Page 72 of Hurricane Love

“What? No,” she said, clearly caught off guard. “But if therims of the glasses touch, they might break. I’ve had that happen before.”

He surveyed the glasses. None of them were touching.

“And if you don’t put the forks pointy side up, the food will stay trapped in them,” she continued, as if making her case.

All of the forks were pointy side up. She gave a few more instructions, all of which Diego knew already from having lived with the woman for a good chunk of his life. But glancing from the neatly stacked dishwasher to his mother fretting nearby, he realized something they both had in common, that need for control. To do everything just right to prevent a bad thing from happening. How many times had Diego relied on his rituals in order to ensure a certain outcome? As a kid and in prison too. The familiar was safe, even if stagnant. It was why being with Wylie had felt so terrifying. Because he couldn’t control what Wylie might say or do, and the fact that he’d up and moved to Gainesville for law school was proof.

But Wylie had remained consistent in his feelings for him the entire time, so maybe Diego was the problem. Too inflexible. Too controlling. Trying to orchestrate their relationship just like that damn dishwasher to make sure nothing broke.

And at what cost?

For sobremesa, they sat on the screened-in back porch and stared at the lawn Diego had mowed the week before. He’d cut back her bougainvillea too, and the shrubs looked a lot better for it. The firebush he’d planted would need to be watered if it didn’t rain again soon, along with the gardenia. God forbid those gardenia flowers start to wilt. He silently catalogued his landscaping duties while his mother sipped a vodka tonic. He had iced tea. Usually there was a chore for him to do or something that needed fixing, but not today. Today, there was just the buzz of cicadas and the strained silence that hung between them.

“How’s your friend? The one with the thing in his mouth?” his mother asked. She hadn’t brought up the topic of Wylie since theirinitial meeting, and Diego hadn’t offered any additional information.

“Wylie. He moved away,” Diego said with a pang of heartache.

“He moved away? To where?” she asked as if the idea were preposterous.

“To Gainesville. He got accepted into law school. Remember?” He’d made sure to tell her about Wylie’s career goals, to distinguish him from his old set of friends.

“Oh,” she said, sounding somewhat surprised. “Well, have you made any new…friends?”

Diego smirked, realizing this might be his mother’s way of asking if he was seeing someone romantically. “No, I’m not interested in anyone else. Think I might take a break fromfriendshipfor a while.”

She glanced over and searched his face, then turned back toward her lush backyard. “Were you two very close?” she asked, trying to sound nonchalant about it. She was making an effort. Diego decided to be honest with her.

“Yeah, I liked him a lot. He’s pretty special. One of a kind.”

“Well, can’t he come back to visit?” she asked, now sounding incensed on his behalf.

“Maybe. I hope so.”

“Seems selfish to become your friend and then just leave you behind.” She gestured with one hand to emphasize her point, the gold bangles on her wrist clinking and chiming. Their family was close knit, and in their culture, when someone left to go to school or start a new job, there was always the implication that they’d come back, that living elsewhere was a temporary necessity and returning home was always the end goal.

“He told me his plan early on, and he wanted to continue ourfriendship. It was me who ended it,” Diego said.

“Well, why’d you do that?” she asked, twisting in her chair to stare at him again.

“I don’t know. Got scared, I guess. Overwhelmed.”

She went back to sipping her drink. His mom had been one-and-done when it came to men. After his father left them, she waited a long time before she got divorced, perhaps hoping they might reconcile. And even since then, she hadn’t dated anyone else, to his knowledge. Part of it had been her Catholic faith that looked down on divorce, but another part was probably her own fear of being hurt again. Maybe because she didn’t trust her own judgement.

“It might still work out,” she said, showing a rare optimism that Diego didn’t know exactly how to interpret.

“Maybe.”

He wondered if Wylie might be thinking about him too, missing him even. He’d seemed pretty low when they’d spoken on the phone last week, but that was probably just homesickness. He’d settle in soon enough and make new friends. And if Wylie needed to scratch the itch, there was no shortage of men in Gainesville. There were apps for that sort of thing now. The thought of Wylie hooking up with someone, somestrangeman, made his stomach turn. Doing those things with someone else? Tormenting and pleasuring them the way he’d done for Diego? Made him sick to his stomach just thinking about it.

“Just so you know, I’m not opposed to having another lawyer in the family,” his mother said.

She was full of surprises tonight. Was this her way of accepting that he was gay and that Wylie was important to him? He felt a rush of warmth and affection toward his mother, hopeful for once. Maybe they could work it out after all.

He laid a hand on her shoulder. “Thanks, Mom. I’ll keep that in mind.”

Diego kepthis phone close to him that night, hoping Wylie might call again, but the later it got, the more disappointed he felt, kicking himself because if he were a real man, he’d just make thecall himself. He was caught in his own trap. He’d set the boundary asjust friends, and now he had to honor it, despite how his heart might feel.

Maybe this was a sign that Wylie had moved on. That was what Diego had wanted, wasn’t it? It was definitely what he’d said. But if he was honest with himself, and he was tryingreallyhard to be, that was a lie. Diego wanted Wylie for himself, to continue what they had started this summer. To have more adventures together and take care of each other. Feed him and fuck him and cuddle him in bed afterward. To enjoy the simple pleasure of a quiet conversation on a rooftop under the stars.