Chapter 2
CHAPTER TWO
CARLOS - LATE JANUARY
Erick
[Photo of tiny hands and arms covered in paint, and a construction-paper picture of a green blob] Emergency finger painting incident at Little Raíces! Send help. Also, possibly a hazmat suit.
I’m supposed to be loading logs onto the truck, but instead, I find myself smiling at my phone like an idiot. Again.
Aw! Little dude painted a Brussel sprout!
Erick
Excuse you, that is a “dragón muy importante” according to Victor. He’s very excited for his mom to see it.
Better take lots of pictures then.
Erick
Already done! How’s your morning going? Sexy lumberjack activities, I presume? Axing things left and right?
I snort and nearly drop my phone when Beckett’s voice carries across the worksite.
“Carlos! You planning to stand there texting all day, or you gonna help us load this truck?”
“Sorry!” I call back, shoving my phone in my pocket.
Hussein and I finish loading up the truck for the drive over to the lumberyard—bigger logs on the bottom, smaller at the top, using the winch straps to tighten the wrappers around the logs. But even as I’m working, I’m wondering… what the hell am I doing?
Back in October, I kissed a guy for the first time. More than that, I unzipped his fly, cupped his ass, and came in his hand.
And I’ve spent the last three and a bit months texting and calling that guy nonstop, getting this little skip in my chest every time his name pops up on my screen.
I’m pretty sure my eyes are cartoon hearts over here.
So, like… I guess I’m bi now?
Which is fine. Honestly, totally fine. I mean, it’s not the Middle Ages, and I live in freaking Vermont. Half the crew I work with is queer, including my grumpy boss, who looks at his boyfriend like Griffin personally hung the moon.
I’m not gonna have a crisis about it…
If it’s true.
But I can’t help wondering, what if it’s just another impulse? What if I’m going down this path, getting invested in this thing, letting Erick get invested, all because I can’t tell the difference between genuine attraction and… what? Curiosity? A phase?
My phone buzzes again as soon as the wrappers are tight, and I dig it out instinctively, like I’m what’s-his-name’s dog, salivating at a bell.
“Jesus, man,” Hussein mutters. “You’ve been glued to that thing for months. What’s her name?”
I ignore him and check the message.
Erick
Also I may have just agreed to sub here again next week. They initially said they’d prefer someone bilingual, since it’s an ESL preschool program, but I guess I’m the best of what’s around.
My heart does that little skip again, the one I can’t seem to control.
Erick’s taken a couple of six-week Spanish intensives to refresh the Spanish he learned in high school, and he’s been talking about getting more involved with Spanish-speaking kids since December at least. This week, he’s finally doing it, working at a school in Queens.
Or maybe just the best, full stop. Obviously they love you or they wouldn’t have asked you to stay.
Erick
And yet I’m still fucking terrified I’ll accidentally tell someone their kid’s a beautiful potato instead of a beautiful child.
Papa hermosa instead of nino hermoso? Common mistake.
Erick
Lol.
Seriously, though, it wouldn’t be the end of the world. Parents would roll with it and the kids would correct you. No one expects perfection, just effort.
Erick
See, this is why I need you. You make it seem so easy.
Ugh. The casual way he says, This is why I need you, melts me into a puddle. But it also makes the questions in my head louder.
Do I need him back? Or am I just caught up in the novelty—the impulsiveness—of it all? Fuck knows, I suck at relationships, even the ones with women, where I theoretically have some experience.
If Erick were here right now, would I still want to kiss him?
Fuck yes. One hundred percent. Without a doubt.
“Carlos!” Beckett shouts. “You just finish what you’re doing, buddy. It’s cool. Take your time. I mostly pay you for the joy of standing around holding heavy shit while watching you stare at your phone with gooey eyes.”
I catch Freddy’s eye, and we both smirk a little.
If there’s one person on this crew who’s got his gooey eyes glued to his phone more than I do, it’s Beckett. At least since Griffin Mercer exploded into his life and Beckett fell hardcore, capital-L in love.
Unfortunately for all of us, though, Griff’s been super busy working on a big Winsome tourism campaign at his new job, and Beckett’s been working long hours here, which means the boss needs to get laid. Badly.
And Jesus fuck, so do I.
Ideally, by a certain hot New Yorker who makes me laugh, who makes me want to tell him shit I’ve never told anyone else, and whose texts and phone calls feel like more of a “real” relationship than any I’ve ever been in before.
Unless, of course, I’m misremembering that one night back in October. Unless the phenomenal heat that flared between us wasn’t really as wild and consuming as it is in my memories. Unless I’m making all this shit up.
Look, I’m not usually this guy. Doubting myself, questioning my feelings… that’s not how I roll. If I feel something, I act on it. Yeah, impulsively.
But this feels different. I don’t want to mess it up.
You’d think it would be easy enough to answer this question by just visiting Erick. But it’s not that simple. Axford Lumber’s got a bunch of new work that’s kept me hopping, and my mom still needs some help, though she insists she doesn’t. I can’t just leave town, no matter how much I want to.
Besides, Erick’s started volunteering and substitute teaching. He sublet an apartment, and money is tight for him right now, so it’s not like he can take a vacation either.
It sucks that I’m in limbo—we’re in limbo—but my brain keeps reminding me that life’s like this. For all that “impulsive” deeds make good stories, that’s not what being an adult’s about.
“Coming!” I yell back to Beckett, who’s still waiting on me. But I can’t help typing one more message.
I can help you practice your Spanish if you want. Video call tonight?
Erick
Yes, please. I’ll bring flashcards.
Nerd.
Erick
Jock.
I can’t help smiling at my phone.
Talk to you later.
Erick
Can’t wait.
I’m still smiling when I finally make it over to the truck. Hussein gives me a knowing look.
“Alright, seriously, spill. Who is she?”
“Don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“The girl who’s got you checking your phone every five minutes like a teenager with his first girlfriend.”
“Not a girl.” I busy myself with securing a load of pine logs, avoiding his eyes. “Just a friend.”
“Uh-huh. A friend who makes you smile like that?”
“Drop it, okay?”
Hussein doesn’t drop it, of course. Neither do Bunsen and the other guys. For the past few months, they’ve been relentless—asking about my mystery woman, wondering why I never bring her around, making jokes about long-distance relationships.
The truth is too complicated to explain… especially when I’m not even sure I understand it myself.
All I know is every time Erick texts me, I feel lighter.
He sends me pictures of kid art and stories about work, funny memes he finds online, updates about his job search and his slow rebellion against his parents’ expectations.
In return, I send him pictures of the forests and the crew, stories about Winsome happenings, updates about Mamá’s recovery, and flirtatious messages that would probably scandalize my coworkers if they saw them.
But am I ready to tell everyone in my life about Erick?
Fuck, no.
The guys on my crew have mouths—big ones—and in a tiny town like Winsome, word gets around. It’s bad enough when they ask me who I’ve been talking to, and when they can meet them, and whether it’s serious.
But when Perky at the store and all the old ladies at Ruby’s Diner start giving me knowing looks, when someone inevitably spills to my mother and she starts asking me questions… what the fuck would I even say?
That night in October feels impulsive, the way the Big Bang was impulsive, you know? Like it was sudden but inevitable.
I just don’t trust myself enough to change my whole world around until I know for sure.
And, hell, even if I realize that, yes, I am definitely bi, and yes, definitely into Erick… how would that work?
Erick’s life and family are in New York. He has a big, fancy-ass social circle that’s the opposite of mine. He hasn’t mentioned dating anyone, but I remember him saying dating was part of his new life plan. Does that mean he’s been seeing other guys?
My phone buzzes again just after lunchtime.
Erick
[Photo of a salad that looks suspiciously fancy] Lunch meeting with my sister.
She’s trying to talk me out of leaving the family business.
She says Dad regrets his decision and wants me to come back to work for the Nelson Group.
She said I “won” so I can stop my “childish rebellion” now and come back to the fold. Can you believe it?
My stomach clenches at this.
I thought Ariel was a lawyer? I didn’t think she worked for your dad.
Erick
She’s really good at arguing, so I guess he tagged her in. She brought SLIDES, Carlos. Financial projections from now through my retirement. Life satisfaction studies for various jobs that show educators burn out quickly.
Yeah. You tempted to go back?
Erick
Not really?
You know I was miserable all the time, working for my dad. Preschool’s no bed of roses and the pay sucks, but it’s satisfying on a different level. I don’t know if that’s the smart choice or the impulsive one, though.
I really hate that I don’t have a permanent job, too. I know I sound like a prima donna, but hustling to find new substitute teaching gigs so I can pay rent is already getting old.
Stick to your guns and trust yourself. You have one life, Erick. Live it in the way that feels right, even if it’s hard.
You’ll get an offer for something permanent soon. And in the meantime, you’re doing exactly what you said you would. You’re finding things you’re passionate about. Like teaching kids. And learning Spanish.
Erick
And texting sexy, ax-wielding lumberjacks?
I nearly choke on my sandwich.
Lumberjacks, plural?
Erick
Lol. Just one.
That little heart emoji socks me right in the chest.
It’s easy for me to tell Erick stick to your guns and trust yourself and live life in a way that feels right, even if it’s hard. But am I taking my own advice?
When I get home that evening, Mamá is in the kitchen making dinner. Her short hair is freshly washed and curled, and she’s wearing her favorite dress and sandals, despite the cold.
She moves more slowly than she used to, but she’s freaking stubborn about doing as much as she can on her own, and she’s been going stir-crazy since her surgery.
The physical therapy has helped, and she’s regained most of her mobility, but I still worry.
I’m her late-in-life “oops” baby, and she raised me pretty much by herself since my dad died when I was ten.
I love her to pieces, but she sucks at asking for help when she needs it.
“Mijo,” she says without looking up from the stove. “We need to talk.”
I freeze in the doorway. “About what?”
She turns, wooden spoon in hand, and fixes me with a stern look. “You tell me the truth, Carlito. ?Oyes? Are you back with that Rosangela?”
I let out a breath. “No, Mamá. That’s over. Has been since last summer.”
“Ay, thank god.” She sets a lid on the rice pot. “So, then, who have you been texting, hmm? And don’t you tell me there’s no one. I’m not an idiot. If there’s a woman—”
“There isn’t.” I wipe my hands on my jeans. “I… it’s… it’s a guy.”
She waits for me to continue, but… fuck, how do I explain Erick? How do I tell her I’ve been texting nonstop with someone I’ve only known for a matter of hours, in person? That I might or might not have feelings for a man? That I’ve gone and done another impulsive thing?
“He’s a good person,” I say finally, not quite meeting her eyes. “I like him a lot, Mamá. I think you’d like him too.”
“Is that right?” My mother’s a woman who usually speaks passionately about everything, but she says the words now with a kind of careful neutrality I hadn’t known she was capable of.
My palms sweat again. “I don’t know if… I mean, it’s… it’s complicated,” I say softly.
I dart a glance at her and see her nod once. “Como siempre, con el amor.”
I take a shuddering breath. As always, with love.
“It’s not love,” I argue. Then backtrack. “Not exactly. I’m… figuring things out. How I feel. How he feels. And he lives in New York, so…” I blow out a breath. “I honestly don’t know what I’m doing.”
She studies my face with the expression that used to see right through every lie I told as a kid. “You’re happy, mijo. Happier than in a long time.”
It’s not a question, but I answer anyway. “Yeah,” I admit. “I am.”
Mamá nods once. “Well, then. Anyone who makes my son happy is someone I want to meet. You bring him for a visit. I’ll make him pepián.”
I swallow. Can it really be that easy?
Maybe it can.
“Now, go get showered. The frijoles are ready, and the rice will be done in a few minutes. And Carlos,” she warns, “while you eat, we’re gonna be talking about me moving back to my own home. It’s time. ?Comprendes?”
I’m so relieved, I don’t even argue. I nod and escape to my room.
As I strip down, my phone buzzes with what I figure is a text from Erick. But when I grab my phone with a smile, I find the message is actually from Beckett.
Beckett
Hey, we’re gonna be ramping up production and running weekend shifts starting March 1. You up for overtime?
You know me, boss. Love that sweet, sweet OT. $$$
Beckett
Figured. Thanks, C. So rest up for the next few weeks, huh?
I’m not sure where it comes from, but I’m typing back before I have a chance to second-guess myself.
Speaking of resting, you think I could get Friday off this week? I have some stuff I’d like to do. Out-of-town stuff.
Beckett
This “stuff” have anything to do with your texting buddy?
I hesitate, but finally admit it.
Maybe. Yeah.
Beckett
Glad to hear it. Some “stuff” is more important than work. We’ll manage without you Friday.
I snort as I click off my phone because “some stuff is more important than work” used to be on the list of things Beckett would only say if he’d been replaced by a pod person, but is now something he legit believes.
Which goes to show, I guess, that falling for someone changes your priorities. Makes you want to change your life so it’s in line with those priorities. Makes you want to do all kinds of impulsive shit so you can achieve that.
And as I shower, I realize that maybe this time, being impulsive is precisely the right thing to do.