Chapter 8 Andrew
Pulling into the first parking spot he sees, Andrew exhales a heavy breath and shuts off his engine.
He stares at the familiar lettering above Juanita’s, stomach grumbling and mood improving already.
Juanita’s little-hole-in-the wall restaurant in a less visited shopping center is quite possibly one of Andrew’s favorite places in the world, and he is in desperate need of the comfort he finds in the worn formica benches and home-cooked food.
This week has been a shit show from start to finish.
After his not-a-date date with Nicki last weekend, he’d stupidly considered them friends, only to send him multiple texts throughout the week that all went unanswered.
It’s probably stupid for Andrew to feel rejected or hurt considering Nicki has been nothing but upfront about who he is and what he wanted from Andrew.
It’d just been nice to be around someone he didn’t have to pretend with, especially after feeling so vulnerable at the rage room.
Realistically, Nicki is probably too busy with hockey and his real life to even think about Andrew, let alone text him back. He knows this, but the sting won’t abate.
Frustrated at his inability to not care, he turns his music up and closes his eyes. Much as he’s looking forward to stepping inside and having a good meal, he’s not sure he’s up to the twenty questions that are going to accompany the meal when he comes face to face with his twin after avoiding him.
Pretending he had a work meeting worked for last weekend. Pretending he was too busy working overtime because of the playoffs only worked because Charlie is the least athletically-minded man on the planet and apparently didn’t question Andrew’s ridiculous lie.
Charlie is Andrew’s favorite person, and also the one that’s hardest to lie to.
He has no idea how he’s supposed to pretend to be normal about, well—anything—right now.
How is he supposed to walk into Juanita’s and pretend that he hasn’t spent the last two weekends with Nicholas Whitmore?
How is he going to broach the subject and tell Charlie they’re dating?
Or fake dating. He hasn’t decided yet. Charlie probably wouldn’t believe they were dating for real, but Andrew’s self-confidence, and his pride, is at stake here.
He’s tired of being the perpetually single oldest brother, destined to be alone.
Just for once, he wants to pretend he’s wanted and special too.
Even if it’s not real. Even if it’s going to end the second Nicki doesn’t need him.
“Are you dissociating to Bach again?” Charlie yells, yanking open his car door.
“I was before you interrupted me,” Andrew answers, privately glad for the interruption. Maybe this is what he needs—to just rip the band aid off and face Charlie and get this over with.
Between checking his unanswered texts to Nicki and worrying about Charlie’s reaction all week, his insomnia is worse than ever.
At this point, Andrew is beyond exhausted and pretty sure the only thing standing between him and an autistic shutdown is the heavy masking and the prospect of one of his safe meals.
“Clearly, I need to interrupt you to get you to pay attention to me,” Charlie says without much bite, pushing his sunglasses off his face and into his hair.
He’s letting it grow out a bit, and Andrew’s chest knots with discomfort seeing it curl around his chin while Andrew’s has recently been cut to maintain the same style they’d shared for the last year.
“I’ve just been busy,” Andrew tries, shutting off his engine then stepping out of his car. He presses the lock button twice, pocketing the key as he’s yanked into a bone-crushing hug.
“Asshole. Don’t be too busy for me again.”
The knot of tension in his chest unwinds slightly. Charlie isn’t moving on from him just because he changed his hair and has a boyfriend. He would never. Andrew is being irrational and emotional and needy, all things he hates.
Returning the hug tenfold, he sinks into the embrace.
When Charlie doesn’t let go, Andrew is able to acknowledge that on top of being exhausted and hungry, he’s also touch starved.
He doesn’t like strangers touching him, and for reasons he’s never been able to understand, Jason and Alec don’t hug him as much as they do Charlie.
Well, he knows why, because they all think he doesn’t like to be touched.
He does, just on his own terms, but somewhere along the line there was some miscommunication, and the only person who crosses that line is Charlie.
A week without him has Andrew dangerously close to falling apart and how pathetic is that. Thirty-two, and can’t cope for a week without his twin brother.
“I’m starving,” Charlie says when he pulls out of the hug. “Let’s go inside.’
“Sure,” Andrew says, almost wishing Charlie would’ve pushed for more answers outside where it would’ve been easier to talk. There’s no telling who might be inside, and Andrew isn’t going to feel like being honest around strangers.
“I’m so hungry I could eat my arm.”
“You forgot to eat today, didn't you?” Andrew questions, falling into step beside Charlie as they cross the parking lot towards Juanita’s.
They’ve been coming to this place since it opened, and Andrew is pretty sure the food is the best kept secret in Santa Leon.
He’d share it with more people, but the idea of lines of people or crowds where he gets his favorite food isn’t something he wants to encourage.
“I did not, I ate a banana.”
“I hope that’s not a euphemism for Eden’s dick.”
“Annie, did you just make a sex joke?” Charlie yells, loud enough that the couple they pass carrying their laundry into the launderia next door to Juanita's stares at them.
“No,” Andrew hisses, wishing Charlie’s voice had a volume button. “I just…assumed you were.”
“I’m so proud of you for knowing me so well, but no, for once I wasn’t talking about Eden’s dick. I actually ate a banana.”
“That’s not enough for an entire day, Charlie,” Andrew sighs, ignoring the rest of that sentence.
“Well, Eden slept at home with Addy and Ella last night, and I miss him when he’s gone, so I stayed up late painting him and fell asleep in the studio, and the only thing out there was a banana because—well you don’t want to know why.”
“Gross.”
“Who said it was gross?” Charlie gapes.
“Please don’t tell me it had anything to do with sex.”
“I won’t tell you,” Charlie says, “but—”
“No,” Andrew interrupts, breathing in the scent of freshly made tortillas and aromatic spices as they step through the door. “No more.”
“I didn’t even say anything,” Charlie pouts, his expression morphing into one of complete and utter adoration when he catches sight of his boyfriend across the room cleaning one of the corner booths. “Look at him.”
“Yes, I see Eden,” Andrew indulges.
“He’s so beautiful.”
“Uh huh,” Andrew says, urging Charlie forward. Now that he’s smelled the food, he’s absolutely starving, and he doesn’t want to stand here for five minutes while Charlie moons over Eden.
“Hey hot stuff, you single?” Charlie whistles.
Several people turn to look at Charlie, including his boyfriend who glares, flipping him two middle fingers as he stalks across the small dining room to stand in front of Charlie.
Despite his petite stature, Eden manages to give the air of someone much taller as he jabs a finger in Charlie’s chest.
“What have I told you about making a scene at my job?”
“I think you said not to do it,” Charlie smiles, entirely unbothered about doing exactly what he’s not supposed to.
“And yet here you are, making a scene.”
“I can’t help it if I want to take you on a date and kiss you.”
“No kissing while I’m working,” Eden grumbles, but there’s a shift in his body language, a softening that’s become more familiar in recent weeks.
After all their back and forth, and Eden’s fears of relationships, it makes Andrew happy to see them so content together.
Albeit in their own weird, argumentative way.
Happy. He’s happy for them. If he’s jealous, too, no one needs to know.
“Can I have just one kiss?” Charlie begs, already leaning down.
“No,” Eden replies, fighting back a smile when he turns to face Andrew. “Hey.”
“Hi, Eden.”
“Juanita’s at the register today, I’ve got to finish cleaning the tables, and then I’m on back room duty for a bit. Make sure he doesn’t cause trouble.”
“Always do,” Andrew laughs while Charlie pretends to be offended.
Making their way to the register, they’re met with the smiling face of Juanita, the owner and woman responsible for all the incredible food.
Or at least the recipes. As she gets older, she’s been letting her family cook more and more, but she’s still the face of the restaurant, and her familiarity makes Andrew relax further.
“Buenas tardes, Juanita.”
“Mijo,” Juanita smiles. “Aren’t you a sight for sore eyes. You’ve been working too hard to come see me, haven’t you?”
Guilt prickles at the edges of Andrew’s consciousness, but he plasters on a smile.
“Tú me conoces, siempre ocupado,” Andrew answers in Spanish.
Juanita’s eyes brighten. “Has estado practicando.”
“Sí, claro siempre,” Andrew confirms.
Juanita grins, taking their order and sending them to a table while they wait for their food. It’s not until they’re sitting that Charlie kicks him under the table, one eyebrow raised.
“I’ve been practicing my Spanish every day,” he offers, well aware that’s not what information Charlie is looking for.
“That’s great, showing me up.”
“You could practice too.”
“I have practiced. I’ve learned how to tell Eden—”
Andrew holds up a hand to cut him off. “Before you finish that sentence, ask yourself if that’s something I want to know.”
“Probably not,” Charlie concedes. “Anyway, we need to talk.”