Priscilla: She gave you the toughest case then.
Juan Pablo: Always, but she knows I like a challenge.
I didn’t have to wonder, I knew what this was.
We were flirting, and for the first time in days I felt something loosen in me. Felt the tightness around my mouth and in my shoulders ease just a little bit. It had taken eight words from Juan Pablo. I could come up with a thousand reasons not to do this. To steer very clear of playing a game with J that would end up with my heart torn out of my chest. But right now, I didn’t want to let go of this easy, light feeling I had.
Priscilla: I know you do, but yeah, I’ll be there.
I saw the three dots pop up and disappear a few times, until a bubble with a message finally appeared.
Juan Pablo: See you then, Pris. Take care of yourself all right?
I was unreasonably annoyed at the disappointment I felt when that was all he had to say. I should’ve left it alone. I should have walked into the store and had Dominican lunch with Bri and Reyes. Juan Pablo was abiding by the boundaries I’d set and I should do the same. Instead I’d stepped right onto the Road to Perdition and sprinted.
Priscilla: Okay. Looking forward to seeing you, J.
I closed the message app before the three dots on the screen could turn into a message from Juan Pablo and pushed the door open to the store, where I found Bri doing what could only be called canoodling with Reyes.
“Dimelo,” I said, as I walked up to Reyes for an air kiss hello.
I looked around the store, the prints on the wall and the racks with t-shirts and sweatshirts all original designs. Reyes as always was wearing some of his merch. He was a big guy, but kind of precious. The very definition of a bear. He was fucking gone for Bri, and I really loved him for it.
“What’s good, Pris? Are you two staying out of trouble?” He said that as he tightened his arms around Bri, who was leaning against him.
“We try.” I pointed at Bri’s shoes. “That hustle is really bearing fruit, huh.”
Reyes, gave a lopsided smile as he looked down at Bri, a besotted expression on his face. “I can’t complain. The sweatshirts and hats with the design you wanted are in.” He pointed in the direction of a rack of black sweaters. I’d asked Reyes for them after seeing him post about them on Instagram right after I’d gotten back from the wedding. My heart sped up remembering who I’d wanted the sweatshirt for.
Juan Pablo. It was a simple design but it had El Bronx emblazoned in a heavy gothic-looking white font in the center. I picked one off the rack smiling. Repping the Bronx was basically J’s brand. It occurred to me that he and Reyes would have a lot to talk about if they ever met. I found myself thinking I’d like to see that. I waited for the self-recrimination that usually came with ideas about Juan Pablo, but in the end I didn’t have the energy for any of it. I wanted to give him the sweater. See his gorgeous smile as he read what it said.
Just to make it less reckless I grabbed a fitted hat that said Uptown for J’s dad. A solid birthday present. I placed them both on the counter as Reyes and Bri observed me.
“Your mood has shifted. Shall I take a guess?” That was Bri.
I lifted a shoulder and tried not to give too much away, because honestly I wasn’t too sure what I was doing anyway.
“Same old. Same old.”
I left it at that and averted my gaze from Bri’s knowing eyes. Because that piece was a lie. Nothing about this felt like the same old thing. Juan Pablo felt new in ways which made me feel like there was something worth exploring there, even if just until I figured myself out.
Chapter Nine
Juan Pablo
You know when in a book someone says something mad extra like, “I could feel when she walked into the room”? I’m here to tell you, it’s not all bullshit. Because I swear I could sense Priscilla coming into the crowded room where we were hosting my dad’s party. Before I even heard her the hair on my arms stood up and the back of my neck prickled, like my entire body was picking up her vibrations.
She hadn’t arrived in time for the actual surprise, but both her parents were there and had assured me she’d just gone home to change after work and was not far behind. It didn’t even faze me that they acted like she and I were still a thing since my parents were the same exact way.
“Look who’s here!” That was my dad. When I turned I saw her walking in wearing a short parka and jeans so tight I had to swallow hard to keep my tongue in my mouth.
It was like my field of vision honed in on her and nothing else. She smiled wide at my dad as she unzipped her jacked to reveal a tight bloodred sweater. She had her big gold hoops in her ears and tall brown boots on. Her hair was pulled back tight in a fluffy long ponytail that bopped along as she walked.
She looked just like the girl I’d fallen hard for at sixteen and who had been my first everything. I wondered if we’d ever be able to be around each other without me feeling like she was the only person in the room. Even when I could barely stand to be around her, I could never keep my attention off Priscilla for long.
She stopped to give a hug to her parents who I knew were staying with her and then started looking around for someone, I assumed my father.
“Rafa! Happy Birthday!” My father engulfed her in a hug as he winked at me over her shoulder. When he pulled back he was grinning. “Querida, so glad you could make it.
“You arrived just in time,” my father said approvingly, with an arm around her shoulder, and a finger pointed in my direction. “This one’s arguing with me again about the Yankees bullpen.”
She laughed and shook her head at me. “You starting arguments with the man on his birthday, Juan Pablo?” She turned to where I was standing next to one of my sisters and winked. It was sad that I felt my face heat just from her saying my name. But by this point we were all under her spell. She looked down and pointed at my father’s shoes with a big smile on her face. “Are those Gucci loafers? Are you letting J take you shopping?”
That got a laugh from Patrice and Easton, who had come to New York for the weekend so they could be at the party.
My dad beamed as he gave her another hug. “You know I would never let that boy convince me to spend so much money on shoes. This was my birthday present.”
Pris grinned at me as my dad rolled his eyes, then pulled something out of the shopping bag she had in one of her hands. “This is for you.”
It was a black fitted, with Uptown embroidered in white. When my dad saw it he literally beamed and immediately put it on.
“Damn, Papi, that’s tight,” I said, a little jealous.
“I love it. Thanks, mija.” Something straight up squeezed my insides whenever I heard my dad call Pris mija. She of course, waved him off, like getting him a perfect gift was no big deal. Soon my dad was launching on the one thing he never ever forgot to ask her.
“How’s it going, detective. Have the good people of the 34th precinct wised up and made you lieutenant yet?”
Her smile fell for a second at the mention of her job, but she regrouped fast. “Not yet. But I’m giving them plenty of reasons to.” There was a hollowness there that I would’ve noticed even if she hadn’t clued me in about how things were going. My father didn’t miss it either, his face getting serious at her answer.
She pulled back from him without a word and came over to kiss me on the cheek. I refrained from putting my hands on her, unsure that I’d be able to pull apart if I did.
“Pris. How’s you?” She kissed my cheek and then ran a thumb over the spot where I presumed some lipstick had rubbed off, while I tried my best not to shiver or, worse, growl like a caveman.
“I’m good. Sorry I didn’t make it for the surprise,” she said, looking regretful. “Things ran late.” Her face looked somber at whatever she was remembering.
I waved a hand as she moved to kiss my sister Sylvia o
n the cheek. “I know how it is. You’re looking fresh. I like that sweater.” I tried hard not to smack my lips as I ran my eyes over her without pausing on the deep plunge of her neckline for too long. I did run my tongue over my bottom lip, because I wasn’t made of stone.
My sister snorted from somewhere on my left as I tried to focus on anything that wasn’t Priscilla’s cleavage, or her neck, or mouth. I found a spot where her baby hairs were curling up and tried to remember what the hell I’d been saying. But before I could, she lifted the same bag she’d pulled the hat from and handed it to me.
I took it, a bit surprised, and before I had a chance to ask who it was for, she said in a surprisingly shy voice. “My friend Bri’s man is an artist and does all these dope designs on hats and sweatshirts.” She lifted a shoulder and gave me a helpless smile. “I thought you’d like this one.”
“Oh?” She rolled her eyes at my response and moved around to hang her jacket on one of the pegs on the wall behind me.
I opened the bag and peeked in like she’d told me it had a rattlesnake in it. I wasn’t sure what to think, because this gesture was very far removed from the ghosting and icing out that I’d been getting from her. This was sweet, and that was not what we’d been doing. Not for a long time.
Sylvia shoved my shoulder softly as I stood there like a statue. “I want to see it.”
“Fine, chill, Syl.” The sweater I pulled out was black like my dad’s hat, but the words at the center were El Bronx.
“That’s certainly on brand for you.” My sister sounded impressed, which wasn’t exactly new. She, like the rest of my family, caped for Priscilla 24/7.
Priscilla was still squirming, but I bent down to kiss her on the cheek. “I love it.”
Her neck was red and she looked pleased with herself. But I also knew pushing her on why she bought me a present would get me nowhere. Not in front of all these people. “I thought you’d like it.” There was a whole lot happening between the shy looks she was giving me and the roiling in my gut that told me something was shifting between us. But in the end, I took her lead and gave her a nod, another thank you and let it go for a time when we didn’t have all of our family and friends watching.
So I moved to the easier and familiar. “You want to go get some food and drink? Ma made the lasagna and there’s mofongo too.”
She grinned at that. “I love the Italian slash Boricua flavors of your family’s parties. Is your mom still using sofrito for the lasagna meat?”
I barked out a laugh and looked at my grandpa, who was shoveling in some tostones. “Much to Nonno’s horror.”
I didn’t want to scare her off by making a thing out of her bringing me a gift, but I was feeling too warm inside to not at least say a proper thank you. Or at least a proper thank you for us. I bumped her shoulder as she scooped a piece of lasagna from one of the pans on the buffet table. “I really do love my sweater.”
She focused a little harder than necessary on getting some salad and maduros on her plate before lifting up her eyes at me. Our gazes locked and held for a moment, before she said anything in response. I expected her to say something flippant, like “don’t let it go to your head.” From the way her chest puffed up and then slowly deflated I guessed I wasn’t too far off. But as she considered our surroundings and then made her way to two empty chairs in a hidden corner I let her come up with a way to respond.
Once we were seated she stabbed a piece of the yellow and brown sweet plantains on her plate and took a bite. She closed her eyes as she chewed and when she swallowed she finally looked at me. “I saw it and thought you’d like it, so I got it.”
Period.
I knew enough to not push for more or try to get any ulterior motives out of her.
“I’m glad you made it tonight.”
She took a couple more bites of food before answering. “No matter where things are with us, Rafa’s family.”
I wanted to tell her to enlighten me as to where exactly things were with us. Because I had no idea. We’d gone from barely speaking to a hot as fuck night at the beach to me getting ghosted, and now she was here...with gifts.
My head was spinning a little bit, but I was going to put a positive spin on this thing and keep the lines of communication open. If we were talking, then at least there was a chance for something—what, I didn’t know anymore. But I could not deny sitting here with her eating a plate of food my mom and I cooked surrounded by the people we’d known our whole lives, felt pretty perfect.
What she said next had me almost pumping my fist in the air. “Were you serious about my podcast? Do you really think the workshop could work?”
I schooled my expression when I noticed this was far from a casual question. Priscilla was putting her heart out right now. “When have I ever lied to you, Priscilla Gutierrez?”
She nodded, and picked at her food. My hands itched to lift her chin up. Kiss that sadness away. “Is the offer for a space to do my workshop still open, then?”
“It’s yours whenever you need it.” I bumped her shoulder again, then stabbed a piece of maduro from her plate and popped it into my mouth before she could protest, which of course she did anyway. “Hey, get your own plate.” I laughed, as she turned so that the plate was out of my reach.
She pinched my arm softly and looked down at her plate, letting me only catch a glimpse of her smile. “I think I may take you up on it, then.”
I wanted to ask what had brought this on. If she’d been planning to call. If she’d been thinking about what happened between us after the wedding constantly, like I had. I realized then that I wasn’t sure I knew what Priscilla needed like I used to.
I didn’t know what to do with that. I wasn’t even sure if there was anything I could do. We’d changed, both of us and more than anything I wanted to tell her that every version of myself, the worst and the best one, still thought she was the most amazing person in my life. That with the wealth of people who loved me, she was still the one I yearned for.
I didn’t tell her though. I was too scared of what she’d say to that confession.
“Is work going all right?”
The lightness in her eyes dimmed a little bit and I wanted to kick myself, but after a moment—like she always did—she regrouped.
“It’s going. We have some tough cases right now.” She frowned at whatever she was remembering, but after a moment she shook herself and looked up at me with a smile. “I’ve been meaning to call you, but work has been hectic since I got home from the wedding.” She was almost whispering and I kept having to come closer until our heads were almost touching. The plate of food on her lap forgotten.
“Oh.” It was the best I could come up with as my head buzzed, wondering what it was she wanted to tell me. I’d been swimming in what-ifs ever since she’d walked out on me that night. Wondering if I should’ve told her how I felt. Wondering if like me she hadn’t stopped thinking about how good we were together, in every way.
My heart pounded at the possibilities. “I just wanted to say—”
And because every single one of our dearest and nearest was a gigantic pain in the ass, at that very moment, Patrice and Easton decided to come and chat.
“Hey, babe, we haven’t had a chance to talk yet.” Easton sat down next to Pris and gave me an apologetic look. I wanted to get up and pull her by the hand to a quiet place. Instead, I got up to give P dap.
“What’s up, man?” I said, trying very hard not to growl at him.
He looked down at his man and Pris, who were already engaged in deep conversation, and raised an eyebrow in question. I guess the fact that we’d been sitting together in seemingly friendly conversation was noteworthy.
I shook my head and tried to convey as much as I could that I didn’t want to get into it. Not that Patrice would push. Since he’d gotten more serious with Easton my closed-off and too-quiet friend had
changed a lot, but he hadn’t changed so much he would willingly walk into a conversation about feelings.
I rolled my shoulders and shook my head, this conversation was over, but she’d opened a door with the workshops and I was making sure she knew it would never be closed to her.
Priscilla
I’d been about to spill my guts to Juan Pablo. I’d actually been about to suggest that we start hanging out again. But it seems like the universe wasn’t up to seeing me start down the road to self-destruction again, so Patrice and Easton interrupted us just at the right moment.
That had been a couple of hours earlier, and now the party was winding down. Easton and Patrice had excused themselves and headed out, claiming they had an early start back to Ithaca. They had to get back because they were leading a community conversation around the school to prison pipeline in Central New York. I smiled thinking how far those two had come and how the things that seemed destined to tear them apart were now a joint passion. They’d found common ground and figured out how to build a life together on it.
That line of thinking got me right back to Juan Pablo. Almost involuntarily my eyes moved around the room, searching for him. While I’d been talking to Easton, he’d gone off with Patrice and since then we’d only caught glimpses of each other. He was wearing his black diamond studs tonight, with a black turtleneck and fitted jeans. Black Gucci loafers to match his dad’s brown ones. Juan Pablo was always out to stunt. I smiled, surprised at the warmth in my chest even that thought brought.
He was a little vain, but he worked hard for that body. Even if his fuckboy tendencies had made me want to kill him on more than one occasion over the years, I had to admit J was damn fine.
“You’re staring, mija.” I almost jumped at my mother’s amused voice right behind me.
“Ay, Mami. Stop, that’s not very nice.”
She clucked her tongue then moved so she could put her hand in through the crook of my elbow. “Just teasing you a little. He’s been looking at you the same way all night. I wish you kids would just get over yourselves and make up.”
American Sweethearts Page 8