Chapter 20 Miguel
TWENTY
MIGUEL
It’s ten in the morning and I’ve already crawled through one attic, rewired half a kitchen, and cussed out a junction box in my head… twice.
My phone buzzes in my back pocket while I’m labeling a breaker.
Caleb.
I know it’s him by the way my stupid heart does that little jump, like it’s sixteen and overly dramatic.
I finish twisting the wire nut, push the neatly bundled wires back into the panel, and step outside the kitchen to check it. Sunlight hits my face, warm and bright.
Caleb
You still alive or did a rogue ceiling beam take you out.
I huff a laugh.
Miguel
If a ceiling beam takes me out, I expect you to avenge my death, pretty boy.
Caleb
By seducing your murderer?
Miguel
…we are so gonna unpack that later.
Caleb
Kidding.
Mostly.
You busy?
I glance back inside. My partner for today’s job, Leo, is still fishing cable through the wall. He doesn’t need hand-holding for the next few minutes.
Miguel
Taking five.
Why? What’s up?
There’s a longer pause this time and I lean against the side of the house, wiping my hands on my work pants, watching a crow hop along the fence like it owns the place.
Caleb
Got the schedule for next week.
Next away game is @ the University of Nevada, Reno.
Coach says we leave Thursday, game is Friday, back early Saturday.
Out of state.
My first thought is, Okay, cool, road trip. Then the grown-up thought kicks in, reminding me I’ve got a full slate of jobs this week and a crew depending on me.
Miguel
Big boy trip, huh?
How you feeling about that?
Caleb
Idk yet.
It’s a lot of bus time.
A lot of hotel time.
A lot of no “you” time.
Miguel
Wow.
So rude.
What about all the FUN you’ll have with your sweaty teammates?
Caleb
I hate you.
Miguel
No you don’t.
Caleb
Yeah, no, I don’t.
He doesn’t ask if I’m coming.
He just… leaves the space there, waiting for reality.
Miguel
I’m gonna say the thing I don’t want to say.
Caleb
You can’t come.
Miguel
Yeah. I’d have to cancel three jobs and piss off five abuelitas who already think I’m their personal electrician.
I can’t make Reno this time, baby.
Three dots. Disappear. Come back.
Caleb
Yeah.
I figured. It’s okay, though.
I suck my teeth because I can practically hear the way his voice would flatten on that “okay.”
Miguel
It’s not my favorite thing in the world. But I’m still gonna be all over your ass from here. I’ll be yelling at the TV.
Caleb
Promises, promises.
Miguel
You’re taking the weighted blanket.
Caleb
It’s massive. I’ll literally suffocate in my sleep.
Miguel
You’ve literally asked me to suffocate you before, cálmate.
The blanket is going. Non-negotiable.
Caleb
Miguel
And one of my hoodies. One of the good ones. The black one or the blue one, which smells like me and your questionable life choices.
Caleb
I like how you assume I haven’t already planned on stealing like three of them before I go.
Miguel
That’s my little thief.
I’ll make you a care package.
Snacks, earplugs, eye mask, maybe a tiny laminated card that says “if found dissociating, please return to…”
Caleb
Not funny.
Miguel
Wasn’t totally a joke.
Name one away game where you’ve slept more than four hours a night.
Caleb
…
That’s illegal. Don’t use my past against me.
Miguel
I’m gonna use whatever I have to keep you from crawling out of your skin in a hotel three states away, hermoso.
It takes him a moment to reply.
Caleb
Can we… do something before I go?
Like actually go out? Not just be in the condo or my dorm?
I want… idk… A normal date?
Like we’re a normal couple who does normal shit.
My heart does that annoying warm flood thing, like somebody poured honey in my ribs.
Miguel
You asking me out, pretty boy?
Caleb
Don’t make it weird.
Miguel
Too late.
What are you thinking? Dinner? Walking around the wharf? Me winning you a stupid stuffed animal and then complaining it was rigged?
Caleb
Dinner sounds good.
Somewhere kinda nice? I want to see you in something that’s not covered in drywall dust and sin.
Miguel
Wow! Suddenly someone’s very demanding.
Be at the condo at 7, unless you want me to pick you up?
Wear something that would make your dad’s blood pressure spike if he ever sees the pics.
Caleb
I’ll meet you at home.
And normal clothes. Got it.
Miguel
Exactly.
I pocket my phone when Leo calls my name.
But the rest of the day moves a little smoother. Every time I hit a snag in the wiring or a breaker does something funky, I think: dinner date. Caleb laughing in something tight and soft with my hand on his knee under a table.
By the time I get home, I’ve got less than an hour to shower and pull myself together.
The condo smells like nothing yet because I left it clean this morning.
I turn on some music, La Cruz, low and jump into the shower, scrubbing off the day.
Drywall dust, sweat, and the metallic tang of copper wash down the drain.
Afterwards, I stare at my closet for a solid minute.
Work hoodies and flannels I don’t mind ruining.
T-shirts from old bands I’ve seen live. A couple of button-downs that my mom bullied me into buying for “real occasions” like weddings and church functions she’d drag me to.
My fingers land on a dark green button-up that makes me look a little more put together and a pair of black jeans that actually fit right.
When I’m done, I barely recognize myself for a second. Hair down and tamed, no hat, facial hair trimmed to perfection, tattoos peeking from rolled sleeves. I look like the version of me I might have been if life had gone sideways a little differently.
My phone buzzes.
Caleb
I’m outside.
Miguel
I’m offended you didn’t give me time to make a dramatic entrance.
Caleb
Get your ass out here before I change my mind.
He’s leaning against the passenger side of my truck when I step out of the building, hands in the pockets of some gray slacks and a white shirt that’s unbuttoned just enough to peek at his eclectic tattoo assortment on his chest.
“Jesus Christ,” I mutter and I make the sign of the cross, not that it’s gonna help me much.
Caleb’s cheeks go a little pink. “What?”
“You’re gonna get us kicked out of the restaurant just for existing,” I say. “You look like a sin I’d commit twice.”
He snorts. “Dramatic much. Look who’s talking. You have a nice shirt on and your hair is down and tamed. You look like… a real adult.”
“Don’t start rumors,” I say, opening his door for him. “Get in before I throw you over my shoulder and I end up eating you for dinner instead.”
He flushes deeper, but he does as he’s told.
My good boy.
The place Caleb picked out isn’t fancy-fancy, but it’s still nicer than the usual taco trucks and hole-in-the-wall joints we frequent. Downtown, soft lighting, wood tables, and big windows looking out over the street. The kind of place with a wine list and waiters in black aprons.
The hostess gives us one quick, polite look over but doesn’t blink at two men asking for a table for two.
Santa Cruz might have a lot of issues, but at least here, we can mostly just…
exist. The table she leads us to is by the window.
People walk by in jackets and scarves, lights from the shop signs reflecting in the glass. Inside, it’s warm and low and buzzing.
Caleb slides into the booth across from me, then hesitates, eyes flicking down to his hands.
“You wanna sit next to me, don’t you?” I ask.
He forces out a small laugh. “Yeah, but then we’re just gonna end up making out in a semi-nice restaurant and I’d like to finish my pasta first.”
“Good call,” I say. “Carbs, then public displays of affection that will surely get us banned in the future. I like this plan.”
We order drinks, he gets a soda, and I get a beer—and some ridiculous-sounding appetizer with burrata and roasted tomatoes. Caleb keeps glancing around, and I hate that I know exactly why.
“You okay?” I ask, “We can get it to go if it’s too much.”
“No, I…” Exhaling loudly as he looks around. “This is good. I just… don’t really know how to do this.”
“Do what?” I tilt my head.
“Be… normal.” He gestures around. “Couple-y. In public. Without wondering who’s watching.”
“You’re doing fine,” I say. “You’re killing it, actually. Ten out of ten would take you out again.”
And he smiles, small and real. “Yeah?”
“Yeah,” I say. “And if anyone has a problem, I’ll punch them in the jaw like I did to Anderson.”
That makes him laugh, a brief burst that loosens his shoulders. “You can’t punch everyone, Miggy.”
“Oh, that’s where you’re mistaken, amor. Watch me,” I say.
We eat, and for a little while, it’s easy.
Everything’s flowing and I can tell he’s relaxing.
He tells me about a class debate that went off the rails because some econ major tried to argue the “benefits” of gentrification, and the guy got booed out of the lecture hall.
I tell him about Leo almost stapling his own shirt to a beam and how Mrs. Ramírez tried to send me home with a whole tray of enchiladas “because you look thin, mijo.”
Caleb rolls his eyes when I mimic my mom’s voice, but he’s smiling the whole time. Under the table, our ankles bump once. Then again. Eventually, he leaves his pressed gently against mine.
It’s small.
Shouldn’t matter.
But it does.
Our main dishes arrive—his some fancy pesto pasta, mine a steak that came with a name and a whole life story from the waiter. We dig in. Caleb closes his eyes on the first bite like it’s a whole religious experience.
“Good?” I ask, amused.
“Shut up and let me have this little moment of joy,” he says around a mouthful.
“Yes, sir.”
If anyone’s watching, we probably look like any other couple in their twenties—tired, hungry, and dressed up just enough to feel different. No one’s staring. No one’s whispering. The world doesn’t end when my hand rests on his wrist while I make some joke.
For a tiny, perfect bubble of time, it’s just us.
Then, like all things, the bubble pops.
“Caleb?”