Chapter 4
four
two sonorans
A whirlwind of inspiration struck Ryan Sunday around lunch.
After suffering weeks of writer’s block, he jumped on this opportunity and grabbed all the books, his laptop, and his noise cancelling headphones and set up shop on the kitchen table where there was plenty of space to spread out.
Several hours later, a tap on his shoulder startled Ryan.
With noise-canceling headphones on, he’d missed Iz returning from their errands.
“Jesus, Iz.”
“Sorry, Ry. Didn’t mean to scare you.” Something was off. His usually chill friend and roommate—because who else would put up with a spoiled rich kid—had a crease in their forehead and their voice was leaden. “Your brother’s been texting. It might be important.”
Ryan took the phone from their outstretched hand, handling it like a rattler. He didn’t want to see what his brother had texted him, but it likely had to do with the phone number from three nights ago. Or maybe his dad had changed his mind. Yeah, and if pigs could fly…
“Only one way to find out, Ryan,” Iz said, reading him like a book. They’d been friends since kindergarten, and Iz had been one of the two people who’d always had his back. Since his grandmother was gone, it was just Iz now.
“Yeah, but…”
“And yet, you’re still staring at that thing like it’s going to bite you. I guarantee it won’t.”
“I know.”
Iz rubbed at the crease between their eyes. “Ry, not tonight. Just fucking see what your brother wants.”
“Okay, Iz, thanks.” He unlocked the phone as Iz trudged to the living room with a tired wave. As soon as he was done here, he’d have a conversation with them. He hated when Iz’s mood dipped. His friend was the furthest from a whiny bitch as was possible to be, but this listlessness was worse.
Ryan straightened the papers strewn all over the table, put them next to the books with multicolored sticky notes stacked in haphazard piles, careful not to knock over his collection of beer and soda cans. He glanced over the messages. His brother had been texting him for the last thirty minutes.
A: Hey, how did it go?
A: You there?
A: When’s the date?
A: Do I need to call her?
And more of the same. Ryan replied, if only to get his brother off his back.
R: Tuesday 5:30 Sandpiper.
There, that should satisfy Mr. Stick-up-his-ass. Now to see what was wrong with his friend.
While Ryan handled Alex, Iz had changed from the bright outfit earlier into jeans, a plain T-shirt, and tennis shoes.
The makeup was gone, too. Without them, Iz looked the same as they’d been in high school, round face, nearly black hair a smidge below their chin, dark brown eyes with a touch of sadness in them.
The only clue Iz wasn’t that person anymore was the red polish on their nails.
Ryan snuck up behind them. “Boo!”
“For fuck’s sake,” Iz said as Ryan laughed.
“C’mon, time for a break. I’ve been working on the damned podcast all afternoon, and I’m taking you out for dinner.” He kept his tone light. Ryan was more than happy to pay. He owed Iz so much, but his friend wasn’t the type to demand it. “Gotta spend the trust fund while we can.”
Iz’s lips twitched, some of their sparkle returning. “That’s right, let the DeMarco fortune pay for our Sonoran dogs.”
Sonoran dogs? Damn, Iz only ate Sonoran dogs on bad days.
“You’re a cheap date.” Hell, Ryan could afford the Sonoran dogs on his earnings as a bartender. Of course, they might be in for more of these cheap meals in the next several months if his father followed through and he couldn’t find a way to balance the budget.
“You know it!” A ghost of a smile tipped up Iz’s lips.
“Fine, but you’re driving.”
“Like I’d get on that death trap with you. Grab your wallet.”
Ryan did and met Iz in the parking lot.
“What’s up?” Ryan asked as Iz drove to their favorite food truck about a mile away. While Mama O’s had the best, this was closer and almost as tasty.
Iz sighed and was quiet for a moment.
“It was a rough day. I didn’t feel like dealing with anyone else’s bullshit tonight. I just want my damned Sonoran dog.”
“Okay. Wanna talk about it?”
Iz had come out as non-binary their sophomore year in college.
Their outward expressions of gender changed too.
Gone were the tees they’d both lived in when not in school uniforms. In their place, bold-patterned feminine shirts and lots of glitter and rhinestones.
Iz tried makeup, too, often getting help from mutual friends.
It took about a second for Ryan to get on board. The doubt in Iz’s eyes almost broke Ryan’s heart. After an initial moment of confusion, the little pieces throughout their lives suddenly fell into place. It made sense, all of it. Ryan had smiled at his friend, and neither had looked back.
“Nah. I’ll be fine, but a quiet night will help.” Iz tapped their fingers against the steering wheel in rhythm to the music. The city lights flashed by, and traffic was light.
“One quiet night, coming right up.”
“So…what did your brother want?”
It was Ryan’s turn to sigh.
“That bad?”
“Yes…no. Alex said he’d owe me a favor if I went out with this woman Mom has been trying to convince him to date. He thought they’d see it as a…what do they call it?”
“A sign of good faith?”
“Yeah, that.”
“Do you think it’ll work, or will she become one more number in your contacts you never call?”
“It’s worth a date to find out, I guess.” The last time he’d dated someone pre-approved by his family, she’d been more interested in their contacts than in him. He hadn’t repeated the experience in years, instead amassing an impressive list of one-night stands and short flings.
“I don’t envy you. I mean, my family ain’t perfect, but the level of control your dad has…That shit is messed up.”
“You don’t need to tell me.”
“And I’m too afraid to tell your dad.”
They both laughed. Alessandro DeMarco only tolerated Iz.
It had been that way forever. Few people were good enough to be in the inner DeMarco circle.
Once it was apparent Iz wasn’t going anywhere, it became not worth fighting about.
Besides, Ryan was only the spare, not the heir.
Alex’s connections were much more important.
His father may have never understood their friendship, but there was a lot about his younger son he didn’t know.
If he’d bothered to show up more, he’d know Iz had always been in Ryan’s cheering section.
And his grades wouldn’t have been half as good if his friend hadn’t been proactively arranging study groups among their friends.
“Do you think your aunt will give me more hours?” Ryan asked as they pulled into the abandoned lot their favorite food truck occupied on Sundays, Wednesdays, and Fridays from noon to eight p.m.
Iz’s grandparents had built their own restaurant empire, starting with the original Mama O’s Tacos shop.
Now Mama O’s was only beaten by Eegee’s for the number of shops spread around Tucson, and the Ochoas owned two more upscale restaurants, Los Vaqueros Steakhouse, and Nopalitos, specializing in Sonoran-style food.
Ryan usually bartended at Nopalitos but had been around long enough he was a solid emergency sub at the steakhouse.
Iz worked for their parents, doing all the marketing material.
They would eventually strike out on their own, but for now the experience Iz earned while working for the family business was invaluable.
“I don’t know. We have a great set of bartenders right now. But wasn’t the idea to cut back so you had more time to work on your podcast?”
The podcast Ryan had been planning for the past couple of years. He could monetize it, turn it into his primary source of income. But seed money would help a fuckton.
“It was, but I need to prove to them I can make it without the trust fund. Only then will I have access to said trust fund.”
“Isn’t that circular logic?” They got out of the car, Ryan followed, and the doors slammed shut. “I mean, if you don’t need the money, then you can have the money?”
“Welcome to my world.” Ryan kicked at the rocks in the sand as they walked to the line, sending a few skittering under the truck.
“Rich people are weird.”
“Your family is rich, too.”
“Yeah, but we’re not used to it yet, so it doesn’t count. Why doesn’t your dad say what he means? Come work for me, and you can have whatever you want. Don’t and fuck you.”
“Can I help you?” the cashier asked when it was their turn, shutting Iz up for the moment.
“Hey, we’ll have two Sonorans, an order of fries, and two Mexicokes.” Ryan pulled out his wallet.
A couple minutes later, they sat down at a picnic bench under a pop-up canopy and waited for their number to be called.
Ryan regretted not grabbing his favorite hoodie.
He was used to the typical warm desert nights, but January was chilly once the sun went down.
At least the stars shone brightly, even among the buildings of Midtown.
“I don’t get it.” Iz shook their head. “Why don’t you tell your dad what your plan is?”
Ryan glared at his friend. He could hear his father’s response. “He’d be happier with me as a bartender. At least that’s real work. Podcasting, that’s a hobby, especially a podcast about food.”
“But it’s not. You have to write, record, edit, market. Those are all valuable skills.”
“I know that, and you know that, but Alessandro DeMarco has a narrow definition of gainful employment. Podcasting is not on the list.” No matter if it was his son’s dream or not.
“Would working for your father be so awful? Just long enough for him to release your trust fund to you. Then you could do whatever the hell you wanted. I wish I had that option.”
The reality check hit Ryan in the gut, leaving him breathless for a moment.
Iz’s family didn’t have the generational capital Ryan’s grandfather had mortgaged to amass the fortune his descendants currently enjoyed.
Everything the Ochoas had, they had earned through hard work, luck, and Abuelo Ochoa’s preternatural business skill.
How bad could it be for Ryan to work for his family’s business for a couple of years?
At thirty, he would have more than enough capital to provide a substantial cushion, no matter what he ended up doing for the rest of his life.
Could he swallow his pride for two and a half years in order to live the rest of his life in comfort and freedom?
Or would it kill every last creative brain cell?
Their order was ready, and Ryan collected the paper trays.
“Maybe you’re right,” he said as he returned, setting the food on the table. Iz smiled sadly. “But maybe I can get away with dating the socialite Mom keeps trying to inflict on Alex and presenting my business plan.”
“But Ry, don’t you need to have a plan before you can present it?” Iz laughed. They knew the plan was mostly in Ryan’s head and had more in common with a fever dream than a business document.
“One step at a time, Iz. Please, God, one step at a time.” Ryan smiled to take the bleak note out of his voice, and it might have worked. Maybe.