by Earl Sewell
Recognition.
He got what I meant.
And for the first time in a long time, I saw the boy who’d once been my friend.
two
“Oh, my God, Claudia—your dad—he shouldn’t have.”
I tore the paper from the small box at my place setting. “Relax, Peyton—he does this every year. Just a little something for everyone who comes to Christmas. There’s no way, once he knew I was bringing you home, that he wouldn’t have included you.”
She turned back to unwrapping her gift, muttering something about being grateful for once for the manners instilled in her that had prompted her to bring Christmas gifts for my parents. Tuning her out, I lifted the lid on my own box.
Ohhh...
Papi had outdone himself this year. I lifted out the delicate-script C pendant, with a tiny emerald—my birthstone—sparkling against the shining white gold. A quick glance revealed Peyton’s initial to be rendered in rose gold, her aquamarine birthstone punctuating the curving tail of the P. Good on Papi, knowing with that instinct that made him such a fantastic jeweler how perfectly it would complement her fair skin and red hair.
“Help me?” she murmured, unfastening the catch. Before I could take the necklace from her, however, Eddie was reaching for it from where he sat on her opposite side.
“I got this.”
Note to self—warn against asshattery.
Not that Peyton seemed to mind, and you know, she was a big girl and all, but still, I knew Eddie’s rep with girls wasn’t all that far from David’s, and the last thing I needed was my roommate and best friend pissed off, or worse, brokenhearted, because of my idiot cousin.
While I mulled over what bodily harm I was going to threaten Eddie with, I unfastened my necklace and lifted it to my neck. As I fumbled with the clasp, I was surprised to encounter another pair of hands.
Really warm hands.
“I got this.”
I looked over my shoulder, but all I could see was close-cropped dark blond hair. If I strained a bit, I could just glimpse surprisingly dark, long lashes butting up against a smattering of freckles as he concentrated on his task.
Why he was being so nice now was a mystery. But then, David had always been exceptionally polite. Which made him Abuelita’s second favorite after Eddie, even though he wasn’t an actual blood relation.
It seemed to take a long time for him to fasten the thing, but then, it was a tiny clasp and his hands were pretty big. And if I shivered a little bit while he fumbled back there, his fingers warm against my skin, it was only because my neck was super ticklish, right?
Right.
“Done.”
I released a breath and turned to face him.
“Thanks.”
“No problem.” Gaze still downcast, his fingertips brushed the notch between my collarbones where I could feel the small C resting. “Looks nice.”
It was with some effort that I kept my jaw from falling open—and...was he blushing?
“Oye, David!”
Both of us looked up in a hurry, nearly butting heads, to find the entire table eerily silent and looking at us. Even the strains of Alejandro Fernández’s version of “Little Drummer Boy” seemed remarkably muted, as if in deference.
Now it was my turn to blush, because if there was anything I hated, it was being the center of attention—especially in my family—where it usually meant something bad was lurking. Waiting to leap out and attack. With Wolverine-like claws.
“David, you’re not bringing anyone to New Year’s, are you?”
He glanced down to the opposite end of the long table, his gaze a stark glacier-blue.
“No, Dad.”
“Good.” Tío Carlos smiled, as did all of the older adults at the table, and turned to Papi.
“Tu ves, ¿no te dije?”
And the two of them smiled at each other, like plotting plotters who were...oh, God, plotting. Bad Things. Or at the very least, things I was not going to like. Which automatically made them Bad Things. I felt heat spreading from my face down my neck, like a fuse on a stick of dynamite.
“Papi,” I began warningly, but I could already tell it was falling on deaf ears. A lot of deaf ears, as increasingly loud chatter overrode my protests.
And I proceeded to watch my life flash before my eyes.
“It’s about time...”
“What a wonderful idea...”
“A good time, really, for them to start thinking of their futures...”
“Uh, Dad, seriously—”
“Papi, please...”
Hopeless.
“They make such a handsome couple, verdad?”
“They were always so beautiful together as children—”
“It’s not as if either of them are involved with anyone else...”
“He’s been quite a man, tu sabes, but no girl has managed to keep his attention...”
“I don’t think she’s dating anyone at that school, and besides, it’s not as if it would last...”
“Oye, I still can’t believe you let her go so far away...”
“It’s been good—get it out of her system...”
“Is he going right into college or into the pros, Carlos?”
“We’re thinking he might submit for the draft, but if he opts for college, then it’ll be Miami—the program’s one of the best...”
“Dad...”
“Mamá, would you please make them stop—”
Utterly freakin’ hopeless.
“Depending on what he does, would it influence where she decides to go to college—”
“Miami is home for both of them—she could just apply to UM and work at one of the stores while he plays—”
Oh, good God—how had they gotten from New Year’s plans to signing parchments and handing over velvet sacks of gems along with a dozen goats in exchange for my virtue? This needed to stop—now—before I got dragged under by the tsunami of familial intent.
Never mind that my virtue wasn’t exactly up for grabs, either. Not that that was information anyone at this table needed to know. Outside of Peyton, who knew already.
“Um, hello? I’m already going with Eddie.” Who, for once in his misbegotten life, was actually staying quiet, sitting there, grinning like a fool. Turncoat.
Around me, the clearly insane adults continued chattering, excitedly chismeando like a bunch of birds perched on a wire. If only a nice, substantial jolt of electricity would happen past—that might shut them up.
“I can let David take the Porsche for the night—he’s been after me to let him borrow it since the day he got his license...”
“She’ll have to get a new dress—something not black, por favor...”
Beside me, David sat, his knuckles white from clenching the table’s edge—a stark contrast to the furious red flooding his face.
All of a sudden a piercing whistle cut through the flood of words, drawing attention to where my sister-in-law Amanda stood beside Ray, the youngest—and least nosy—of my three nosy older brothers.
“Hi, um...Ray and I have a surprise—we’re pregnant!” With a wink in my direction she lifted her glass—water, I noticed—and added, “¡Feliz Navidad!”
And just like that the chatter took a screeching left, the focus shifting to a glowing Amanda and Ray, who grinned like a fool as the menfolk started ribbing him about his manly prowess in a less-than-subtle “wink, wink, nudge, nudge” sort of way.
Was I about to waste the golden opportunity?
You bet your sweet bippy I wasn’t.
I made a break for it, mouthing thank you to Amanda as I pushed away from the table and scurried off into the relative safety of the house. Peyton followed a step behind, looking vaguely alar
med yet also like she was about to crack up. Heartless bitch.
A final glance over my shoulder revealed the majority of attention turned toward Amanda and Ray, with one notable exception.
David.
Clearly also taking the opportunity to escape, he stood just inside the sliding doors, watching me sneak off. For a brief, crazy second, I considered beckoning him to follow. Invite him to hang out like we used to and figure out what kind of crack the family had to be smoking. Maybe even find a laugh amid the horror. Then his narrow gaze caught mine and held for a brief second before he turned and walked away.
Yeah...maybe not.
three
“You haven’t really said anything about it.”
I was used to Peyton’s non sequiturs and generally even knew what she was talking about. This time was no different. “What is there to say? You saw the insanity.”
It was two days after Christmas, and we were sitting at a sidewalk table on Miracle Mile, enjoying a café con leche and some more of the pasteles the girl couldn’t seem to get enough of along with all the other Cuban food she’d been exposed to.
As far as I knew, Peyton hadn’t ever so much as boiled water in her life, but something about being down here appeared to have unleashed some sort of inner Julia Child. She’d spent nearly all her time since the yuca-peeling on Christmas Day in our kitchen, watching Mami and asking questions and doing whatever tasks had been asked of her. She’d even asked where the nearest bookstore was—wanted to see if she could find some Cuban cuisine cookbooks—hence, today’s field trip.
I was seeing a lot of cooking experiments in our future. I made a note to stock up on Tums. Just in case.
“I don’t mean about the insanity, although that was, um...” She paused, staring down into her café as if searching for the right word.
“Insane?” I supplied helpfully as I dumped an inordinately large amount of sugar into my oversize mug.
“Well, okay, for lack of a better word, yes.” She took an experimental bite of the first of the three pasteles she’d chosen. “Mmm...who knew coconut could be this good?” she muttered almost to herself. After swallowing, she hit me with that direct hazel stare.
“So why David?”
I sighed. “You can guess why. Because I’ve known him since the cradle. Because our dads are best friends and business associates and clearly, unbeknownst to me, have been harboring some whackaloon theory that David and I are somehow destined for True Love That Will Unite Our Two Houses Forevermore. With the added bonus of bringing me to my senses so that I give up this crazy idea of an academic career in favor of coming home and working for the family business with appropriate pauses for producing heirs to the throne.”
I punctuated my rant with a vicious bite from my guava-and-cheese pastel. “With the same boy who I once dared to eat sand at the beach, for God’s sake. They must be out of their damn minds.”
Peyton regarded me calmly. “And?”
“And what?”
“Did he?”
“What—eat sand?” I thought back to those long summer days—the endless hours of exploration and freewheeling on the beach. “Well...yeah.”
Her shoulder rose in that telling shrug.
“Don’t you start,” I warned.
Completely unperturbed, she tore into her second pastel. “Look, I’m not saying you have to marry the guy, but would going to the party with him honestly be such a bad thing? If only to get the family off your back.”
“Come on, Peyton—having now met my family en masse, you know as well as I do that agreeing to go with him would only add fuel to the fire.”
“A fire you can easily evade by dint of the fact that in a couple of weeks, we’re back at Warrington and then soon enough, off at college. Not to mention, it’s a fire you’ve been pretty adept at smothering ever since I’ve known you.” She looked thoughtful as she took a sip of café. “Which leads me to believe there’s a bit more lurking beneath the surface objection. And don’t even try to fall back on the whole ‘horndog who never sees a girl more than once’ excuse, because outside of the sex part, he actually sounds kind of perfect for your purposes.”
She lifted an eyebrow. “Maybe even with the sex part. It has been more than six months since—”
“Do not say his name.” I crossed my arms. “And I’ve dated since then.”
“Yeah, guys who turned out to be even bigger douchecanoes.” That eyebrow rose farther. “Frankly, Claudia, your taste in guys lately has sucked. Even if it’s only for one night, David seems like a vast improvement.”
You know, if she wasn’t already set on a career as a mathematician, I’d suggest she consider psychiatry or neuroscience or reading tarot cards. She definitely had a feel for insight and human behavior.
“Okay, first, don’t ever use the terms horndog or douchecanoe again. Second, you saw his reaction, so it’s not as if he’s all that hot to take me, either. And third, yeah, maybe there’s more.” Much as I hated to admit it.
“You know, as kids we spent all our time together—him and me and Eddie—like the Three Musketeers. Then David started showing aptitude for baseball.” I took a deep breath. “He’s considered one of the top high school players in the country.”
“Eddie plays baseball with him, doesn’t he?”
My ears perked up at how she said Eddie’s name, and I studied her more closely. Nope—couldn’t tell a thing beyond intense interest in her pastries and coffee, but then, she did have generations’ worth of New England reserve to fall back on.
“Yeah, he does, as a matter of fact. He’s really good, too—maybe not at the same level as David, but then again, he doesn’t apply himself to the same degree.”
Eddie led a charmed existence that way—enough looks, enough ability, enough intelligence to do whatever he wanted without exerting too much effort. Good thing he was actually a fundamentally decent guy. Otherwise, I might’ve felt compelled to smother him in his sleep long ago.
She nodded, but again, her steady expression gave nothing away. “So basically, the boys went off, and you got left behind.”
“I—” The flash of anger I experienced took me by surprise, but then again, not really. “I guess. But the fact remains, we have absolutely nothing in common. And that’s not even taking into account that I’m so not his type.”
“From what you said you’ve picked up via the social-media grapevine—which, might I remind you, is not exactly a source of reliable information—his type is breathing.”
“Reliable enough.” I snorted. “Especially when you see examples of it, over and over.”
In the form of pictures taken at various school and sporting events and posted up on the social-media sites. In every one of them, girls were draped over Eddie and David, all big hair, big eyes, big smiles, big...everything. Generally the photos showed up on Eddie’s page because he’d been tagged in them by the girls who were only too happy to be showing off their...assets, as it were. And of course, where Eddie went, there David was, too.
“Let’s be generous. In addition to breathing, a low IQ and extreme flexibility also appear to be desired.”
A sly smile crossed her face. “Well, all that yoga has rendered you exceptionally flexible, and so long as neither of you speaks much—”
Sudden heat flared low in my midsection along with an overwhelming urge to reach across the table and smack her. Before I could give in to the temptation, though, her eyebrows rose.
“However, I think I see what you mean.”
Turning in my chair, I followed her stare to where Eddie and David stood about half a block away, talking to—surprise, surprise—a couple of girls in bug-eyed shades, with ridiculous acrylics and hair extensions that appeared to be longer than the microminis they were wearing. Using wearing only in the loosest sense of the word.
As if sensing our stares, the boys turned to look at us. Eddie waved before returning his attention to the girls, while David immediately walked toward us without even saying goodbye. In that split second I realized only Eddie had been talking to the girls. David had simply been standing there, hands in pockets, gaze restlessly scanning his surroundings until it found us.
Like he’d been looking for us.
Right. As if.
With a final wave, Eddie broke away from the bimbettes—er, girls—and caught up to David, the two of them reaching our table at the same time. “Yo. Tía said you guys would be down here.”
I slapped his hand as it reached for the remains of my abandoned pastel. “Ask first, cabrón. And you trotted your ass from Key Biscayne to Coral Gables on the off chance you might run into us?”
“Not a total off chance—your mother said Peyton had mentioned wanting to buy some cookbooks, so we figured we’d start at the bookstore and work our way from there.”
I narrowed my eyes at David’s seemingly innocuous explanation. “Why?”
“Is it a crime to want to hang with my cousin I’ve barely seen in months?”
But it wasn’t me Eddie was looking at as he spoke, and a glance at Peyton revealed her turning a shade of pink that I knew didn’t have a damn thing to do with the South Florida sun. When I looked back at David, I found him staring at me with a funny half smile as he shrugged, and once again, I felt that familiar flash of recognition—that feeling that we were both in on a joke.
Honestly, the Bro Code was an amazing thing. That David would so willingly sacrifice himself to spending time with someone who’d been at the heart of what had to be one of the more humiliating afternoons of his entire life in order for Eddie to make a move on my best friend—that was true bro-itude.