American Love Story (Dreamers)

by Adriana Herrera

  Nesto, whose own mom was not subtle in her protectiveness of her son, was unfazed. “She’s just trying to take care of her baby. So speaking of people that do too much. How’s it going with your landlord?”

  I knew that was coming. Nesto was still pretty invested in being matchmaker and it was still annoying.

  “If you mean Easton, he’s fine.”

  Yin nodded from the kitchen, an impish look on his face. “He sure is.”

  Both Nesto and I busted up at that while Yin looked over at Ari with a sassy grin on his face. Ari was trying hard to scowl, but he couldn’t resist for long and after a second bent down to give Yin a quick kiss on the lips. Yin didn’t waste any time and wrapped his skinny arms around Ari’s neck.

  They were fucking adorable, and so into each other. Nesto said they’d only started dating over the summer after a year of walking around each other like lovesick puppies. Nesto looked at them, and then at me and smiled.

  Were we ever that young?

  It made my heart happy to see those two able to kiss and show their affection for each other freely. Here, at least. Things were not easy at home for Ari, his uncle was very traditional and would not be ok with Ari having a boyfriend. Yin, whose sisters were fiercely protective, thankfully didn’t have the same problem. They had people who were supportive of them and their relationship.

  Nesto came over to stand by me and help get books into shelves as Ari and Yin resumed unpacking boxes in the kitchen.

  “Should we wipe these down before we put them up?”

  I grabbed a couple of old T-shirts I’d been using for cleaning and handed him one.

  “Yeah, please. All the boxes are labeled by category. Fiction, nonfiction, poetry and all my work and school books?” I pointed at the two bookcases on the wall behind the couch. “Bookshelf on the right has all the stuff that’s not school or work related and the other one has everything else.”

  Nesto nodded and started pulling books out. I had a couple dozen boxes full of them. Some I’d kept in my mother’s house, but most of them I’d just had in stacks all over my tiny apartment. The thrill of finally having space to display my things hit me by moments. I’d be unpacking something and it would come to me again that this place was mine.

  “Man you look so fucking happy right now,” Nesto said, from where he was shelving books. “I’m so glad it worked out for you to get this place. It is so much nicer than the first one. How is it going with Easton by the way? Don’t think I’m gonna let you get away with not answering.”

  I cut open another box of books and made a show of getting a few out and wiped down before I said anything. I looked up after a minute and Nesto was still there, staring at me, waiting for an answer.

  “There’s nothing going on, so there’s not much to say.”

  “Bullshit.”

  I lifted a shoulder and kept working. Nesto was like a dog with a bone with shit like this, but I was just as stubborn.

  He of course was not done. “I saw the way you were looking at each other the day of the sancocho. There’s something up with you two, it’s only a matter of time.”

  There was more than something. Easton and the way he made me feel sometimes felt like this gigantic piece of a puzzle I didn’t even know was missing, but I was not going to get into it right now. “It’s not like that. I mean yeah, I want him and he’s made it pretty clear that he’s down for whatever, but we decided to keep it at just friends.”

  Nesto was about to say something, but I held up my hand.

  “You’re right. There is something there, but now I’m living in his building and honestly, it’s too messy. And with all this shit happening with the police stops and all that, I won’t be able to look the other way and let things go, so—” There was just too much in the way. “Nah man, it’s better like this.”

  Nesto twisted his mouth to the side, like he was literally forcing himself to stay quiet. After a second he sagged and exhaled. “I’m not sure why everything needs to be life or death with you, but all right. It’s your life.”

  “Everything isn’t life or death, but this specific thing that’s been happening here potentially could be. You know that. I don’t need to start rattling off names of people who have lost their lives to get my point across. I’m not saying that Easton is responsible to stop it, because it’s not that simple. But it’s going to cause tension and I got enough on my plate right now.”

  I had no idea how Easton was handling any of this and to a degree I almost didn’t want to know. If I began to let things slide because I was involved with Easton, I’d eventually hate myself and him.

  It frightened me more that despite knowing all of that, I wanted him anyways.

  “This lone wolf shit is a whole lot, P.” Nesto’s exhausted tone made me shake off the overthinking, but I seriously didn’t want to talk about it anymore. The more I did, the less my reasons seemed strong enough to hold me back from getting involved with Easton.

  I looked over at Ari and Yin who were now making out more than actually unpacking, then gestured for Nesto to come closer, hoping to get the conversation off me for a minute.

  “So how are things going at Ari’s? He said his uncle was still angry about the texts from Yin he saw on his phone.”

  Nesto’s face turned sour at the mention of Ari’s uncle. “He’s still giving him a hard time. I don’t want to push him to move out, because the only way he can pay for school is by saving on rent, but at this point I’m almost ready to have him come live with Jude and me for a while.” He sucked his teeth, clearly upset by the situation. “It’s fucking ridiculous, but he can’t burn that bridge because the uncle is helping him with his green card shit.” Nesto’s face hardened at that. “The guy is an asshole and so manipulative.”

  I thought about the green card thing for a second. “I wonder if I can help out with that. I mean I can sponsor him, if that’s the issue. We made tentative plans to finally get together this weekend.” Between the move and Ari’s two jobs and school, we hadn’t been able to lock down a time, but we’d settled on dinner Saturday.

  Nesto was pleased with that. “Good, I was hoping you could get that going.” He looked over again at the two young men and turned back to me. “I don’t know if you can just switch since his uncle started the process. It’s better for us to talk to him about it.” Nesto squeezed my shoulder. “I’m glad that you’re doing this. The more people he has in his corner the better.”

  “He’s a good kid.”

  Nesto nodded again. “They both are, and they deserve to be fucking carefree and happy after all the shit they’ve lived through. At least Yin’s started going to therapy. Ari needs it too.”

  I almost wanted to go back to talking about Easton, because all of this stuff was heavy and too close to home. As if I conjured him up, I heard a knock on my open apartment door and turned around to see him standing in the hallway outside, holding a bottle of something.

  Nesto just chuckled beside me. “What were you saying about the ‘just friends’ plan, P?”

  I wasn’t going to answer.

  I stood up from the stool I was sitting on and walked over to the door. I probably looked like a slob in cutoff sweats and an old Yankees tank top.

  He, on the other hand, looked perfect.

  He still had on his work clothes. Gray slacks that fit him like a glove with a green-and-blue gingham shirt. No tie. When I looked down, he was barefoot, which for some reason only made him look hotter. Everything about Easton turned me on so fucking much.

  I waved him in from his perch on my door. “Hey. Come in. We’re just unpacking. These guys have been helping, but they need to go soon. Nesto has to go back to the restaurant and these two have school tomorrow.” I turned to Yin and Ari who were standing close and holding hands.

  Ari kissed Yin’s head and nodded. “Yeah, this one has classes at SUNY C
ortland, so he needs to be up early. We should be heading out.” They got moving as I pointed at the bottle and raised my eyebrow in question.

  “Oh, just some bubbly to toast your moving day.”

  Easton handed it to me and walked inside to say hello to the guys. I went to the fridge and put the bottle in to chill. By the time I got back, Nesto was unsurprisingly pushing Ari and Yin out the door.

  “I need to be in by 6:30, so I can be there for the rest of the dinner service.” He looked at his watch. “If you guys need a ride back we gotta go now.”

  He talked while looking at me, a shit-eating grin on his face.

  I mouthed, I know what you’re doing as I worked very hard at keeping a straight face.

  Ari and Yin were ready to go in seconds and within a minute I was walking them to the door. Easton was sitting on my couch watching it all unfold, that placid expression he almost always wore on his face.

  Before finally getting the hell out of my apartment, Nesto waved at Easton. “See you later, man. Take care of this guy for me. Feed him too, we haven’t even had time to order food.”

  Easton’s smile was a little leery, like he wasn’t sure what reception he would get. But he still nodded, and with his eyes fixed on me, he assured Nesto I was in good hands.

  I closed the door to the apartment and walked to the couch and sat on the coffee table across from him. I could tell myself all kinds of things, but it was going to be very hard to ignore the effect that Easton’s mere presence had on me.

  “Thanks for the champagne. I’d offer you some, but I haven’t had food since like 11:00 a.m. this morning, and I’m a lightweight when it comes to alcohol.”

  He shook his head and leaned in a little, trying to move closer.

  “I didn’t bring it for you to open it for me. You can do it later, drink it with whomever you want.”

  I gestured to the stainless steel refrigerator which now held the bottle of champagne and nothing else. “I’d love to drink it with you, after I have something to eat. I’m sure there’s something we could order. I haven’t had time to go food shopping yet.” I grimaced, pointing at the takeout bag Nesto had brought from the restaurant. “I love Ernesto like a brother, but I can’t eat another burrito.” Easton cracked a sympathetic smile at that and stood up suddenly.

  “If you’re up for it, I can make something at my place.” He said it tentatively, like he was pretty sure he was getting a yes, but didn’t want to seem too cocky either.

  I wasn’t sure what I was doing with Easton. I really didn’t. It seemed like my ability to follow through on boundaries just didn’t work when it came to him.

  “That sounds great.” There was that smile. Like the fucking sun.

  “Good.” The way he said that, like I’d just offered him the exact thing he needed, made my gut tighten with want. “Is there anything you don’t like?”

  “Nah man, I’m good with everything, as long as I don’t have to cook it.”

  He laughed, and looked so pleased. And if I was being honest, I felt good too. I wanted to keep that going. Always see Easton smiling.

  “Well, I love to cook. I love feeding people too. Now I’ll know who to call when I make too much food.” My stupid heart lurched at that.

  “I’m always up for getting spoiled a little.” That wasn’t a lie, between my mom and the guys’ mothers, we were always getting fed.

  “I’ll keep that in mind.” Suddenly something changed and Easton’s eyes were smoldering. What had I said? Who the fuck cared?

  I ran my eyes over him, and he stood there for a moment letting me take him in. After a while he exhaled and gestured toward the ceiling, but made no move to get any closer, respecting the boundary I’d set.

  “I’ll go and get things started. It’ll take me like thirty minutes. Come up whenever you want okay?”

  “Okay, I’ll just wash up and come up. Thanks.”

  It was starting to become startlingly clear for me that when Easton called, I would have a very hard time not running.

  Easton

  “I brought the champagne to have with dinner. It smells great in here.” I looked up and saw Patrice walking into my apartment. He had the bottle of Veuve I brought him in one hand, and it looked like he’d showered before coming up. He had another pair of those fitted sweats he wore that molded to his thighs, and a long-sleeved Cornell T-shirt. He looked edible. His big body filling up the room and robbing me of oxygen.

  “Hey, come in. I’m just finishing up the vegetables. Do you like green beans?”

  “Sure.” Patrice came up to the kitchen and I pointed at one of the stools on the counter. “Take a seat. I’ll open this.” I took the bottle from him and went to open it as Patrice’s eyes followed my movements.

  I poured us each some bubbly and handed him the glass, then lifted mine. “To all your accomplishments this year. May it only be the beginning.”

  Patrice made a sound between a grunt and a “thank-you” and we both took a sip. I turned around to start plating the salmon fillet, green beans and curried pearl couscous I’d made us for dinner. As he sat there quietly watching me move around the kitchen.

  I’d changed too, and was in an old pair of jeans and sweatshirt, but the way his eyes kept landing on my ass told me that he was not as unfazed as he’d like to pretend he was.

  “That looks amazing, Easton.” He sounded pleased. Patrice’s voice was deep and he always spoke carefully, every word measured. Whenever he said my name it seemed to sound different to how everyone else said it. I didn’t know if it was because from the start I never knew where I stood with Patrice that made me pounce on every morsel of attention I got from him.

  “Thanks. We can eat over here.” I gestured with my head, walking out of the kitchen with the two plates in my hands and set them down on the dining table. I felt such a thrill from the simple act of preparing this food for Patrice. Taking care of him like this. I was not a nurturer, but I suspected he was not one to let people who weren’t his friends or his mother do for him, and that made it even more significant.

  I gestured for him to come over as I finished setting the food down, and was about to go back to the kitchen for my glass when Patrice gracefully reached over and grabbed it then stood up to join me.

  He was such a big man. His size was intimidating, but he moved like a dancer. He took very good care of his body and he was careful with his gestures. I could watch him for hours. In a few strides he got to me and handed me my glass.

  “Here you go.” He smelled crisp and like the ocean, and I wanted to run my nose up his neck.

  “Still using the same cologne?”

  My voice sounded just on this side of breathless, because that scent, of the cologne and his skin, brought me right back to some of those nights we had together last summer. Me slowly roaming over his body, then straddling him to take him inside me. My nose buried in his neck, his arms tight around me as we moved together. No one had ever made me feel like Patrice did.

  “Yeah, same one.” His voice pulled me out of the incendiary image and when I looked up, the heat in his eyes said he at least suspected where my mind had gone.

  “It still smells amazing on you.” We stood there, bodies tight and alert, from the proximity as we both looked at our plates set on the table. I remembered that first night we were together, how he’d picked me up and laid me out right on this table and fucked me within an inch of my life. Patrice could make me feel so good, it was hard not to go back to wanting that when he was this close.

  After another second of hard staring, Patrice pulled out a chair and gestured for me to sit. This was another thing about Patrice that always charmed me. He was so courteous.

  I bit back a smile as I sat. “You’re always such a gentleman.”

  He lifted a shoulder and took the seat across from mine. “My mom was pretty intense about manners. S
he had this thing about needing to show ‘the kind of people’ we were. When we moved here we had a hard time. We were black and refugees. There wasn’t exactly a welcome wagon if you know what I mean. So we needed to always be beyond reproach.” He laughed, but there was no lightness to the sound. I put my fork down and tried to stay as still as possible because I knew in my gut that this, Patrice talking about his past, did not happen very often.

  He shook his head and looked at me as he gently placed his fork and knife on either edge of his plate. Just like my mother had always pestered me to do when I was a kid. I held back the barrage of questions that were on the tip of my tongue and let him take his time.

  “We had to leave Haiti in ’91 after the coup.” He ran a hand over his face as he said that. Like whatever he was remembering was almost overwhelming. “A military junta took over and the country was in chaos. My mom was an administrative assistant at the French Embassy in Port-au-Prince, which back then was a really good job.” He looked almost startled as he spoke, like he couldn’t believe he was telling me all this stuff.

  “Was your mom able to get out because of her job?”

  He lowered his gaze then and picked up his fork. His movements careful and slow as though he was figuring out how to answer my question. “No. My father helped us.”

  “Oh,” I said quietly, unsure how to respond.

  The way he said “father” made me think there was a lot more to that story. I waited to see if he was going to say something else, but then he scooped up some of the couscous and took a bite.

  I guess we were done talking.

  We ate in silence for a few minutes. I glanced at Patrice every few seconds, observing him. He moved like a prince. His back straight, those big hands holding the flatware delicately, placing small bites of food in his mouth and chewing slowly and deliberately. There was nothing that, in my eyes, Patrice Denis couldn’t turn into an erotic experience.

  “This is really good. Thank you,” he said with appreciation.

  “Anytime. Seriously, I always make too much and I’m not a fan of leftovers. I end up just throwing stuff out.” I smiled at him. “Now I’ll know what to do when I make too much.”