Page 3 of American Love Story

I heard Nesto call out as I walked into his restaurant. It was 8:00 a.m. on Monday, and he’d run out of the house at 7:00 a.m. so he could be here to receive an order. He’d left Jude, his partner, and me home to take our time before we each headed to work. But he’d forgotten his iPad, which he apparently needed. So I stopped by on my way up to campus to drop it off.

“Did you drive in, P?” Nesto asked, looking a little too amused at my expense. I was not fond of driving and had only bought the black Audi SUV I now owned after much prodding from my friends.

“Yes,” I said with a groan, making Nesto laugh with my very unenthusiastic answer.

“I assume you got my man to work in one piece.” His humorous tone almost, but not quite, masked the fact that he actually wanted to know if I’d safely delivered his lover to work.

“He’s safe and sound at the library.” Nesto grinned, as he always did whenever his boyfriend was the topic of conversation.

“See you’re getting a hang of this driving thing, bro.” He clapped me on the shoulder, still grinning. I slapped his hand away which made him laugh harder.

I’d lived most of my life in New York City and never had a need for a car. It was a big milestone to now be someone who needed to drive everywhere. Only my friend Camilo was sympathetic to my dilemma, but even he told me to face the fact I would need one if I was living in Ithaca. Juan Pablo and Nesto just told me to get over it.

My mom, on the other hand, had been very reluctant about the car purchase. She was usually all for the flex, but me driving a car upstate was not sitting well with her. She kept saying it made her nervous. I tried to temper her uneasiness by reminding her that I wasn’t going to be driving in the city and would most likely not get into a head-on collision with a yellow cab going eighty on the wrong side of a one-way street, as one would on any given day in Manhattan.

She acquiesced, begging me to be careful, but still not fully at ease. I usually joked around with her whenever she got overprotective—I was her only child and sometimes that meant she was a bit more in my business than necessary. But this time I didn’t push, because I knew what she worried about was not me getting into a fender bender. She worried about what the mother of every black man who got behind a wheel of a car in this country worried about.

Hell, I worried about it, too, and it pissed me off, because I refused to live in fear. But I wasn’t delusional either so I still spent the night before I picked up my car watching YouTube videos on what to do if you got stopped by the police. I also made sure I kept my license and registration on the visor above the driver’s seat where it was fully visible and easy to get. I hated having to do that, and how paranoid it made me feel, but I wasn’t a fool. I was pretty good at avoiding things I didn’t want to deal with, but some things you ignored at your own peril.

“Dude, you look mad emo right now.” Nesto’s reproachful tone finally pulled me out of my fretting. “I’ve been standing here for five minutes waiting for you to talk. The fuck, Patrice?”

I rubbed a hand over my face, a little embarrassed. “Sorry. Just got distracted. Jude needs one of us to drive him back home.” Nesto’s face lit again.

“Good, he’s been on a carpool kick lately. He’s been taking the bus, trying to be more mindful of the environment.”

Jude had changed Nesto in so many ways. He and I had always been the intense ones in our foursome. Nesto, Camilo, Juanpa, and me.

Like me, Nesto had never made time for romance or indulged in situations that could end up messy. He’d taken huge chances when he’d left the city to come here. Put it all on the line with his businessandhis heart, but it had paid off. Here he was, living with the man he loved, his whole life on a different track.

I wanted to talk with Nesto about seeing Easton. I knew I needed some advice but still couldn’t make myself open my mouth. Why was it so hard for me to talk about this stuff? Nesto was like my brother; we’d seen each other through everything.

Why couldn’t I open up to him about this?

Before I talked myself out of it, I did it. “I ran into Easton last night.” As soon as I mentioned it, an image of how he’d looked filled my head. He’d just been in jeans, a sweater, and sandals, but as always, it all looked like it was tailor-made for his lean body. The only little bit of imperfection had been his adorably ruffled hair. His dark brown, almost black, hair was usually perfectly styled, but last night it had been messy, which only made him that much more appealing to me. Those green eyes flashing with want. But also surprise and apprehension. Like he’d expected me to be an ass to him.

I knew I’d run into him eventually. This was a small town and we knew a lot of the same people. And no matter how manytimes I told myself I was here because no one could say no to a tenure track position at an Ivy League school, I couldn’t lie to myself. The fact that Easton lived herehadbeen on my mind in a big way while I was deciding to take this job.

He was so fucking fine and seeing him last night had been sobering. Everything inside me seemed to realign when I was around him. Easton made me feel like I was the center of the universe, like I could be however I wanted and he’d be into it.

Being myself in front of people I didn’t know was not easy for me. Even with my friends, I was closed off and guarded at times. I was always on the lookout for what was going on around me, mindful of the space I was taking up. Aware of all the different ways people were looking at me. How I was coming off, and the assumptions people were making about me.

A black man had to always think about the space he was in.

Most of the time, it seemed like people were looking right through me. Not Easton.

He looked at me like my friends and my mother looked at me. Like he could seeallof me. The me on the outside and the me on the inside, and that fucking scared me. There was too much I didn’t want seen so clearly. That the Zen thing I tried to go for—the slow movements and the soft voice—were just my way of keeping the almost overpowering frustration I constantly felt from spilling out.

Easton was so lighthearted, like he’d never known pain. The guy’s job was to prosecute SVU cases. I knew he saw heinous shit day in and day out, and yet his face was always as open as a blue sky. No hurt, no bitterness. Such certainty everything would be all right. That if you fought the good fight, you’d take the day. Like he could show what he felt and didn’t fear anyone would come back later and use it against him.

I didn’t know what to do with that.

Me, I was painfully aware of what it took for me to get the job I had. What I’d had to do, ignore, let go of, overlook, or just bury down until it burned out in my gut. I could work ten times as hard as anyone else, get as far ahead as possible, and the feeling like it could all be taken away was ever present.

That was something I never seemed to shake off. Closeness was not something I could do easily. I’d practically given up on getting it from anyone other than my best friends and the family members who continued to speak to me after I came out.

That was until last summer and Easton. As soon as I set eyes on him walking toward Nesto’s truck, those impish green eyes and that perfect smile lured me in. I was still trying to let go. With Easton, it was like my heart and my body were working together to override my entire approach to life.

Nesto just shook his head like I confused the fuck out of him. “So?” he said, circling a hand in the air to get me to come out with whatever I was not saying. “How’s he?”