreet about my stress level, the kid sniffed it out.
I dragged my feet up to Nunzio’s apartment. The hangover had dulled to a faint source of discomfort, but gritting my teeth for the past hour had initiated another throbbing headache. It worsened with every step I climbed.
Sweaty and aggravated, I used the keys Nunzio had given me when he’d first moved in. Nunzio still wasn’t home—I didn’t know if I was relieved or disappointed. No one could comfort me the way he could, but before the day was over, I would be letting him down.
Less than five minutes later, I had helped myself to an already open bottle of vodka. I sat in an armchair by the window and didn’t move until the burn of the alcohol set all thoughts ablaze. Memories of my mother, frail and sunken in a hospital bed, intensified along with my fear that Joseph would soon share her fate.
I didn’t want to be concerned. I’d cursed him for most of my life. More than once I’d said I wouldn’t even attend his funeral when he died. But now the reality of him being gone was a lot different than me making claims about a future that seemed far away.
Setting down the glass, I tried to shift gears. I turned my thoughts away from my family, away from the hell that would now be my summer, and redirected them to Nunzio.
I got up and paced around, straightening the apartment as I waited for his keys to jingle in the door. I changed the sheets on his bed and threw out empty bottles and a condom wrapper before moving to the living room. I didn’t have much to do, but I was jittery with nerves and couldn’t keep still. If I sat down, I would end up working through Nunzio’s collection of alcohol, leaving myself a mess by the time I had to break the news that he would be flying to Italy on his own.
He’d been excited for months, planning our itinerary and plotting out a road trip down the eastern coast before ending our trip in Palermo. Just picturing the disappointment on his face when I would have to tell him months of planning were down the drain made my stomach churn.
With no other ways to distract myself, my restlessness tripled, and I left his apartment to go to my favorite bar on Tenth Avenue. I shot Nunzio a text message to meet me there, and hoped the public venue would make this conversation less difficult.
I felt grungy in my jeans and an old T-shirt, but the bar was enough of a dive for no one to care. With the exception of the after-work crowd and a few college kids sitting at a table in the corner, it was empty. The place attracted a mixed clientele during the day because of the cheap food and drinks. It was the one spot in the neighborhood that still reminded me of old school Hell’s Kitchen, even if the patrons were now predominately gay yuppies.
I made a beeline for the bar and managed a small grin when I saw a familiar face behind the counter.
“Hey, Miranda.”
“Hey, Rodriguez. I haven’t seen you around in a while.”
I sat at the corner, leaving several stools between me and the small group of guys in suits and ties at the other end. “Yeah, I made the mistake of trying to change my ways because of some asshole’s judgment.”
Miranda grabbed a wide mug. Without having to ask, she filled it from the tap with Shiner Bock. “That boyfriend of yours?”
“You got it.”
“The one that Nunzio bitched about?”
“Maybe. What was the nature of the bitching?”
She set the foam-topped mug in front of me. “A couple of times I asked him where you were and he mentioned how your boy didn’t want you going out anymore. Poor bastard. I suggested maybe it’s time for him to cut the cord.”
I scoffed. “Never.”
“That’s what he said.” She leaned over the counter and clapped my shoulder. “Let me know if you need anything. I’ve been ignoring the suits for a while now.”
Miranda walked to the other side of the bar with a plastered-on smile. I watched her pretend to be interested in their lives without really listening to anything they said. Their voices blended with those of the loud college kids in the corner and the afternoon news playing on the television. The din of noise washed over me, distracting me from my spinning thoughts and the lance of tension that had jabbed at me in the silence of Nunzio’s apartment.
Sighing, I stopped examining my mug and looked up at the news. On the TV, a reporter with a chiseled face and earnest eyes was standing at a busy intersection and gesturing to a cluster of police cars behind him. I couldn’t hear what he was saying, but I recognized the street. It was only a ten-minute walk from my house.
The banner at the bottom of the screen proclaimed that a teenager had been shot on a city bus. I shook my head. Home sweet home.
I understood why Raymond continued living in South Jamaica, but sometimes I wished he’d let go and move on. He had accepted the crime and neglected public spaces because it meant staying close to our mother, and those family values were ingrained in him deep enough to leave visible marks. She had attempted to instill that same sense of loyalty in me, but her success had been limited. Not wanting to become trapped in the dysfunction of my family in my adulthood, I’d maintained as much distance from them as I could, without going so far that they would implode.
My old neighborhood wasn’t all bad, but even my fondest memories didn’t make me want to stay in a place that gave the broken-windows theory any kind of validity. Jamaica wasn’t the worst, but it was definitely not where I’d pictured living as an adult.
Yet I’d returned and didn’t see a way out in the foreseeable future.
“The guy in the striped shirt wants to buy you a shot.”
Miranda’s voice jerked me out of my reverie. I hadn’t even noticed her approach.
“I already have a drink.”
She nodded at the other end of the bar. “He thinks you look sad.”
I didn’t pick myself up from my slouch against the bar, face still braced in one open palm. I peered past her—the guy in question was giving me an appreciative grin. He was good-looking, but I wasn’t in the mood to hear anything a buttoned-up yuppie had to say, especially not when I was unkempt, unshaved, and sweating in a torn-up T-shirt. Misery might love company, but Rodriguez men historically liked to suffer in silence—preferably with a bottle of rum while listening to Héctor Lavoe.
“He looks like a banker.”
“Close. He’s an accountant.”
“Sounds thrilling.” I turned away again, lifting my mug. “Tell him I’m straight.”
Miranda stifled a laugh and returned to the other end of the bar. I didn’t watch the exchange. I wondered how transparent my unhappiness was to everyone around me. Ever since my mother’s death, I’d had random strangers encourage me to smile. Both men and women liked using the you-look-upset line to spark up a conversation. The logic of harassing a pissed-off or sad person was lost on me. When someone looked like they were in a bad mood, I took that as a sign to leave them the hell alone.
My phone chirped. A message from Nunzio said he was five minutes away.
I made more of an effort to sit up straight and wipe the angst off my face, but the attempt was in vain. He knew something was off as soon as he strode into the bar and took a seat by my side.
“Hey.”
“What’s going on?”
I resumed my slouch. “We’ll talk. Get a drink first.”
“Christ. Is it so bad I need to be plied with alcohol first?” Nunzio nodded at Miranda. “Can I get a beer, sweetheart?”
The use of the endearment earned him a lethal glare, but she snorted when he only smiled in response.
“That guy down there is staring at you.” Nunzio spun on the barstool so he was facing me, his knees brushing my thigh. “He looks mad, though.”
“He tried to buy me a drink. I got Miranda to tell him I’m straight.”
“Maybe that’s why he’s grilling me now. He knows you’re full of shit.”
Nunzio wiggled his fingers at my admirer in a sarcastic wave. I shoved his hand down to the counter.
“Don’t be a dick.”
“You’re the one who turned down a free drink. The poor guy just wanted an excuse to look into those pretty brown eyes of yours.”
“I’m not in the mood. Especially not when his suave way of hooking me was to point out how sad I am.”
“You do look like one miserable fuck.” Nunzio picked up my beer and gulped it. “So what’s going on, Mikey?”
Miranda saved me from answering right away by returning with his beer. They bantered back and forth for a few minutes. To an onlooker, it would have seemed like they were flirting. Nunzio’s smile was infectious, and he couldn’t stop himself from casually touching people when he talked, not that anyone ever minded.
Nunzio had always been the charming one of our duo. The one who could get an allegedly straight frat boy to drop his pants with no more than a suggestive comment and a raised brow. It was a talent that had kept him away from long-term relationships for most of our adult life. I envied him that, but I couldn’t aspire to it, even though all of my attempts at serious dating had failed.
If it wasn’t the jealousy at my closeness with Nunzio causing a problem with men I had been with, it was the fact that I wasn’t out to my family. Apparently after thirty, people were a lot less compassionate about a grown-ass man being in the closet.
I couldn’t deny that continuing to hide it was pathetic, but I didn’t see the point in coming out until I was in it for the long haul with someone. My gayness would only sprinkle hot oil on the fire that already blazed between me and the rest of my family. Especially my father.
Nunzio snapped his fingers in front of my face. “What the hell is going on? Is it about last night?”
My train of thought screeched to a halt. “What? No! Why would I be upset about that?”
“Gee, I don’t know. Maybe the part where I ad-libbed the porn script and shoved my dick in your ass?”
“Ay Dios….” I glanced around. “Keep your damned voice down.”
“Fuck these people.”
I elbowed him. “Calm yourself. It’s not about that. We were drunk. It happened. It wasn’t a big deal.”
The corners of his mouth curved down. “That so?”
“That’s not what I meant and you know it.”
I rubbed my thumb through the gathered condensation on the bar around my mug. Trying to describe the previous night brought up a slew of things that I wasn’t in the mindset to deal with. The sight of David shared between us, Nunzio’s eyes trained on me in the darkness, and the salty taste of his fingers between my lips right before his thick cock had rammed into me. Bareback.
My mouth went dry, and I shifted on the barstool. That discussion would either have to wait, or never happen at all.
I nursed my beer and glanced over at Nunzio. He was still watching me, clearly expecting a response.
“It was insane,” I said finally. “I’ve never done anything like that before.”
“You had fun, though?”
“Yeah, I did.”
He nodded, still too serious for the nature of the conversation. “Would you do it again?”
My head filled with a chorus of resounding yeses. That morning, stone-cold sober and sick as a dog, I’d thought about having a replay. Hours later, the events of the night before were much further away and an affirmative just seemed awkward.
I rubbed a hand over my face as if that would wipe away the dirty thoughts, along with their effect on me. “Look, I don’t know. I can’t even think about that now. I’m in a terrible mood thanks to my family, and we need to talk about something real.”
“Okay. Sorry. I just wanted to make sure—” Nunzio cut off the sentence with a shake of his head. “Doesn’t matter. What’s the deal? Is Raymond being a pain in the ass?”
“I wish it were that easy. My father is back and wants to live in the house.”
Nunzio’s eyebrows disappeared into the unruly mess of his black hair. The grim set of his mouth made it clear he already understood the gravity of the situation. Nunzio had been there for most of the trouble with my father, and had even had some of his own. Joseph was one of those polite homophobes who waited until the offending gay was out of earshot to mutter about their life choices being a shame. Like that made it better.
“Damn. Where did that come from? He hasn’t been around in months.”
“Not since the reading of the will. He and my aunt showed up and announced that he’s moving back in. Since he owns half of the house, there isn’t much I can do about it. If I try to throw him out, it will get ugly. My aunt and uncle would for sure fight me on it and probably even take my ass to court.”
“What did Raymond say?”
“Looked a few seconds away from throwing his fists up and forcing my father out.”
“Sounds like Ray.”
“Yeah, exactly. The two of them locked in the house together with nothing to do but be unemployed and ornery is going to make my life really fucking fantastic.”
Nunzio winced.
“Your face is my thoughts. I’m so done with all of this shit.”
“So be done with it for real. Just move out.”
“I can’t.”
“You did before, and that was when your mother was still living.”
We’d had this argument in the past, and it wasn’t the first time I felt myself getting defensive in response to the pointed questions. I rolled my shoulders and looked up at the television again.
“Mikey, you gotta stop this shit. I know you feel like it’s your responsibility, but at some point you have to live your own life. I’ve told you so many times before, bro. Move out, save what’s left of your sanity, stay with me until you find a new place, and be done with it once and for all.”
“And trust Raymond and my father to take care of the house? You know that won’t happen.”
“Then convince them to sell the house! I’m pretty sure your pops will not argue with the chance to get half of the money you’d earn on it. It’s worth twice as much as it was when they bought it.”
“No.”
“Why? Just explain to me why you want to keep making yourself miserable.”
“Because my mother worked herself to the fucking bone to get that house, and I’m not going to get rid of it.” My voice rose enough to carry over everything else in the bar. The din of noise quieted. I felt people staring. My face warmed, and I grabbed my beer.
Nunzio spread his hands in surrender. “I just want you to be happy. Okay? Sorry.”
“I know that, but you need to understand that it’s not as simple as you make it sound. It’s complicated. I have to worry about Raymond—”
“Because you and your mother both babied him,” he interrupted. “I love Ray like my own brother, but he’s twenty-five going on sixteen because no one ever expects him to be anything else.”
“Regardless, the damage is done. I can’t rely on him, and I definitely can’t rely on my father, especially now that he’s claiming to be sick.”
I launched into the whole explanation, repeating Joseph’s story about his short and failed stint in rehab, and the discovery that he had advanced liver disease. I tried and failed to omit the parts about the promise I’d made to my mother and how my resentment over the situation still didn’t smother my fear that Joseph was not exaggerating. By the time I stopped talking my voice had a ragged edge and Nunzio was rubbing my back, his strong hand an anchor that kept me from sliding off the barstool and succumbing to weariness and resignation. I wished I’d just waited for Nunzio in his apartment where I could bask in his affection without an audience.
I pillowed my head on my folded arms, sighing when he squeezed my shoulder. He could unwind me with very little effort, but it wouldn’t last. It couldn’t.
I looked up. “Nunzio, I can’t go.”
“Can’t go where?”
I fought the urge to bury my face in my arms again. “I can’t go to Italy. Not with all of this going on.”
He stared at me, wide-eyed.
“I’m sorry.”
“Michael, we’re leaving in like a week.”
“I know. You have no idea how sorry I am.”
Nunzio dropped his arm, expression disbelieving. “Are you fucking kidding me right now?”
“I wish I were, niño.” I covered his hand with my own, squeezing it. “Leaving them in this situation is a bad idea. I can’t do it. It would be on my mind the whole time we’re over there, and I won’t be able to commun—”
“You don’t even have insurance on your fucking ticket. There’s no way in hell we’re canceling this trip because your pops decided now is a good time to make an appearance.”
“We’re not canceling anything. You’re still going.”
“Michael….”
The storm brewing on his face was so evident that my stomach started to do backflips. “Nunzio, I’m not going to change my mind. I can’t do it. Not like this. Just go and have fun.”
“I don’t want to go by myself. I want to go with you! What part of that is—” Nunzio’s barstool scraped the floor with a screech. “What’s the point of me going without you?” He clenched both hands in his hair.
“Now who’s being ridiculous? What kind of question is that?”
“Ridiculous? Really? You fucking—you really have no idea what the hell—” He broke off, his jaw clenching. We stared at each other as everyone in the bar likely stared at us. Nunzio broke the standoff by taking out his phone. “Fuck this, I’m calling Raymond.”
I slid off the stool and grabbed his wrist. “Stop.”
“I think he should know you’re going to eat fifteen hundred bucks because you completely lack faith in his ability to function.”
“Because he has no ability to function.” I twisted the phone out of his hand. “Do you think this is easy for me, man? Do you think I’m happy?”
“I think you’re an idiot!”
Miranda cleared her throat. I shot her a wild-eyed look.
“Maybe take it outside, gentlemen?”
I opened my mouth to apologize, but Nunzio was already storming out the door. I swore under my breath and fumbled for my wallet, but Miranda shooed me away, telling me to come back to pay later. I tried to force a grateful smile, failed, and hurried out the door after Nunzio. He was pacing the sidewalk outside the bar but spun on his heel and jabbed a finger into my chest as soon as I stepped out of the door.
“It’s not your responsibility to take care of them. They’re grown people, and you don’t always have to fix everything. When are you going to get that through your head?”
“I don’t know, but it’s not a decision I’m going to make on the fly with my brother threatening to kill my father, and him supposedly on the verge of death. Ay Dios mío, Nunzio, what do you want from me? To just turn my back on them all of a sudden?”
He shrugged, mouth tight. “I did.”
“Yeah, but that’s different!” I stepped forward, grabbing his shoulder and drawing him closer to me. “Your family was straight-up evil, and my family is just… they’re just fucked-up and broken! They didn’t ignore me and beat the shit out of me just for the hell of it like your parents did. I can’t just say fuck it and go to Italy while Raymond and my father are at each other’s throats. I have to be sure my brother will be okay before I take off for a different continent. They’re a pain in the ass, but they’re still my family.”
“So what am I?”
I looked at him through the hazy filter of heat and my throbbing headache. “What do you mean?”
“Nothing. Forget it.”
“No, what do you mean?”
Nunzio shrugged, cutting his gaze away from mine to focus on the pavement. “Never mind. I meant nothing.”
“Nunzio, please.”
When he refused to look at me, I pulled him closer until he had no choice but to meet my eyes. The full weight of his disappointment made the knot of guilt gnaw at me with sharper teeth. His whole demeanor had changed—shoulders sagging and hands balled up like they did when he was forcing himself to stay calm.
I hugged him until he responded to the embrace.
The sun was beating down on my back and my damp T-shirt was sticking to his, but the feel of Nunzio pulling me to him instead of pushing me away made up for all of those petty discomforts.
Suddenly I wanted nothing more than to go back to his apartment and hold him for the rest of the day. We would be separated for the entire summer. I hadn’t considered how distressing that reality would be until he’d accepted it. I started to say just that, but Nunzio’s shoulders shook and the sound of his laugh shattered the moment.
“What?”
“That dude in the suit just walked out and gave me the only bitch face.”
I barked out a laugh and glanced down the street. Sure enough, the accountant was walking away from us. Poor guy.
“Damn.”
“Who cares?”
Nunzio pulled away. His face was flushed, and he was still wilted from the news, but the anger had drained from his posture.
“Are we good?” I asked, touching his cheek.
“Yeah.” Nunzio shrugged. “But I can’t even explain how much this sucks. Every plan I had is fucked.”
“That’s not true.”
He laughed again, but this time the sound was harsh and sardonic. “It really, really is. But it doesn’t matter. I understand.”
“Are you sure?”
Nunzio chucked me under the chin. “Don’t worry about me. You got enough on your plate.”
“Okay….” Unconvinced, I forged ahead. “And if something was wrong with you, I’d drop everything to fix it just like I’m doing for them. The difference is, I’m stuck with those motherfuckers, and I chose you for myself.”
Again Nunzio stared at me. He didn’t respond, and our conversation stalled, words replaced by the honking of a taxi and the exuberant laughter of some teenagers at the far end of the block.
I scowled. “Thank you for making that really awkward.”
“Sorry.” He looked down. “You just make things harder than they already are by saying mushy shit at random.”
“Oh, shut up. I take it back.”
“No, you don’t. I need to go home and start packing.”
“All right.”
“Call me later?”
I nodded, but I was confused by the abrupt end to the conversation. He gave me a strained smiled and walked away. I watched until his lean form disappeared from view.
I didn’t feel satisfied about him understanding. I was simply hit with despair.
Something had shifted radically in the last ten minutes, and I couldn’t pinpoint what it was. All I knew was that I’d let him down. I’d bailed on a trip we’d been planning for two years, and I was spending the next several weeks of my summer vacation in the trenches of the Rodriguez family home.
My body tightened with anxiety as I replayed every furious word Nunzio had said. I agreed with each one.
Defeated, I reentered the bar. I paid for Nunzio’s drink and asked Miranda to open a tab. If I was going to get through the night—and the summer—with my sanity intact, it was going to take a lot of amber liquid, suds, and eventually something with a higher proof.