9. June 26th
Rafael
“Good morning, baby brother,” I huff out after tapping my ear bud to connect the call.
“Sounds like you’re out running, too?” Joaquín says through labored breath. It’s not even 7:00 am yet, but the sun is already up, peeking through the trees and reflecting off playground slides as I run through another neighborhood park.
“It’s gonna be ninety degrees before noon today,” I say. “Gotta get my workout in before it’s too hot.”
“Same,” he says.
A knowing smile crosses my face before I ask, “Does that mean you’re wearing a shirt?”
He chuckles. “Absolutely not.”
Joaquín had his top surgery six years ago, and if he doesn’t have to wear a shirt, he’s not. He’s fucking happy with his body finally so he should feel proud and be able to show it off.
“So what’s going on?” I ask, coming to a traffic crossing. “What’s on the agenda today?”
“I have a meeting this morning with our broker about cleaning up that sale on Garfield in Arlington,” he says. Joaquín’s been living in DC and commuting between there and here for various real estate projects. He’s been an invaluable partner to have since we launched Jimenez Brothers Properties almost decade ago when we bought our first fixer-upper. I got a nice little chunk of change from my abuelo for graduating from undergrad, so I put it towards real estate. Between the two of us, we’ve amassed three smaller apartment buildings, all in DC, as well as two storefronts in Philly, the historic house we’re currently renovating down the street from me, and after the sale of the Garfield complex, we’ll acquire four large, abandoned historic Philly homes that we plan on turning into multi-family residences. They’re all within the same city block, so it’ll be convenient for the construction crews, too.
We both want to see the city we love look its best and serve the families that live here. I’m looking at every fucking penny to make sure we do right, not only by restoring these homes to their former glory, but also provide affordable housing.
It’s my job to make the money work—and do some light work like demolition occasionally. Joaquín’s my property manager. We have a few other employees like our Project Manager in DC and one in Philly.
“Good. That place was a headache.” We’ve had that apartment building for only five years, but it’s been a nightmare property.
“So with those profits coming in, we should be ready to pull the trigger on that block in Philly.”
“Perfect,” I exhale, as I make my way through another city park, passing a mother pushing a stroller. An urge to peek and look at her baby forms inside me, but I don’t want to be a creep, so I keep my eyes trained ahead of me.
“How are you doing with all this, Raf?” he asks. “There’s a lot on your plate.” I don’t miss his worried tone. Is working as CFO for Define and Jimenez Brothers a lot? Yes. Throw on top of that rugby and becoming a father? Yeah, it might be too much; but I’ve always thrived under pressure. You can’t have a father like José Juan Jimenez and not tirelessly work yourself to earn his admiration.
Yes, it has irrevocably shaped me for better or worse. But honestly, I’m alive with energy when I’m busy like this.
We told Joaquín he was going to be a tio last week and he started crying. It was adorable to watch. He was beyond thrilled for us. Surprised, of course—but thrilled.
“I’m doing fine right now. You know I can’t sit still.”
He laughs incredulously. “Understatement. When was the last time you actually relaxed?” he asks, his breathing rougher. “When was the last time you went camping? That’s always brought you peace.”
That’s true. “It’s been a few years,” I admit. Has it really been that long?
“Why don’t you take a little weekend trip soon? Go breathe in the forest and exhale all the stress you’re pretending you don’t have.”
“That”s,” I consider, “not a bad idea actually.”
“Ha! So you admit you’re stressed.”
“No,” I grouse. “I’m agreeing that it’s a good idea to get out of the city and hug a fucking tree.”
Angie would love it too. My mind replays a memory of the first time the two of us went camping without my moms. We had just finished our senior year of high school, but graduation wasn’t for another week.
We went with a small group of friends we had collected over the last few years—people I haven’t talked to since come to think of it. But that’s fine; because I still have Angie and that’s all that matters.
We spent most of the afternoon drinking screwdrivers and laughing our asses off while we made fun of our teachers. Angie’s imitation of Mr. Forton was always spot-on. From his unexplainable and widely-known dislike for cats, to his much younger wife, the man had a lot of material for us to work with.
But when the sun set low and the temperatures stayed high, the strands of our friendship began to fray with each sip of vodka. And when someone admitted in a game of Never Have I Ever that they had never played Spin the Bottle, a gust of wind blew over the tightrope of our friendship.
To this day, we’ve never talked about what happened that night. We can talk about everything else, but never that. We can dance around every other facet of that camping trip, but neither of us bring up that moment.
It’s probably for the best. Especially now.
Because now that she’s pregnant, there’s something inside of me gnawing at my heart. It’s fucking uncomfortable—that percolating desire I’ve kept buried since we were teenagers has been growing hotter. I’ve always seen her as beautiful because it’s a fact; but now…it’s like her aura has changed and she’s drawing me into her orbit. Is she Aphrodite?
Angie might be mildly sick and tired these days, but she’s so vibrant now, which only serves to remind me of our friendship. Never in my life have I had to remind myself how seriously platonic we are as often as I have recently.
Never get close to women, mijo. They’ll only ruin your life.
I know, Papá! Get out of my head.
You’re not enough,my mind tosses back.
“Raf!” Joaquín’s voice twinges in my ear. “Are you listening to me?”
Shit, I zoned out.
Taking this opportunity, I slow my pace to cool down. “Sorry. I got distracted,” I huff out. “Hey, when was the last time you talked to Papá?”
He groans. “When he called us at Christmas.”
“Has it been that long?”
“Considering I haven’t seen him since before I transitioned, that’s on-brand for him.”
“Does he still not know?”
“No,” Joaquín grumbles. “I’m not hiding it from him. But the day he actually asks how I am or about my life or makes an effort to see me again, I’ll gladly tell him.”
“You’d think he would hear the difference in your voice by now.”
“Yeah,” he sighs. “Doesn’t make me feel self-conscious at all that he can’t tell the difference.”
“And you don’t want me to say anything?”
“No,” he says. “It’s not your responsibility to do that. But hey, when are you going to tell the rest of our family that you’re having a kid with Angie? Do the Johanssen’s know yet?”
“Not yet,” I wince as I look both ways before crossing the street back to my townhouse. “We’re telling everyone this weekend.”
“Please video call me when you do. I have to see their reactions in real-time. Mamá is gonna kill you.”