Chapter 9 #2
He had his hair in a bun again, but this time he was wearing dark red slacks and a gray sweater under a leather bomber jacket. A messenger bag slung across his chest. There was nothing particularly remarkable about the outfit, but to me he looked perfect.
He glanced up as he started walking towards the steps where I was standing. As soon as he saw me, his face broke into an easy smile, and he lifted a hand in greeting. Before I knew what I was doing I started walking to meet him halfway.
“Hi,” I said holding myself back. The need to kiss him felt like a gravitational force, every part of my body wanted to get closer, to touch him.
Camilo looked up at me, and I could see just a slight tremor go through him. I wondered if he was having the same reaction. After a moment, he blinked and pointed to the glass doors of the conservatory.
“Shall we?”
I realized that we were standing in the middle of the steps and people were having to walk around us. I felt a little embarrassed but nodded and turned toward the glass doors.
Once inside, Camilo stopped to look around. “I haven’t been here in ages,” he said, inspecting the glass-encased building. “My mom used to love to come see the orchid show in the spring.” His smile faded a bit then. “We haven’t come in a while.”
I stepped closer to him, looking up at the glass dome above us. “It’s quite a building. I didn’t come here until I’d been in New York for a few years and was pretty blown away by it when I did.”
We looked at the tropical plants as we talked. “And a little homesick.”
Camilo lifted an eyebrow at that. “Homesick?”
I gestured toward the doors that led to another greenhouse. “They have a lot of trees that are indigenous to the DR here.”
He perked up at that, nodding at all the plants I was pointing to. “That makes sense, my mom loved tearing off pieces of the Bay Rum leaves whenever we came here. She said it reminded her of her mom.”
I smiled at that, because that smell also brought up memories for me. “My grandma always had a bottle of rubbing alcohol with Bay Rum leaves in it. Anytime any of us fell down, she would soak a cloth with it and make us press it to the bruise.”
Camilo sighed wistfully at my memory. He curled into himself a little bit as if he was getting chilled, and the impulse to put my arm around him had me almost vibrating.
We walked a bit more, looking around the trees and plants of my childhood, and it felt like the most natural thing in the world to be here with him.
“How did it go with your mom?” I asked while he inspected a cacao tree.
His shoulders tensed at the question, but after a moment, he answered in a low voice. “It was fine. It wasn’t anything major, she just didn’t want to go alone.”
“I’m glad to hear that.” I didn’t want to pry or ask for more details, since it was clear to me this was not an easy topic for him. I was going to leave it there, when Camilo spoke again.
“My mom has depression and anxiety. She knows she needs help with it, but the stigma around mental illness she grew up with is still an issue. She feels embarrassed to seek out help.” His face was a study in frustration, his lush full lips flattened as we started walking again.
“I mean if it were me, she’d be begging me to do whatever it took to feel okay, but since it’s for her, she finds every reason not to do it. ”
I nodded in understanding. “My dad struggled with depression a lot.”
“From the war?” Camilo’s voice was gentle and so understanding.
In the last ten years, my life had changed so much that I rarely met anyone new, who I didn’t approach with caution.
The men that came into my life were usually the ones doing the pursuing and I rarely ever took them up on it.
And yet here I was with this man who I barely knew but could feel already getting into my blood.
I wanted to tell Camilo all my secrets.
When I spoke, he turned from what he’d been looking at and focused completely on me.
“Yeah. My mom talked my dad into seeing someone and taking what he needed in order to feel better. He has his ups and downs, but he’s been able to cope.
Going to a therapist isn’t exactly considered ‘normal’ in the DR, but my mom has always been a bit counterculture. ”
“She sounds awesome.” A warmth spread to my chest when he said that and I remembered my mom’s words from the other night. Was this feeling the certainty she told me about?
“She is.” I stopped then, noticing a tree I hadn’t seen before.
Camilo stood next to me and bent over to look at it more closely. “What is it?”
I pointed to a cluster of green fruits that looked like tiny pickles hanging from the trunks.
“I’m not sure what they’re called in other countries, but in the DR they’re called vinagrillos.
We had one in our backyard growing up. They’re really sour, thus the vinegar related name,” I said, my lips almost puckering from the memory of biting into one.
“We used to do contests to see who could eat the most without puking.” I grinned at his horrified look.
“I haven’t eaten one in at least fifteen years, but I can totally remember the taste. ”
Camilo eyes softened and his lips tipped up into a tiny smile. “I like hearing your DR stories.”
“I like sharing them with you.” I sounded winded. So many feelings I thought no longer applied to me.
We were quiet for a second looking around before starting for the next part of the exhibit.
After a few steps I noticed that Camilo had stayed behind.
When I turned around I saw him hurrying toward me with something in his hand.
When he got to me, he gestured behind an enormous palm tree, extending his hand once we were hidden.
“Here.”
When he opened it, I saw a green vinagrillo in his palm, and my face broke into another grin.
“I didn’t steal it. This one fell to the ground,” he said in a tight voice.
I tried to lighten the mood and teased him a bit. “Those looked pretty green,” I said, lifting an eyebrow in question.
“Okay, maybe I gave it a little nudge.” He looked so flustered, like he had no idea why he’d done it.
I put my palm over his, touching him for the first time in what felt like forever. Our hands brushed as I took the fruit and we both shivered from the contact. Here, hidden from view, the moment felt very intimate.
“Thank you.”
He shrugged again, but I could see the tension in his shoulders. This mattered. “Try it.”
I brought it up to my mouth and bit into it, it was too sour and familiar. I closed my eyes as I chewed.
I laughed when I was done, “Wow that is so sour and delicious.” I extended the bitten fruit to him in offer. He immediately leaned in, and for a second it seemed like he would take a bite from the fruit in my hands. But at the last second he reconsidered and plucked it out of my hand.
Looking more than a little harried, he brought it to his mouth and took a big bite.
Immediately his eyes bugged out and he turned his head to spit it out.
“Oh my god. That’s crazy sour.”
I did not dare laugh as he gulped water from a bottle he grabbed from his bag. When he was done he took a deep breath and narrowed his eyes at me.
“Were you fucking with me?”
I held up my hands, still holding in a laugh. “No, I really did love those. We almost never took more than one bite out of them though, and never one so big.” I smiled ruefully. “It was a pretty weak contest.”
He cut his eyes at me as we stepped around the palm tree back to the exhibition. “You could’ve told me.” His grumbling was adorable, and I would’ve given almost anything to be able to grab him and kiss that grumpiness out of him.
I dipped my head and tried to sound contrite. “Sorry. Next time we are revisiting my childhood in the Dominican Republic, I will provide disclaimers.”
“You’re not cute.” He scoffed as we walked and again, I felt like being here with him was exactly where I was supposed to be.
All of a sudden he piped up. “Can I ask you something?”
He looked so serious I was almost afraid to say yes, but I nodded.
“Do you see yourself as Dominican?” He gestured at my face, as if presenting me with the evidence. “I mean, you look…white. Your name is Thomas Hughes. But it sounds like so much of who you are is tied to your DR roots.”
Damn. He didn’t beat around the bush. Sanjay and Henock waited years before they’d asked me that.
Not Camilo.
“That’s a pretty loaded question, Camilo. Are you sure you want to get to know me this well?”
He dipped his head, those gray eyes certain and locked with mine. “Yes I do.”
“All right,” I said, once again surprised at how eager I was to open myself up to Camilo.
“Well the short answer is yes. I don’t just see myself as Dominican, I am Dominican.
That’s where I was born and lived my entire childhood.
I came to the U.S. as an adult. Well, a legal adult anyway.
I’m American, too, of course, but I consider myself an immigrant in this country in a lot of ways.
When I came to New York City for college—I won a scholarship for Columbia. ”
He nodded impressed and mouthed “fancy.”
“Thank you.” His reactions were always so genuine, I felt like I was always just on the cusp of smiling whenever I was around Camilo.