8. Diego
DIEGO
“So, your friend,” his mother said. Diego’s blood pressure had been steadily rising, starting when he passed over the threshold to this family dinner. He was annoyed with her already for treating Wylie so rudely, and it seemed the inquisition had just begun.
“What about him?” Diego asked tightly, reminding himself to unclench his jaw.
“He looks young.”
“He’s twenty-two.”
“Does he do drugs?” she asked as her eagle-eyed gaze passed over the man in question; he was hastily puffing his vape, probably trying to get in a few hits before joining up with the kids in the backyard.
“No, he doesn't,” Diego said. “And besides, I know better.”
“Do you?” she asked primly. Diego stared stonily back at her. She gestured to Wylie. “Looks to me like he does drugs.”
Diego groaned with exasperation at her willful ignorance. “That’s a vape, Mom. Nicotine, like when you used to smoke cigarettes.”
“I did not,” she protested, and then, “Only once in a while.” Diego almost rolled his eyes at her selective memory. “And that thing in his mouth.”
“The tongue piercing?”
“Yes, low-class. Just like those tattoos.” She gestured at his arm.
His mother hated his tattoos, which was probably why he had so many of them.
Rather than revive one of their longest-standing arguments, he tried to redirect the conversation.
“He just graduated from USF. He’s going to law school soon. ”
“Law school,” she said, her opinion of him shifting slightly. “That’s a good career. We had a judge in the family, Tío Pepe, before he passed. His sons, Felipe and Juan Miguel are both doctors. Very smart family. Very successful.”
“Yes, I know.”
“Jorge Junior is starting medical school soon. He wants to be a pediatrician.”
“Good for him. Tía Maria must be proud.”
“She is very proud,” his mother said, almost defiantly. She didn’t need to bother with the rest–what had Diego ever done to make her proud? “Law school is hard,” she said.
“Yeah, but he’s smart.”
“It’s not going to be easy for him to get a job with that thing in his mouth.” She pointed to her own mouth for emphasis. “He’s not thinking long-term.”
“Hey, how’s your arthritis?” Diego asked, since there was no winning this argument, and he didn’t want them to dwell on all the ways he could potentially still disappoint her.
“Good days and bad,” she said with a dismissive wave. “I’m taking turmeric to help with the inflammation, since the prescription drugs don’t do anything.”
“Well, I hope that helps.”
“Two of my kitchen cabinets are broken. I don’t want to ask Frank to fix them. He has enough to deal with here with his own family.” She waved in the general direction of the chaos that surrounded them.
“I’ll come by on my next day off and take a look.”
“When is that?”
“Tuesday, after I meet with my probation officer.”
“I’ll be done at the bank at five. I’ll make dinner.”
“Sounds good,” he said, appreciating the neutral territory.
His mother was a loan processor for Bank of America and had worked her way up from a bank teller back when the company had been known as Barnett Bank.
She owned her own home and made a steady income with benefits, both things she was proud to accomplish, especially as a single mother and a woman.
“How’s work been?” he asked.
“Fine. Busy. Did you go to church this morning?”
“No, I didn’t make it there today.” Not that he was planning on it anyway.
She let out a huff of disapproval. “Frederico has been asking when he’ll see you again.”
Frederico was the priest who’d baptized and later confirmed him, also a friend of the family. Diego didn’t want to have this argument with her here, yet again. He touched her lightly on the arm. “I’m going to go say hello to the cousins. It’s been a while since I’ve seen them.”
He walked off before she could argue, heading straight for the screened door that led to the backyard, trying not to blast the thing right off its hinges in his haste to get away.
Frank had a sweet set-up with direct access to the Intercoastal.
The boat was new, which must mean the pit was doing pretty well.
He’d even heard murmurings of Frank opening a second location.
Well deserved for all the hours he put into it.
Wylie and a few of his cousins were tossing a football back and forth, and Diego didn’t miss the long line of Wylie’s body as he threw an impressively tight spiral.
Nor had he forgotten the vision of him from earlier, shirtless and sweaty, skin flushed from the sun.
He said he’d been a theater kid, but he was undeniably athletic too.
With those low-slung jeans and wading boots, he’d looked like something Diego would dream up during a lonely night at PCI.
Diego almost asked him to douse himself with hose water, just to complete the fantasy.
Luckily, his imagination didn’t have to work too hard.
Wylie and his cousins were chatting about the upcoming football season and how they thought Baker Mayfield was going to handle the new Buccaneers roster.
For Diego, it was like stepping back in time.
Seeing his second cousins, once little gits, now teens verging on adulthood, made him feel so ancient and disconnected from it all.
Arturito had been twelve when he’d gone to prison and his sister Carolina even younger.
They’d passed through their entire childhoods while Diego had been in stasis.
There, he’d measured time according to how much longer he had to serve, but out here it was impossible not to see just how much he’d missed.
“Hey, little man,” Diego said to the gangly teen as he pulled him in for a hug. “Not so little any more are ya?”
Arturito was almost as tall as him with a buzz cut and a slouch that he was sure his mother and the Tías had scolded him about. “Sup, cuz, good to see you back on these mean streets.” Arturito gave him a sliding hand shake, followed by a shoulder bump.
“Happy to be back,” Diego said, chiding himself again for ever landing himself in prison in the first place.
“And who’s this young lady?” he asked, pretending not to recognize Carolina, who’d grown a lot in the year or so since they’d last visited him at PCI with their parents.
Her hair was long and glossy and her hazel eyes missed nothing.
“Shut up. You know who I am, pendejo. It hasn’t been that long.”
Diego nodded. “Thought I recognized the attitude.”
“Whatever.” She punched his shoulder, then quickly switched to Spanish. “Who’s your friend and more importantly, is he single?”
Diego laughed and slung an arm around Wylie to include him in the conversation. “Why don’t you ask him yourself?” he replied to her, in English.
“I’m Carolina,” she said with a flirtatious smile and offered a manicured hand to Wylie. “And you are?”
“Wylie Sommers, m’lady,” he said with a little bow and took her hand.
“A gentleman,” she said, clearly liking that. “So, are you single?”
The question visibly threw Wylie, who went wide-eyed as a doe and glanced at Diego for guidance. First his mom, now his little cousin. The women in his family were ruthless. Well, he’d tried to warn him. “Ah, well, I’d say I’m a little too old for you,” Wylie stuttered.
“I turn eighteen soon,” Carolina said, smooth as anything.
Wylie laughed heartily, game recognizing game. “Well, then, darlin’, I’m a little too gay for you.”
“Ahhhh,” she nodded, as if things were falling into place. “Very interesting. Diego’s always been the rebel of the family,” she said, which sounded a bit like admiration.
“I’m just here to make the rest of you fools look good,” Diego said.
“No kidding, the Tías are always like, you’d better get good grades or you’ll end up in prison just like Diego. You better not stay out late or you’ll–,” she stopped herself, probably because her brother was giving her a death glare. “You know what I mean.”
Diego could just imagine it, the tale of warning for any others who might try and stray from the path. Of course, it stung, but like Wylie had said, he knew who he was on the inside. He had to look forward, not back, and focus on being a better person than he had been.
“Well, they’re right,” Diego said. “Prison sucks and you don’t want to end up there, so stop hitting on guys who are too old for you, chica. Besides, this one’s taken.”
He snaked one arm around Wylie’s midsection and squeezed. The huge grin on Wylie’s face told him that he didn’t seem to mind Diego’s declaration. Carolina’s response was to stick her tongue out at Diego, which he returned. Some things never changed.
And it was done. He’d come out to his family, more or less.
The younger generation knew he was gay. Once word got around, there’d be no need to hide it.
Diego felt relieved, especially when Wylie picked up the conversation about the recent NFL draft, and then they got a casual game of football going with the littler ones joining in, which only ended when the ball landed in the water, and they had to fish it out from the dock with a pool net, everyone cheering when Diego finally nabbed it.
By then it was time to eat and thankfully, it was buffet style, so Diego could avoid his mother and the Tías and eat with the cousins instead.
It was pretty great catching up with them all and meeting the little ones too.
Wylie was by his side the whole time, cracking jokes and gently ribbing the teens.
Later, as he was saying goodbye to one of the Tías, his grandmother’s sister Cuca, she said to him, “Ay dios mío, Diego, it’s so good to have you back. Your poor mother, worrying over you all these years. Maybe now that you’re here, she’ll finally find a nice man to settle down with.”
“Maybe,” Diego said, though he wasn’t sure how him being in prison affected her dating life at all.
“And I hear you’re working for Frankie now?” Tía said. “That’s good. He’s done so much for you over the years, hasn’t he?”
“He has, Tía, and I’m very grateful.”