Bitter Taffy (9 page)

“What?”

“I’ve got to
leave
,
and I would
love
to see you two dance!”

“How do you even know we’ll—”

Miguel shrugged. “Because I haven’t seen him date, really. If he’s hitting on you, Rico, he means it.” Suddenly Miguel got really serious. “You’ll be nice if you let him down, right? I mean… he’s a good guy.”

Rico wanted to pat him on the head. He refrained. “I promise to be nice in my rejection.”

Miguel grinned again, popping a dimple, and Rico shook his head. Yeah, this kid wouldn’t be Derek material.

But apparently Rico was.

T
HE
REST
of the orientation went smoothly, and lunch was… pleasant.

Derek didn’t hit on Rico with Miguel there, and without sex on the table (or under the table, or permeating his clothes or his smile or his hair, because
damn
,
looking at Derek and his all-American-boy smile did
not
get harder), they could banter about books or music or anything at all. Miguel and Rico discussed the merits and demerits of Mexican soap operas—Rico’s grandmother loved them, which was why Rico despised them, and Miguel’s grandmother loved them, which was why Miguel adored them, and after some lively chatter about that, Derek interrupted them, laughing.

“Well, guys, it sounds like it’s not the television show, it’s the grandmother!”

They’d laughed, and Rico was sort of proud of how he’d relegated that unpleasant part of his life to lunch conversation—right up until, as though summoned by the words themselves, his phone rang, and it was family.

“Oh hell,” he muttered, looking at his phone. “It’s my mother.”

They were eating outside in a little café about two blocks from Derek’s office suite. Rico stood up and excused himself as he answered the call, and then he walked around the corner to the shady side of the red-boarded building.

“Hey,
Mami
,” he said resignedly. “Sorry I didn’t call last week. Things got busy.”

“Too busy to call, Rico?” His mother never yelled. She just got “disappointed,” and there was no fighting that.

“Well, my internship ended unexpectedly. I’m actually back in Sacramento, having lunch with my new boss.”

“Your internship ended?” His mother turned and spoke a rapid spate of Spanish at someone, repeating the news, and oh good, Rico’s grandmother knew now.

“Yeah,
Mami
, it’s all over now. I’ll, uh, talk to you later this week, okay?”

“But Rico, where are you staying? Didn’t you let your—” There was a disdainful pause. “—
cousin
take care of your animals? Did you just kick him out on his ear?”

“No,” he said shortly. “He’s still there with his boyfriend, and I’m sleeping on the couch. I asked them to stay. They’re good people.”

Rico recoiled as the eruption of Spanish poured through the phone. Another voice added to the cacophony, and he gave up trying to follow the words—his Spanish was pretty rusty since he’d moved out of the house—and just settled down to wait until she was calm enough to speak English.

“Rico!” she said finally. “Your grandmother doesn’t like this
at all
—
”

Something in Rico snapped. He wasn’t even aware it was stretched tight, but apparently it had been ready to go at any minute. “I don’t care what she likes,
Mami
. I went away to New York, and I got to be someone else, and you know what? I
liked
that person. He was pretty brave. So I’m not coming back to be who she wants or who you want anymore, okay?”

“But your cousin! Rico, he’s—”

“He’s gay. And you know what? So am I.”

Rico hit End Call, took three deep breaths, and went back to lunch.

Derek had ordered a chocolate-chip cookie with ice cream on top—and three spoons. When Rico approached, Derek looked up and raised his eyebrows boyishly, unaware that Rico had just done this spectacular, brave, terrifying thing in the span of a two-minute conversation, and Rico grinned back.

God. He really wanted a bite of that cookie.

B
Y
THE
end of the week, he’d decided the cookie was worth it. He’d picked up a job almost immediately—Derek hadn’t been kidding about Rico being the employee he’d been waiting for—and between that gig and working a modest campaign for Finn’s dad, Rico was pretty busy.

Derek
did
behave at work. Rico had a cubicle and a desk where he could work, but he wasn’t required to be there, as long as he could show time spent. He did most of his work there anyway, because the computer was more powerful and he had more space. When he’d lived alone, he set it all up on the kitchen table, but Adam had been using that to do
his
work, and Finn had been doing homework there all week. It wasn’t a hardship, really.

Rico wasn’t the only one who took advantage of the offices, and the people Derek hired were motivated and, usually, happy. He liked that. There’d always been tension at Kellerman’s, because the whole marketing department had been pitted against each other like gladiators.

Derek swung by once a day, checked to see people’s progress, and had actual
conversations
with them. When the outside people—landscapers, electricians, IT people—came in to collect their checks, they usually had conversations with Derek as well. He made them take pictures of their accomplishments, and Hope spent much of her time assembling online and paper portfolios.
Nobody
who worked for Derek got away with not having work to be proud of.

The energy was refreshing—Rico liked it.

And Derek flirted, yes, but not uncomfortably so. He wiggled his eyebrows and laughed and spent an awful lot of energy widening his baby blues at Rico and trying to get Rico to laugh back.

Rico was finding it easier to do. And the image of Ezra’s blue eyes became less and less prevalent every time.

Of course, in the meantime, he was dodging his mother’s calls like a shoplifter dodged a mall cop.

Friday night found him sitting in the stuffed chair, his tablet on his lap as he put the finishing touches on the work for Mr. Stewart, while Adam and Finn slept on opposite sides of the couch. Adam had been working his own extra gig on top of his full-time job at the candy store, and Finn had been writing papers all week. Right now Adam had his arms crossed and his face turned into the side of the couch like he was hiding. Finn sprawled, legs on top of Adam’s thighs, head leaning back against the armrest, snoring loudly. Clopper finished the picture by sitting on the ground with his head on the little space of cushion next to Adam’s ass. The dog had been run off his own ass by the levee that afternoon after Adam had gotten off work, and he, too, was asleep.

Rico took a moment from his work to switch his tablet to camera and take a picture. Chuckling, he made it his wallpaper—because hey, who
wouldn’t
get a laugh out of that—and he had just gone back to work when Adam grunted and shifted.

“Mudderfuckinsnowziitkerist,” he muttered. He picked up his phone and squinted at the readout, then turned his head and glared at Rico.

“You been dodging your moms all week?” he asked grouchily.

Rico grimaced. “Yeah, why?”

“Whydoyathink, genius?” Adam hit Connect. “Hi, Aunt Lydia. No, he’s not here. He’s out. I dunno. A Broadway revue? I don’t know if that’s where gay people go. It’s not where
I
go. I go to the fuckin’ baseball game. No, Aunt Lydia, I’m not being a smartass, I’m being a tired ass.”

Finn choked on a snore and flailed around, clocking Clopper on the head and setting the big dog barking.

“Whozat?” he asked when he’d recovered.

Adam grunted. “Rico’s moms.”

“What’s she doing on the phone with
you
?” Finn asked, bristling. Rico didn’t blame him.

“Trying to figure out where Rico is,” Adam answered patiently.

“Well, he’s right—”

Adam tried gamely to stop his mouth with one stockinged foot. Finn dodged neatly, slapped him on the toes, and said, “Never mind, I get it.”

“What was that, Aunt Lydia? No, that wasn’t Rico. Rico’s hiding from you like the bloody coward he is. That was my boyfriend, who would rather cook you all up as barbecue than have you talk to me. Why? Because you were mean to me. Yeah, no. I’m not going to get into what a shitty little kid I was. Here. I’m hanging up now. You want to talk to your kid, maybe don’t be such a fucking bitch and he’ll want to talk to you.”

Adam hit End Call, but as he swung his legs up and around the couch, the phone started buzzing again.

“Rico?” Adam said plaintively, and Rico held out his hands.

Adam threw the phone and he caught it neatly.

“Yeah, I hear ya.” Poor Adam—he’d been dealing with her all week. It was time for Rico to pony up.

“Dude, you don’t even have to talk to her, but find a way to block her number, okay? Man, my moms don’t
have
my number—I don’t know how
your
moms
got it.”

“I gave it to her when you were coming to watch the apartment.” Rico sighed. He’d had some misguided notion that family was family then. The longer he lived in fear of dealing with his family about the Rico he’d discovered in New York versus the Rico he found himself to be here, the more votes he cast to keep Adam as his family and jettison the rest of them.

“Yeah, well—”

“Bed,” Finn demanded, tugging at his hand. “My phone’s set. I need to touch chest or something to make up for your stinky feet.”

Adam grunted. “Yeah, all right.”

They toddled off to bed, Finn dragging Adam by the hand. The cat, who had been lying on the couch, hopped off with a thump and padded after them, but the dog stayed, looking at Rico dolefully.

Rico sighed and moved to the couch, and the dog moved his chin from the couch cushion to Rico’s lap and fell back asleep.

Adam’s phone continued to buzz angrily, and finally, on the third round, Rico picked it up.

“Yeah,
Mami
, I’m here.”

The injured silence on the other end spoke volumes.

“You couldn’t talk to me? You had to let me talk to your…
cousin
instead?”

“You know, the fact that you are that evil toward
him
could be one of the reasons
I
don’t want to talk to you, do you understand that?”

“He’s a bad boy, Rico—he’s always been a bad boy. Your grandma says he’s the one who made you gay, and I think you need to ask him to leave.”

Rico grunted. God, it felt like his whole life he’d been avoiding this conversation. Well, maybe it would be like a really painful bowel movement. Once it was over, he’d feel better and he could flush the stink away. Finn seemed to be the master of this philosophy—maybe Rico could ask him first.

Or maybe Rico could man up and take his own karmic dump.

Yeah, probably that last one.

“
Mami
,
when I was nine, Adam was hiding under the bed one day, and I snuck him some lunch. He ate it there, under the bed, and I snuck back into the kitchen for cookies. On my way back, I saw Abuela watching soap operas. I saw the girls in their pretty dresses, and then a boy…. He was tan, and he had blue eyes, and I thought he was so beautiful. I made a noise, and Abuela turned around and said, ‘Eh, Rico, the girls are pretty, no?’ and I said, ‘The boys are way prettier.’”

His mother’s breath caught. She might have remembered that day, but not why.

“Abuela spanked me until I couldn’t sit down and then told you that Adam made me say something bad. You thought it was a bad word, but all I did was tell the truth—that the boys were prettier. It wasn’t Adam. I didn’t know about Adam until Easter, same as you did, because he was so afraid he didn’t tell any of us. But me, I knew about. I had all these girls in high school and college and I didn’t love any of them. After college I grew up, because that wasn’t nice, you know? To use people because you couldn’t be honest with yourself. So I had
nobody
. I had
nobody
after school. I didn’t have anybody until I went to New York. And it didn’t work out. But I can’t do that anymore. I can’t go back to having nobody or the wrong body. So you tell Abuela she’s a real bitch, and both Adam and I think so. Tell her that Adam’s a better person than she could ever be.

“And then you decide if you want me to be your son, okay?”

He hit End Call and sat still for a moment, breathing hard, while Clopper methodically licked his knee. He’d come out. To his mother. For real. There could be no misunderstanding now, no going back and saying it was a joke because he was mad. What he’d just said? That was irrevocable. A part of him wanted to jump up and down and wield the cell phone in unholy triumph.

Most of him was just sort of shell-shocked.

He’d been dreading that moment his entire life, and now he’d done it. And… oh God. His mother would tell his father and….

And so what?

How often did his father talk to him anyway?

But that didn’t stop his hands from shaking in Clopper’s fur, and Clopper turned his big broad tongue to Rico’s palms. Heartened in spite of himself, Rico started to fondle the silver-gray ears, thinking about the ungainly mixed-breed puppy he’d rescued three years earlier.

Something about that dog… he’d been found in a puppy mill, one of the few surviving animals after a parvo outbreak, and he’d just been so ready to be loved.

Rico had loved him unconditionally, and Clopper returned the favor. For some reason the dog reminded Rico of someone, but Rico had never been able to figure out who.

He was just about to get it—almost had it in his mind—when a phone rang again, this time his.

It was Derek.

“This is Rico,” he said, knowing he sounded a little loopy, like he’d been caught sleeping. More like meditating in a quiet room, with only a muted baseball game for company.

“Wow—how
do
you get bedroom voice at eight at night?” Derek marveled.