Page 19 of American Sweethearts
“Well, today was particularly shittastic. We’ll never have to wait too long for a fucked up take as long as that guy from probation keeps coming to these meetings.”
I sighed and kept walking, out of our weekly multi-disciplinary team meeting, and turned to my friend Bri.
“I appreciate you and your patience, Bri.”
He gave me a rueful look and rolled his eyes in the direction of the conference room we’d just exited. “Well, it’s all for the children.” He delivered that deadpan, because that’s the BS that the problematic people in our team usually lead with whenever they were about to say something dumb.
The meetingswereuseful and I appreciated being in the loop about the cases we worked on, which all involved children who had been abused, so a team approach was great. But my tolerance for bullshit seemed to be at an all-time low. Only the fact that Bri and the two ADAs we worked with were there to hold it down, kept me from snatching one or two of the usual assholes in that meeting. Thankfully they usually intervened, so I didn’t have to be the one to constantly point out shit like “I’m not sure what they do in Peru about child abuse, Ted, because I was born here and my parents are Dominican.” Or “Latinx people don’t all live in the same country, Karen.”
Bri looked at his watch and angled his head in the direction of the Child Advocacy Center’s exit. “Reyes’s mom sent me lunch. You want to walk over with me? I know there’s enough for five people.”
I smiled at that and nodded, as I patted my jacket looking for where I’d put my phone. “Sure. I can use some Dominican arroz con habichuelas. Leave it to you to score the one Dominican dude in the Tri-State area willing to bring you his mom’s cooking to work.”
Bri’s angelic face reddened. He had two small black gauges in his ears which really stood out in contrast to his slender and pale neck. He was small, about three inches shorter than me, but he was very strong. His forearms corded with muscle. He always wore slacks and sweaters with leather vans. He was pretty, and he took meticulous care of himself. He said it was a ritual that felt almost sacred for him after his transition. To be able to dress and groom himself. To look on the outside how he always knew himself to be on the inside.
“You look good, Bri. Are those the ones Reyes did for Vans?” I pointed at the burgundy leather slip-ons with soles that had the Pride colors on top. The left shoe had the words “We Are” and the right had “Orgullo” the word forPridein Spanish.
Bri’s man, Reyes, was a renowned Dominican pop-culture graphic artist and lately was working on some pretty big projects.
Bri blushed again and nodded. “Yeah, they’re not supposed to come out until April, for Pride next year, but I got some early ones.”
I winked at how happy he looked. “You got the connect. He better get me a pair.”
He laughed. “Of course, I told him already.”
I threw an arm around him, a smile on my own lips. Seeing Bri’s glow whenever he talked about his boyfriend wasinfectious. “That’s why you’re my favorite, and why that man of yours is a keeper.”
Bri’s blue eyes sparkled at the mention of his partner. Like they always did. Bri was from the Midwest, Wisconsin, but he’d come to New York for college and stayed. Once he decided to transition, things with his family became strained, but they’d eventually come around. He was amazing and doing so much for trans youth Uptown, together with his man, who was the most woke Dominican cis dude I had ever met, and my bar was high. When Bri and I met through work when I’d started here a year ago, we made fast friends.
He’d also gotten an earful when I got back from the DR and had to tell someone about what had gone down between J and me.
As we walked out of the center and headed the few blocks to his boyfriend’s studio, I remembered to check the messages on my phone. As soon as I saw the missed call and voicemail from Juan Pablo, my heart pounded against my chest.
How the hell could he still do that after all this time? Just seeing his name on my screen sent my heart into a gallop in my chest. I’d been thinking nonstop about him reading my blog and listening to my podcasts. About the way he got the essence of what I was doing, because he knew, he got me. And I was avoiding what all that meant at all costs.
Other than Bri, Easton, and Camilo, I hadn’t really told anyone about this new venture. How happy it made me to write and share my thoughts on sexuality, desire, and my own journey in all that. A journey that, in large part, Juan Pablo had been along for the ride.
“You’re pensive today.”
Bri’s curious voice brought me out of the swirl in my head. He was looking at my phone which I was now clutching tightly. “Bad news?”
I shook my head once and then sighed. “It’s Juan Pablo.”
“Oh?” Bri knew me enough to know that with J, nothing was ever simple for me. Not because he was making it complicated these days, but more because my feelings for him never seemed to get less confusing, or consuming.
“I don’t know what he’s calling about. I haven’t talked to him since I got back.”
Bri raised an eyebrow in question; he was well aware the lines of communication had been severed on my end. Thankfully, we were almost to Reyes’s studio and that bought me some time to digest why I was making such a big deal out of a voicemail. When we arrived, I held my phone up and waved Bri off. “Let me listen to the message, I’ll catch up with you in a minute.”
As soon as Bri was in the store, I tapped on my phone and pressed it to my ear. J’s voice as always made my guts go liquid, and as I listened, I felt a mix of feelings I wasn’t sure how to untangle.
I knew his mother had probably asked him to call me. I knew Irene’s agenda and it involved me shacked up with her son after a white wedding.
There was no nefariousness to his message. I could be polite. This was family business, and J and I had never let our mess interfere with that. So I texted him back.
Priscilla: So your mom’s got you calling people for an RSVP?
After a few seconds the three dots appeared and a response came shortly after.
