Outsider (31 page)

“Oh
really? Only a faggot would drive a blue Bug.”

“Long
time no see,” Ethan said, trying not to let his brother’s vulgarity bother him.
Carlos still had the round face of his youth, though the soul patch beneath his
lower lip was new. As was the bandana fashioned from a golden kerchief. The
color immediately set off alarm bells in the cop lobe of Ethan’s brain. Had his
brother joined a gang? Carlos seemed uncommonly interested in their mother’s
safety, and if his stupidity had put Mamá at risk, it wasn’t gainfully employed
law enforcement officers Carlos needed to worry about. It was his older
brother.

“
¡Qué
onda, güey!
” Carlos nudged Mamá aside so he could enter the house, wrap
Ethan in a loose hug, and pound him enthusiastically on the back. Ethan pounded
right back. “When did you get here?”

“Less
than an hour ago.”

“You’re
driving a Bug? Around here, lesser crimes than that will get a dude shot.”

“It’s
a rental.”

“That
doesn’t make me feel any better about it.”

“Come,”
Mamá said. “I’ll feed you both while you catch up.”

“Where’s
Juan?” Ethan asked, trailing after his brother and looking for additional signs
of gang affiliation. Carlos was wearing a black tank top, but had no depictions
of crowns or any tell-tale lettering. Ethan didn’t see any beads in black and
gold or gang tattoos, and Carlos didn’t have lines shaved into his eyebrows. So
maybe he wasn’t gang affiliated. Ethan prayed his suspicions were wrong. One
golden bandana didn’t mean he was a killer, did it?

“Juan’s
down in Laredo. He’s got a woman there,” Carlos said, slumping into a chair at
the kitchen table.

“A
woman he never brings to meet his mamá,” Mamá said, rolling tortillas from the masa
she’d allowed to rest.

“It’s
complicated,” Carlos said and grinned, rubbing his nose with the back of his
hand.

“Why
didn’t you bring Reagan, Ethan?” Mamá asked.

“She’s
on tour for another two weeks,” Ethan said.

“You
still haven’t told Mamá that you two broke up?” Carlos asked. Ethan kicked his
brother’s shin beneath the table, and Carlos cringed before kicking Ethan back.

Mamá
spun to glare at her eldest. “What? Why didn’t you tell me this?”

Ethan
raised both hands in surrender. “We’re back together.”

“I
thought she was banging that pretty rockstar guy now.” Carlos leaned in close
and whispered so that Mamá wouldn’t overhear. “And just banging you on the
side.”

Carlos
had seen the tabloid? Shit.

“It’s
complicated,” Ethan said. Hey, if that kind of vague excuse worked for Juan,
surely it would work for him as well.

“Reagan
has a new man?” Mamá asked, her brow knotted with concern.

Yes
and no. Ugh. Why did Carlos have to show up before he explained his situation to
his mother? He’d wanted to gauge her reaction to the news before he considered
revealing anything to the rest of the family. He never doubted that his mother
would always love him unconditionally; he wasn’t so sure his brothers would be
able to stomach the news. And his stepfather? Yeah, he’d probably never be
welcomed back into this house again, but if it came to that, Trey and Reagan
were worth that sacrifice to him, even though the mere thought of being
estranged from his family twisted his heart.

“If
you ask me,” Carlos said—though no one had—“her new guy is a queer and just
using Reagan to hide his perversion. Have you seen him? He’s prettier than ninety
percent of the women I know. Am I right?”

“Don’t
use that word,” Ethan said.

“What?
Perversion?”

“Queer.”

“Do
you prefer fag? Or maybe the more formal faggot?”

Ethan’s
body tensed, as did his fist. “I prefer Trey. You know, his name.”

“So
you actually know that
culero
?” Carlos asked, his eyebrows raised so
high they disappeared completely beneath his bandana.

“Yeah,
we’re close. Don’t rely on what the tabloids say for information about my life
or Reagan’s or anyone’s for that matter.”

“What
tabloid?” Mamá asked.

Fuck.
He’d assumed that if Carlos had seen it, then Mamá had as well. Ethan’s well
thought out plan to break the news to his family wasn’t going the way he’d
envisioned at all.

“It’s
nothing, Mamá,” Carlos said. “Don’t worry about it. It’s mostly about Reagan
anyway.”

“Reagan’s
in the paper? Where can I see this?”

“She
wouldn’t want you to see it,” Ethan said. “The things they said about her hurt
her badly.”

“And
why do you not do something about this?” Mamá had taken on her
you’re-about-to-get-an-ass-whopping-from-a-tiny-Mexican tone. “Your duty is to
protect her.”

She
was right. As her boyfriend and her bodyguard, he was duty-bound to protect
Reagan. But how did he fight public opinion? Perhaps now was a good time to
change the subject.

“So
what’s with the bandana?” Ethan asked Carlos. “Are you tangled up with the
wrong crowd?”

Carlos
pulled the bandana off his head and stuffed it into the pocket of his jeans,
leaving his black hair in complete disarray. “No. Just fashion.”

“If
the wrong people see you wearing that
fashion
—”

“This
is bad, no?” Mamá asked. “Not a safe color to wear. I tell him this.”

“No
one bothers me when I wear it,” Carlos said.

Ethan
stared Carlos down, but he didn’t flinch. He knew when his younger brother was
lying—when they were kids, Ethan had usually been a part of those lies—and
Carlos wasn’t lying. Not about this. “So you wear it for
protection
?”
That was hard for Ethan to comprehend.

Carlos
looked away and nodded curtly.

“It
might get you arrested,” Ethan said. “Or if the Latin Kings know you’re
misrepresenting their colors, you’ll face far worse than incarceration.”

“Then
you need to talk Mamá into leaving this terrible neighborhood. It isn’t safe
here. Especially since Pap
á
left her.”

Ethan’s
jaw dropped. “What?” His mother had said Pap
á
was working late, but she’d made it sound like he was coming home soon.

The
litany of Spanish and Spanglish swear words his mother produced as she slapped
at Carlos with her spatula made Ethan’s face burn. In all his twenty-nine
years, he’d never heard her cuss.

“Don’t
you think he would have figured it out eventually?” Carlos asked, shrinking
into his chair but not attempting to defend himself.

At
the smell of burning tortilla, Mamá whirled back to the stove. “Don will come
back.” She tossed the burnt tortilla into the trash and laid a raw one in the
skillet. “He always does.”

“He’s
not coming back, Mamá.”

“But
he must!”

Ethan
exchanged a worried glance with Carlos before rising to his feet. He stood
behind his mother at the stove and gently took her upper arms in his hands.
“Why didn’t you tell me?”

“Why
didn’t you tell
me
that you and Reagan are over?”

“We’re
not over,” Ethan said gently. “We got back together.”

“So
will I and my Don.” She straightened her spine and flipped the tortilla, her
attention focused so sharply on the pan in front of her that Ethan was
surprised her razor-like gaze didn’t cleave the iron in two. “I will wait.”

“Mamá,
he found some woman in San Marcos,” Carlos said. “He’s not coming back.”

“No,”
she said firmly. “I do not accept this. He must.”

“What
about the restaurant?” Ethan asked. His parents had been partners since the
restaurant had opened almost twenty-five years ago.

“Dad
ran it into the ground buying expensive stuff for his little
puta
,”
Carlos said.

Mamá
dropped her head as if ashamed. “We had to sell.”

“So
he could buy the puta a ring,” Carlos muttered under his breath.

“What?
Why am I the last to know any of this?” Ethan yelled.

“You’re
the one who left town. It’s not like you could have done anything to prevent
it.”

“Pap
á
’s
coming back,” Mamá said. “After his midwife crisis.”

“Midlife
crisis,” Ethan corrected automatically.

“Things
will get better,” she said. “Once he figures out I’m best.”

“You
can’t stay here just waiting for him to come back,” Carlos said. “It’s not safe
for a woman to live in this neighborhood by herself.”

“I’m
not afraid,” she insisted.

“How
would you like to visit California for a couple of weeks?” Ethan said. “Just
until Pap
á
gets his head out of his a—I mean,
remembers how much he loves you.” Ethan wondered if the old man might need a
bit of reminding.

“I
will wait for him
here
. This is my home.”

Ethan
glanced at Carlos, who was rubbing his face with both palms. He had the feeling
that Carlos and his mother had had this same conversation more than once.

“I
wouldn’t ask you to leave your home forever,” Ethan said, his promise punctuated
by the wail of passing sirens. “Just come for a short visit. You can fatten me
up while Reagan’s away on tour.”

“You
are skinny,” she said, setting the last tortilla on the stack next to the
stove.

“He
doesn’t have an ounce of fat on him,” Carlos said.

Ethan
worked very hard at the gym to make that a reality. Exodus End’s personal
trainer Kirk made sure of it.

“You
could stay here with me instead, Ethan,” Mamá said. “Until Don comes home. He
should miss me soon.”

“Maybe
you going away and
not
waiting for him would bring him to his senses,”
Carlos said.

She
shifted out of Ethan’s light hold and went to the refrigerator to pull out
toppings for their tortillas. She reheated seasoned pork, rice, and refried
beans. Ethan helped her by chopping tomatoes, jalapeños, onions and fresh
cilantro for pico de gallo. He squeezed lime juice into the fresh salsa and
sampled it with a bite of tortilla. A little salt, some pressed garlic and
several more samples later, he declared it finished. Mamá pinched his cheek and
gave him a look of adoration for his efforts.

“I
sent a text to Juan,” Carlos said, still lounging at the dining table. “Didn’t
tell him
why
he should visit Mamá’s house ASAP, but he should be here
soon.”

“I
thought he was in Mexico,” Ethan said.

Carlos’s
gaze flicked to Mamá’s back before he said, “He finished his business early.”
He made a circle with his index finger and thumb and thrust a finger of his
opposite hand in and out of the hole.

“He
should find good Catholic girl to marry instead of buying cow for free,” Mamá
said, never missing a beat. The woman had raised seven sons—she knew a thing or
two about a man’s evening business with his woman. “He moved out after school,
day after high school. He’s still in town for now, but with his woman living
far away, is only a matter of time before I never see him either. All my sons
leave me.”

“Wait,”
Ethan said. “Why didn’t anyone tell me Juan moved out? He’s just a kid.” Hell,
Juan had only graduated from high school a little over a month earlier. Ethan’s
other four brothers were spread out over the country due to job or school
commitments, but Carlos had stayed close to home, and Ethan had just assumed Juan
was still living there. Poor Mamá. She really was alone.

“You
moved out right after high school,” she pointed out.

Well,
yeah. Seven boys ranging from the ages of nine to nineteen sharing two bedrooms
had been tight quarters, even worse than living with five or more grown men on
a tour bus. But Juan was the baby of the family and he’d had a room to himself
all through high school. Mamá needed someone to stay with her now. She’d gone
from living in a house busting at the seams to being entirely alone. No wonder
she wanted grandchildren so badly.

By
the time Juan arrived, they were well into their late meal. Carlos and Mamá
were in a heated discussion about politics. She argued with him in Spanish
since she could better express complex opinions in her native language. Ethan
was happily stuffing his face, wondering if his mother would be as fond of Trey
as she was of Reagan. She loved her sons; surely she had room in her heart for
one more. And as happy as he was to see two of his brothers, he wanted to broach
the subject of his unusual lifestyle with Mamá first and decide later if his
brothers could handle the truth about him. He was still guessing they wouldn’t
be the least bit mature or open-minded about his relationship. If he’d been in
love with two women, he’d have been their hero. But a woman and a man? They’d
consider that a different level of strange. He was sure of it.