7. Wylie #3
“Of course,” Wylie replied, struck again by the man’s earnestness.
Diego wasn’t like the guys he’d dated in the past. Men who were way too concerned about their image and coming off as ballers, to even notice things like when Wylie was upset or feeling neglected.
Men who told him to “stop acting like a bitch” when he’d try to discuss his feelings, as if their anger weren’t also a feeling.
Wylie didn’t think Diego would pull that shit with him, but who knew?
Maybe he expected too much from the men he dated.
He was the common denominator in all those failed relationships after all.
Diego grabbed a small bouquet of flowers from the backseat that Wylie hadn’t noticed before, and they made their way up to the house.
The front door was unlocked, and Diego entered without knocking.
Inside was a bustle of activity with children laughing and chasing each other through the hallways while Spanish music played on the speakers.
The kitchen was a hub of activity with several people stirring pots of delicious-smelling food and arguing about how long to let the pork rest.
In the living room, Diego greeted Frank and his wife, Alicia, passing off the bouquet to her while introducing them both to Wylie, even though they knew him already from the pit.
It was slightly awkward as Frank’s employee, to be invited to his home for a family function, but Wylie rolled with it.
Diego greeted their new baby, whom Alicia was holding, and said hello to their older two kids as they ran by.
Wylie passed off the bottle of Tito’s to Frank who still seemed puzzled that he was there.
“Drinks are in the cooler,” Frank said and patted Diego’s shoulder. “Your mother’s over there.” He pointed vaguely in the direction of the big, screened-in porch out back. “Go on and get it over with.”
“Right.” Diego took a deep breath, seeming to brace himself, and nodded at Wylie to follow him outside, two soldiers heading into battle.
Wylie was suddenly gripped by another bout of anxiety which he quickly quashed down.
She was just a mom, and Wylie was good with older women.
That was his demographic. Moms and grandmas fucking loved him.
Diego greeted his mother with a kiss on one cheek and then the other.
The woman was petite but regal and gave off the same “don’t fuck with me” vibes as her son.
Her hair was impeccably styled and her makeup on point.
She wore a conservative linen top with matching pants that made her look older, even though she was probably only a few years older than Wylie’s mom, if she’d still been alive.
His own mom had dressed much more casually outside of work–cut-off shorts and tank tops and cute little sundresses. She’d had a killer set of legs.
“Mrs. Abarca,” Wylie said to her and did the whole cheek-kissy thing.
“Ms. Machado,” the woman corrected. “I don’t go by that man’s name anymore.”
Strike one, Wylie thought to himself ruefully while Diego said, “Mom, this is Wylie Sommers. He’s a friend from work.”
“Ah, a friend,” Ms. Machado said with the full judgement of her 50 some odd years. Did she assume they were fucking or did she just hate Diego’s friends in general? Intensity must run in the family. And suspicion. “And what is it you do at the pit?” she asked Wylie.
“I run the takeout window. Fill the online orders and assemble the food for catering. Service with a smile,” he said and tried to be cute about it.
“I see,” she said in a tone that made him doubt his own credibility.
Wylie continued to smile like an insane person while trying to think of something else to say. “Your son’s been great to have at the pit. Very hardworking. Very…precise.” Diego tilted his head and shot him a quizzical look. Wylie shrugged. The man was very diligent about slicing meat.
“His uncle gave him that job,” Ms. Machado said and laid a delicate hand on her pearl necklace as if Diego getting the job were some great sacrifice, one that was undeserved.
“Well, he’s great at it. Huge help. And Frank gave me the job too.
I suppose, when you think about it, Frank gives everyone the job.
” He was on the verge of babbling now. He didn’t know how to fight with women.
Men sure, but classy, middle-aged women wearing gold hoops and pearls generally scared the shit out of him.
“Let’s see how long it lasts,” she said, then stared at Wylie as if daring him to challenge her on it.
“Right, well, hopefully a long time. I mean, as long as Diego wants it to last, that is. He may want to find something else, eventually. Or not.”
His verbal diarrhea was thankfully interrupted by Diego, who laid a hand on his shoulder. “Why don’t you go get a drink? I’ll meet you out back in a few.”
Wylie nodded, relieved by the dismissal but also torn about abandoning his wingman duties.
He was supposed to be Diego’s backup and he’d been knocked out in Round One.
Ms. Machado was fierce, and he’d been woefully unprepared.
Wylie’s head was still spinning as he bowed slightly and backed away. “Nice meeting you, Ms. Machado.”
“Hmm,” she said with a queenly sniff.
Iconic.