Five Boroughs 01 - Sutphin Boulevard (11 page)

“Facts.” Nunzio straightened and let the cigarette dangle from his mouth while flipping off the burner under the pan. “But speaking of needy bitches…. You dropped your phone in the living room, and it was blowing up all night.”

“If someone was texting me at that time, I’m pretty sure it’s no one I want to talk to.”

“You sure?’Cause it was your boy David,” Nunzio said, his tone light enough to be completely artificial. “I didn’t get a look at the full message, but the notification box started with something a lot like ‘I’m a fucking thirst bucket and want your dick in my mouth.’”

I choked on a mouthful of scalding black coffee. “He was drunk and had no idea what the hell he was saying.”

Nunzio exhaled a cloud of smoke. “He seemed pretty lucid to me. Go see for yourself.”

I stood with a groan and fetched my phone from the living room.

David had indeed texted me multiple times in the wee hours of the morning. He’d begun sending them from the moment I’d left the club and continued on until he’d likely gotten home and passed out. They started out normal, asking where I was and how I was getting home in typical badly typed drunk-text style, but then veered off into how he wished I’d stayed before claiming he should have come home with me.

Shaking my head, I tossed the phone on the table. A potential ego boost was squashed by the reality that David had zero self-control when drinking. The kid was probably at home burning his iPhone in horror.

“This guy can’t have a man the way he acts.”

Nunzio moved the strips of bacon onto a plate covered by a paper towel.

“Why not? Not everyone is as noble as you, Mikey. Lots of guys cheat. David and his man might not even be monogamous.”

“Yeah, right. Do open relationships really work for anyone?”

“It worked for me back when I was with Gio,” Nunzio said, turning to look at me.

“Yeah, until you broke up.”

“But that’s not why we broke up. It was because I was too young to be that steady with someone. Things would have been different if we were together now. I don’t got that frantic need to pound every fine piece of ass I see.”

I raised an eyebrow. Ever since we were kids, Nunzio had had issues with preventing his fingers from undoing his fly at the sight of a big ass and a pair of dick-sucking lips.

“Doesn’t seem that way to me.”

“Just because I do it, doesn’t mean I can’t live without it.”

It was a good point, but the way he was staring directly into my eyes made the comment seem more meaningful than it should have been, and his voice was too even in contrast to the humor I was trying to affect. When the silence stalled and I failed to think of an appropriate response, he shook his head to denounce the topic.

“White bread okay?”

“Sure.”

Nunzio grabbed a loaf of bread and tossed it at me before placing the plate and pan of eggs on the table. He sat in the opposite chair, our legs bunched under the table and knees brushing, while I filled four bread slices with crisp bacon and unloaded the eggs equally into our plates. I had a sudden mental image of us cutting school in ninth grade and making the same breakfast for ourselves because we had both been too broke to get anything from the bodega.

I nudged a plate in his direction, and he nodded at me.

“Grazie.”

“De nada.”

He smiled and stubbed out his cigarette on the windowsill.

I watched him eat without touching my own sandwich and listened to the sounds of Midtown floating in from the sidewalk—honking horns, the random clip-clop of hooves from the horses used for the carriages in Central Park, and a constant hum of voices twined together, indistinguishable but impossible to ignore.

The neighborhood we grew up in had such a different ambiance that it had always felt alien for me to wake up in the middle of Manhattan, even if I had been glad to move out of Queens. Midtown was too crowded, too busy, too expensive, and never slowed down. Lying on my bed with the sound of constant traffic and the steady stream of passing pedestrians hadn’t contended with the memory of stretching out in my sweltering room in Queens while listening to the faint sound of salsa outside, and the ringing bell of the piragua guy.

Nostalgia had a way of putting me in a rotten mood, and now wasn’t an exception. I slumped in my seat and extended my legs until they slid between Nunzio’s. He knocked his knee against mine and jutted his chin at my plate.

“What’s wrong?

“Nothing.”

Nunzio didn’t look convinced, so I picked up my sandwich to appease his concern. I felt his watchfulness even though I didn’t meet his eyes. There were multiple pros and cons of bringing up what had happened between us, but avoiding the conversation weighed heavier on the side of
bad fucking idea
.

“So,” I said, “about last night.”

“What about it?” he asked around a mouthful of bread.

“I was pretty drunk.”

“You wasn’t that drunk.”

“I know, but I wouldn’t have been all over you like that if I’d been sober.”

“Uh-huh.” Nunzio brushed his hands together, raining crumbs on the plate. “So explain to me why you were never all over me when we went out drinking in the past. We used to do it two or three times a week when we were kids.”

“Back then I had never—” I faltered, unsure of where I’d been going with that. “Look, I’d never thought about it back then. It was never an option when we were twenty-two, drunk, and horny. But after that night in July, I knew the situation.”

“You could be a little more specific, Mikey. You knew what situation?”

I combed both hands through my hair, rolling my eyes at the impatience in his voice. “Jesus, Nunzio, you know what I mean. After July, I had a taste, knew it was amazing, and now apparently when I’m drunk and horny, my brain says it’s an option to have some more of the Kool-Aid.”

“All right,” Nunzio said, spreading his hands. “So what’s the problem?”

“There’s no problem.”

“Then why are you making it sound weird?”

I gave him the what-the-hell-are-you-talking-about squint. “Mira, Nunzio, it’s not about weird. I’m not fucking insulting your sexual prowess by saying I was drunk and that’s why I stumbled in here and threw myself on top of you.”

“Okay, but you’re still using the drunk cop-out.”

“It’s not a cop-out. You’re focusing on this minor bullet of information relating to the causes of the event when I’m trying to focus on the effects of the fucking event.”

Nunzio pointed at me, finger brushing the tip of my nose. “Don’t be whipping out that teacher bullshit on me, talking about causes and effects and bullets. We’re not analyzing the fucking Treaty of Versailles. We’re talking about my dick and your mouth.”

Not bothering to swallow the bubble of laughter that eased my tension, I picked up my bacon sandwich.

“Relax, niño. I’m just trying to make sure it’s all good between us, okay? I’m not saying you took advantage of me or trying to pretend it wouldn’t have occurred to me at all while sober. I know I can’t bullshit you. My concern is whether this is going to be something we should worry about.”

Nunzio’s broad shoulders rose in a shrug. “Don’t know. Should we?”

“I just don’t want things to be weird.”

“Do you think things are weird?”

Him responding with questions wasn’t a good sign. It was a diplomatic tactic he used at work on students, coworkers, and even administrators—gauge the other person’s reaction before replying with a lie that would appease them.

“Don’t joke around, Medici. I want to know where we stand. Is there anything we need to discuss, or have we just evolved to the stage in adulthood where we can touch each other’s dicks without anything more complicated hovering in the background?”

“Hovering in the background? First we were in Global and now we’re in English.”

The instinct to mush his head backward until he flipped over in his chair grew stronger.

“There’s no need for us to have deep, meaningful talks, so calm your tits.” Nunzio picked up his fork. “We just got off together. It’s just two dudes touching each other. That’s it. Don’t get nervous.”

“I’m not nervous.”

“Uh-huh.” Nunzio looked down at his plate. “Just go with the flow. We’ll be fine.”

He sounded so confident that I nodded in agreement, but historically, going with the flow had never worked out too well for me.

I
FELT
so prepared for the first day of instruction that I was sure something was bound to go wrong. The abrupt start of the school year had given me unfortunate expectations of being set back for weeks, but things were smooth for the first couple of hours.

I knew a handful of the new tenth graders from tutoring after school the previous year, and they seemed like an all-around good group. They were too quiet, but that didn’t fool me. The first month of school was a honeymoon period before students’ true colors came out, and boundaries were tested after they found their footing with their new teachers.

I delivered my introduction to Global History 10 with my usual straight face and blend of sarcasm and humor, hoping that I was effectively giving off the I’m-nice-but-don’t-fuck-with-me vibe.

When the last handful of lingering students exited the room, I grabbed my clipboard and planner and headed to David’s room for the team’s daily meeting. McCleary required grade teams to have common planning every day during the hour before lunch. Overkill, but I’d adapted to it.

In prior years it had been more like going to hang out with friends. Now that Nunzio was gone and David was running the meetings, I didn’t think it would be the same type of show. Especially since I had no idea what David’s attitude would be now that we were once again in a professional setting. The guy code-switched between drunk and horny in the wee hours to prim and proper in the daylight like a champ.

My phone vibrated as I made it to the corridor leading to the science wing. I slipped it out one-handed; it was Raymond. He had also called earlier that morning, but I’d let it go to voice mail because class had just begun.

I paused midstep, staring down at Raymond’s flashing name, and then up at the clock. I was already a couple of minutes late, but I couldn’t ignore his call for a second time.

Making a beeline for the staff lounge, I unlocked the door and slipped inside before the halls cleared. There were a couple of new teachers sitting at the communal computers, so I ducked into the bathroom and locked myself in before answering the call.

“¿Qué pasó?”

“You gotta come home.”

I sat on the little table that usually held cleaning supplies, and I pictured my father sick and bent over, choking up blood like he’d done after going on a drinking bender a few weeks earlier. My breath caught.

“¿Está malo?”

“No, but shit is about to get real with me and him. I can tell you right goddamn now.”

I exhaled slowly. “Raymond, I don’t have time for this bullshit.”

“I’m just letting you know. He wants to talk shit, but he can’t handle it when I come back at him.”

“What the hell happened?”

“He had some people up in here that didn’t need to be here, and we got into it.”

Great. The last thing I needed, and the thing I had prevented all summer, was Joseph bringing his trifling-ass friends to the house. One of the conditions of our father moving in without me putting up much resistance was that he would not have repeat performances of the not-so-fond days of yesteryear, when he’d turned the house into a spot for his friends while Raymond and I had been at school and our mother had been at work.

My temper flared at the thought of returning home to the place reeking of beer and humid with the sweat of half-a-dozen winos.

“Are they gone?”

“Yeah, they’re gone, but he don’t know when to shut the fuck up.”

I could hear my father rampaging in the background; a steady stream of cursing with the occasional punctuation of “ten cuidao pendejo.” The pitch of Joseph’s voice activated muscle memory that had me flinching and hunching forward. Suddenly I was ten years old again and expecting a blow.

The reaction was so unexpected that Raymond’s rant faded to the background while I tried to ease the feeling of dread forming in my stomach. I pushed through the curtain of anxiety, tuning in again. Raymond was exchanging rapid-fire retorts with Joseph in Spanish.

“Okay, okay. Calm down. You’re making things worse.”

“I don’t give a fuck about things being worse,” Raymond’s voice boomed in my ear. “I want him gone.”

I could picture Raymond so clearly—dark eyes flashing and face transformed into a mask of fury, ready to destroy something or someone. My brother had never been a big troublemaker, but growing up in a house humming with constant tension had put him on edge and always ready for a fight.

“Look, put him on the phone.”

“No.”

“Well then why are you calling me? Just to rant that he and his bum-ass friends were in the backyard playing dominoes and drinking beer at nine in the morning? If that’s the case, I don’t give a damn, Raymond.”

“I’m just letting you know the situation. I’m not a fucking moron.”

“Then how does bugging me at work solve your issue?” I said. “I have a life. I’m at my goddamned job. I can’t play babysitter for you and him anymore. If you fight a fifty-five-year-old man and get locked up, don’t expect me to bail your stupid ass out. You can stay in Rikers. At least then you’ll have an excuse for being unemployed. I’m tired of him, and I’m tired of you. I’m tired of all this fucking bullshit! I should have left months ago.”

My voice rose with each word, but by the time my rant was finished, I was more weary than enraged.

The other end of the line filled with raspy, hitched breaths. I winced.

“Ray—”

He hung up before I could say anything more, and I knew I had just set him off worse than he’d been before we’d talked. The phone call had ripped the scab off all the problems that had been festering below the surface.

Despite my aggravation, I wanted to get home and calm the situation, and apologize to Raymond for being a dick. I didn’t care about grade team meetings, David, or anything else to do with McCleary. But I couldn’t walk out. Not on the first day. Not with administration already watching me.