Chapter 9
chapter nine
nesto
Man, I was in over my head with Jude. Who gets that worked up over leftovers?
I was standing by the window, watching him drive home and feeling things I had no business feeling for a guy I barely knew.
But when I saw him standing in my doorway, looking so unsure, I just wanted to drag him inside and wreck him.
He was so skittish, he pulled back as if he needed to keep himself in check, and I wanted to know why.
What hurt was he protecting himself from?
There were no two ways about it, Jude was going to be a distraction.
As I went back to the couch my phone started buzzing on the coffee table.
I looked down and saw Camilo’s face on the screen and grinned.
Those fools were probably half drunk and wanting to rag on me for fucking off to the campo.
I took the call and Milo immediately appeared in the center of the screen, with half of Patrice’s face on the right, and Juanpa’s behind them.
“What’s good, pa? You staying out of trouble up there in the boonies?” Juanpa shouted, taking the phone from Milo and commandeering the call.
“?Dimelo tiguere! Where you fools at?” I asked, unable to control the grin taking over my face.
Milo piped in from behind, pushing on Juanpa’s head. “Uh, forget our location for the moment and tell us why you have sex hair and a hickey on your neck.” His face was in a hilarious sneer. “Jesus, you’re a skank, you just got there!”
Juanpa grinned, shaking his head. “Damn, it’s true though. You’ve been there for like a week, and you’re already going through them frat boys up north.”
“You two are extra as fuck. What’s a grown ass man like me going to do with a frat boy? And where did Patrice go? He didn’t even say hi!”
Milo rolled his eyes. “You know him, control freak. He went to argue about the bill.”
Milo had his curly hair in a man bun thing and was wearing thick eyeliner around his eyes.
His tight military-green shirt was unbuttoned so low I could see the top of his chest piece.
Seeing his tattoo, exactly like mine, but with the colors of the Jamaican and Cuban flags sent a wave of homesickness through me.
I missed my friends.
I noticed they were in a familiar rooftop bar and then saw Milo looking to the side. He was giving someone off-screen some serious “papí, come here eyes.” That paired up with the eyeliner and shirt could only mean one thing.
“Holy shit, J, did you two let Milo drag you to The Americano again so he could thirst after the bartender he fucked last summer?” I shook my head hollering. “No loco. No.”
Milo flashed me the finger, his face still turned the other way, and Juanpa bared his teeth in our friend’s direction.
“He promised us dinner at Chop Shop, but we let this pendejo drag us here instead, and we still haven’t eaten.
You know how he gets. He’s been eye-fucking the dude for the last hour, but has he gone to talk to him?
No. Every time the guy tries to get his attention he turns around and ignores him. It’s a fucking drag, man.”
As Juanpa ranted Patrice came back into the screen, his ebony skin contrasting with Juanpa’s light brown complexion. As usual he bypassed our banter and went straight to the point.
“Nesto, are you already diverting from the plan to get laid, mi hermano?” He shook his head, looking half amused and half disappointed. “How’s the truck doing? Do you need us to come up and help again?”
Patrice’s long locs were in a half knot. The stark features of his face and the small stud on his nose giving him a fierce appearance, his serious expression softened only by the tiniest tilt of his lips.
I was about to assure him I had my shit together over here when Milo came back on the screen, pushing his way in.
He was at least a head shorter than Patrice, so he must have been on his tiptoes.
“Of course, just tell us when to come up if you need anything and we’re there!
Are you doing okay? How are Nurys and Minerva? ”
I saw Juanpa nodding behind him in assent, he was working his Drake doppelganger thing tonight.
With two huge studs in his ears and a black Hood by Air sweatshirt that said Anonymous, Everything You’ve Heard is True, in big white font.
His fade looked fresh, too, that line up so sharp it could give you a papercut.
All of us were so different, how we carried ourselves and how we approached things, but we would do anything for each other. I swallowed hard and opened my mouth before I started bawling like a baby.
“It’s all good, man. Great, actually. Things are going smoothly with the truck other than a few annoying run-ins with some white people foolishness.” I shook my head, not wanting to get into the Misty thing.
“Hey actually, there is one gig this summer I’ll need help with though, if you can make it. It’s a beer and wine festival in a few weekends. OuNYe will be a vendor. They’re expecting to have a few thousand people coming through, so if you punks are up for it. I could use the free labor.”
Camilo was nodding his head furiously as I talked. “I’m in. I love it up there in the summer. It was too short when we came up with you for the move.” Then he looked at the other two. “And I’m sure these losers have nothing going on.”
Juanpa rolled his eyes. “Can you say anything without some sort of insult, Camilo? You’re so fucking abrasive.”
“Ooh are we using our Big Boy words today, Juan Pablo?”
“Fuck you, Milo.”
“Can you two shut up?” Patrice muttered.
“Okay! Okay! Calma pueblo. No fighting. Damn, y’all are mad salty tonight.
See what you did, Camilo?” I said, pointing at Juanpa’s scowl.
“You got Juanpa in the hangry zone, pa. You need to get him some food before he hurts somebody.” Milo opened his mouth probably to curse me out, but I cut him off again.
“Now back to what we were discussing. The gig’s in a few weeks.
I’ll send you guys the details when I get them. I miss you, knuckleheads.”
Milo’s face softened and nodded. “Sounds good. We’ll be there.” Then casually he slipped in, “Tell us who gave you sex hair, though. We can still see the hickey.” He took the phone from Patrice and went to sit down.
“I want a full report.” I could see him primly crossing his legs like he had all the time in the world. Milo never changed, a hopeless romantic, eager to hear someone, anyone, was struck by lightning and found love overnight, so he could hold on to the wish he’d be struck someday, too.
“It’s just a little thing right now.” I could’ve said more, told them about what had been going through my head before they called.
But for the first time ever I didn’t share every detail with my friends.
I felt protective of what I was feeling for Jude, and I didn’t want to give it away to be deconstructed or examined.
I shrugged, going for lightness.
“We’ll see how it goes. It’s a guy from town; he works at the library close to where I have the truck during the week. Turns out he lives just down the street from the place I’m subletting. So, he came over tonight…things happened.”
Juanpa chuckled while Milo cut his eyes at me. “Of course, you’d move into an apartment where you can get some culo delivered right to your doorstep. Figures.”
Laughing, I teased, “Some of us are just that good, besides it’s about the only thing a motherfucker can get delivered out here, for real.
” They cackled at that. “He’s a nice guy, though.
Really funny. And, man, the dude is a blanquito, like W-H-I-T-E, but his Spanish is mad good.
He came to the truck the first day, and flirted with me like a fucking pro, all in Spanish,” I said, unable to suppress the grin on my face.
Milo’s face got soft again. “Aww that’s sweet. He sounds great.”
Patrice piped in from the side. “Don’t get distracted, Nesto. You left here with a plan.”
Juanpa rolled his eyes again. If he kept it up he was going to give himself a seizure.
“Damn, P, you got no chill, man. Why do you have to be so damn intense all the fucking time? He just said the dude was hot, he didn’t say they were eloping to Niagara Falls or some shit.
You need to take it down a notch, my man. Fuck.”
Patrice just gave him the stone face and looked back at me on the screen. They really needed to get Juanpa some food, though.
“Just making sure Nesto keeps his head on straight up there.”
Patrice was right. I came here with a plan, and I needed to stick to it. “Nah, it’s okay. He’s right. But it’s nothing serious at the moment, and the business comes first. Full stop.”
Patrice nodded as he ignored Milo’s stank face. “Good.”
Juanpa took the phone away from Milo and said, “Okay, tiguere, we gotta bounce. It’s getting late and I have to be at the stadium ass early. Unlike the student here or the social worker, I need to keep regular hours.”
Juanpa was a physical therapist for the Yankees and had a hectic schedule during the season.
I was surprised he was even out on a Sunday this time of year.
Patrice being a PhD student had a lot more flexible schedule, although he worked every day, at all times, and was an anxious mess whenever he wasn’t.
Milo was our activist, and worked for a local nonprofit, which provided services for survivors of domestic violence.
They were all very busy, but Juanpa never wasted an opportunity to flex about the job with the Yankees.
Couldn’t blame the guy, for a boy from the Bronx, bragging rights were in order.
That didn’t stop both Patrice and Milo from cursing him out though.
I laughed at their antics before we all said our goodbyes.
I ended the call feeling a little melancholy for my friends and the life I would give up if I decided to stay here in Ithaca. I felt unsure about everything. What was I doing here? Why was I leaving a life which fit me so well for something that could fail?