3. Wylie #3
Diego snorted bullishly and rose to his full height, which was a few inches taller than Frank.
Dropping the metal basket back into the fryer with a loud clang, he squared his broad shoulders and tilted his head to one side.
Frank’s posture shifted to mirror his nephew’s, like two rams preparing to lock horns.
Shit, were they actually going to fight?
“I get drug tested every two weeks. You want me to send you the results?” Diego said to his uncle with a hard sneer.
“No, but I do want you to show up for your mother and your cousins.”
“They barely remember me. And I’m not sure they need me in their lives anyway.”
Frank’s expression shifted from anger to hurt, and he studied his nephew for a moment longer before saying, “Gabriela and Tessa have been asking about you. And I’d like you to meet Little Frank.
Alicia specifically wanted me to invite you.
The Tías aren’t getting any younger either.
They’d like to see you too while they still can. ”
Something about that landed wrong with Diego, and his face hardened, jaw tight and tense when he said, “It’s not my fault I was in prison when Mamama passed.”
The two men studied each other, a whole slew of emotions and past grudges hanging in the air between them.
It was a little too personal for Wylie’s comfort, if he was being honest, and he would have left his station at that point if it wouldn’t have drawn their attention.
Now, his nosy ass was stuck. His shirt clung to his sweaty back, thanks to the heat from the kitchen and the rising tension in the room.
Were they actually going to start throwing punches?
Was he going to have to get in the middle of some messy family dispute?
At last, Frank broke the silence. “We’re your family, Diego, like it or not, and we miss you.”
Diego regarded the older man a moment longer, then dropped his shoulders with a long sigh of defeat. “Yeah, fine, what can I bring?”
Frank’s resting frown hinted at a smile, maybe. “Just bring yourself.” He patted his nephew on the back with a few hard thumps of manly affection. Wylie hadn’t grown up with another male in the household, but he sensed the conflict had passed, and they were now on good terms again.
Frank left soon after, and the look Diego gave him said that he clearly didn’t want to talk about it.
Wylie finished up with the dishes, then collected the trash and took it out back to give the man some space.
He propped open the back door with a five-gallon bucket filled with sand and ash and cigarette butts, and took a few hits from his vape, enjoying the slight buzz that came with his chosen vice.
The moon was out, but the stars weren’t visible due to the city’s light pollution.
He could see them much better from his rooftop deck in Sunset Village.
Wylie heard a shuffling from behind the dumpster and Cody, a regular of sorts, came over with his bike, or somebody’s bike. Wylie caught up with him for a few minutes, until the man inevitably solicited him for money.
“Hey, man, let me suck your dick. Twenty dollars,” Cody said.
“You offering me twenty dollars if I let you suck my dick?” Wylie asked, playing dumb. They’d had variations of this conversation several times before.
Cody sucked air through his front teeth and rolled his eyes. “Naw, man. Do I look like I got twenty dollars to you?”
“That’s why you gotta be clear about your terms, bro. Listen, I’m not that hard up yet, but how about I make you a to-go container? Pulled pork sandwich and some baked beans?”
Cody pretended to think it over for a moment, then replied with a sly grin, “Yeah, and a sweet tea? And a bread pudding? And some of that potato salad if it’s fresh?”
“I’ll see what we got,” Wylie said amenably and was about to duck back inside when he noticed Diego standing just outside the doorway completely frozen and stiff as a statue.
His mouth hung open and his eyes were bugging.
Was he about to have a seizure or something?
One of Wylie’s classmates in his high school Spanish class had looked the same way right before he started convulsing and fell right out of his chair onto the floor.
Passed out cold. They had to call the paramedics.
As it turned out, the kid had a diabetic seizure, scary as hell to witness.
Cautiously, Wylie laid a hand on Diego’s shoulder only to find he was shaking. “Hey, bro, you all right?”
Diego didn’t respond, didn’t even blink, just kept staring at Cody with a mixture of shock and confusion.
The man’s face was a sickly gray, which meant he was probably going to pass out at any second, and Wylie wasn’t sure he was strong enough to catch him.
Meanwhile, from behind him, Cody started hollering.
“Diego? Is that you, man? What the fuck? It’s been a minute, brother. What the hell’s going on? Come the fuck over here and give me a hug, dawg. Holy shit. Diego Abarca, back from the motherfucking dead.”