Chapter 17
chapter seventeen
jude
“If I have to peel one more garlic clove, my left thumb may be in serious danger of falling off,” Milo complained from his end of the long stainless steel table Nesto set us up with to chop and peel the vegetables he needed.
We were working on a marinade for the meat at the moment.
It was called recao, an all-purpose recipe used all over the Caribbean.
It required enormous amounts of garlic, onion, cilantro, oranges, limes, and Cubanelle peppers, which we needed to get ready for Nesto to blend.
I laughed and shook my head as I worked a paring knife around an onion. Camilo was hilarious and in the forty-five minutes since we’d started, he’d claimed he couldn’t feel his forearms from peeling plantains, and that his mouth was numb from the sting of the hot peppers.
Juanpa glared at him. “Bruh, just shut up and work. Do you need to be so dramatic all the time?”
It was only the three of us, since Patrice had mysteriously disappeared with the car, saying he’d be “back in an hour.” When he left Juanpa said he’d probably just go out for a drive, since he usually needed alone time after a day around so many people, but Milo had called bullshit, and said he was probably out fucking Easton.
I had to say—after the multiple rounds of eye-fucking I’d witnessed between those two today—Milo’s version seemed more likely to me.
I turned my attention back to their conversation to see Milo staring Juanpa down.
“I’m not even going to answer that. Now all normal conversation is drama for you?
Hanging out with all those jocks has gone to your head.
You gotta actually leave the stadium and come see your people, lest you forget where you hail from. ”
Camilo was small compared to his friends, who all looked like they could be on the roster of a professional sports team.
He was shorter than my own five-foot-ten by a couple of inches with the body of a dancer.
His hair was a dark brown, and it was very thick and curly.
He’d had it under a hat all day, but now he’d put it up in a bun.
He was very pretty. His skin was a beautiful deep bronze, but what caught my attention were his eyes, which were an intense gray.
His slight figure and smaller size did nothing to tamp down all that attitude, though.
Of the four of them, he was clearly the one in charge.
Juanpa flipped him off without even looking up and kept on juicing oranges. “You don’t even live in the Bronx anymore, asshole.” A smile clear in his voice.
Milo shrugged and kept chopping, then stopped.
“Actually, you know what we need? Some music. Now that we have the place to ourselves, we can put some on.” There’d been other people using the kitchen when we got in earlier, but they’d left about fifteen minutes before.
“Here,” he said, taking off his gloves and rinsing his hands in the sink behind us. “I have speakers in my bag.”
Milo went over to the shelf where we put our stuff and looked through his backpack, pulling out one of those small cordless speakers that look like a huge red pill.
He took his phone out of his pocket, tapped a few buttons on the screen, and after a moment the opening sounds of Calle 13?s Latinoamerica filled the space.
I loved that song, one of the most powerful pieces of music I’d ever heard.
Calle 13, a Puerto Rican hip-hop duo who made very good and very political music, was one of my favorites.
I had listened to this album dozens of times when it came out. So when the song started, I sang along.
I muttered the lyrics as I chopped, thinking how much I loved the words and the cadence of the voices when I noticed that Milo and Juanpa were staring at me.
“What?” I asked, looking around.
“You know Calle 13?” Camilo asked with a look of complete astonishment on his face. Nesto walked over when he heard the music and grinned at Milo’s amazement.
“Yes, I do. I’m a big fan. Don’t give me too much credit on my Latin music prowess though; I discovered them in the whitest way possible.”
At this all three of them turned to me with different versions of a look that said, “Oh, I can’t wait to hear this.”
I paused for effect, then quickly muttered, “NPR.”
They all cracked up and laughed for a full minute at my comment. I was not usually the guy who brings down the house with a one-liner. It felt kind of good to make someone other than Carmen laugh at my jokes.
Nesto came over and bumped my shoulder, looking at me with so much affection and humor my chest filled with warmth.
“That totally counts! These two are diehard NPR listeners.” He pointed in the direction of his friends. “Don’t let them give you any shade for that. Milo walks around all over town with NPR totes and shit.”
Milo was still chuckling and just shook his head.
“You’re a damn fool, Ernesto Vasquez, but at least your man has taste.
” I felt a thrill run through my body with the casual way Milo referred to me as Nesto’s “man.” I looked over at him to see how he’d react, but he just widened his eyes, pointed at himself and yelled a loud, “Hello?”
Juanpa was next. He stopped chuckling and with a very serious face put his hand up, as if asking for a moment of silence then said, “NPR is legit. You still get full credit.” With that, he went back to juicing oranges.
Milo looked over at Nesto, shaking his head with disgust. “Of course you, Mr. No Politics, would get with the one gringo who knows all the words to a song that’s essentially one of the modern Latinx rights anthems.”
Milo turned back to me and pointed. “You’re a keeper.” Then to Nesto. “Don’t fuck this up.”
Nesto shook his head and laughed. “Fuck off.”
I smiled at Milo. “Well, I appreciate your approval. Although Calle 13 are very well known.”
Nesto came over and pecked my cheek. “I need to watch out, or Milo might try to steal you, and I’m counting on your burrito selling skills to put the truck on the map. You were pretty amazing with the customers today.”
He rinsed his hands and was now standing behind me with both of them on my waist. I had to put the knife down before I mutilated myself with all the stuff happening in my body with him so close.
“It’s not hard to sell your food. It’s delicious and insanely cheap.
How hard could it be to convince people? ”
“That’s it though,” he said, his voice full of something which made me take this conversation much more seriously.
“You’re not just saying the food is good to be nice, you believe in my business and what I’m trying to do.
You went above and beyond with every customer today.
That woman you helped this afternoon brought back friends afterwards, and she even took photos. ” By now he was also nuzzling my neck.
My entire body was flushing hot and cold and the butterflies in my stomach were so intense I felt like I was on a roller coaster.
I felt self-conscious that Milo and Juanpa were watching and I thought about what Patrice said earlier—that Nesto could go back to New York City if things didn’t work, and it felt like a stab in my gut.
I knew Patrice was trying to be supportive, but just the thought of Nesto not being here, or worse, of him having to go back to New York City to start over, had seriously unsettled me.
I wanted to turn around right then and ask him: What are we doing? What happens if the thing with Sheridan doesn’t work out? Am I even part of the equation when you think about what’s next? Will you let me be there for you if things don’t go as planned?
I shook my head, trying to stay in the moment. Nesto’s touch grounding me. Possessive and gentle at once. Feeling bold and wanting to stake my claim, too, I bent my head and brought his hand up so I could kiss the tips of his fingers.
I looked up and saw Milo and Juanpa staring at us. For a moment I thought I saw a mix of worry and tenderness on Milo’s face, but it was gone in a flash. As soon as he saw me looking at him, he made a show of covering his eyes.
“Pendejo, are we here to prepare the food or watch you suck on this one’s neck? Vamos muevete!”
Nesto flushed, gave me one more squeeze and went back to doing whatever he was doing to an enormous amount of chicken breasts. After a few minutes I finished peeling garlic and handed the mountain of cloves to Juanpa, who was waiting to take them over to Nesto.
“Here you go.” He smiled and took them.
“Thanks.” He shook his head, as he looked in Nesto’s direction. “Only for one of these assholes would I spend a perfectly good Saturday night up to my elbows in garlic and onions. Nesto! Where do you want this, man?” he called out.
“Is that the garlic?” Nesto asked, without pausing what he was doing. “Bring it over and we’ll grind them to finish the recao.”
Juanpa got moving and took the stuff over to the industrial-sized blenders.
While he and Nesto were over in the area with the food processors and the gigantic tubs of meat, Camilo and I kept working on our chopping.
After a few minutes he started talking, as if we’d been in the middle of a conversation.
“I’ve never seen Nesto break his focus when he’s working before, but when you’re around, every few minutes he’ll stop what he’s doing and look for you. Like he’s making sure you’re still there.”
I stayed quiet, not sure what to say. I’d never been that person for anyone. I was not the one who brought others to distraction: always an extra, never the protagonist.
I had friends and I had a life, but never that kind of connection with someone else. Even with my ex, Elijah, things had never felt intentional. More like we were trying something out with each other.
I shook my head and shrugged, going for lightness. “He’s just making sure I’m doing something useful.”