“Right now? El sueño del corazón, Siete palomas, Tres corazones de fuego, and I just started El lamento del cuervo.”
Alandria turned to her brother. “Gabe, keep this one.”
“What do you think is up with Father Joseph on El lamento del Cuervo?” Nina asked James.
“Murderer on the run. Obviously.”
Gabe and Alisa exchanged looks and rolled their eyes as the conversation shifted to convoluted romances, back-stabbing illegitimate children, greedy landlords, and pious virgins. The conversation started to shift in and out of Spanish and, much to Gabe’s embarrassment, he was having a hard time keeping up with it. James, however, was speaking a mile a minute, and his hands were, if anything, speeding up. His mother stepped from the kitchen with an empty tray while James was in the middle of a complicated explanation about where a novice nun fit into an attempt to steal a cattle ranch. At least, that’s what Gabe thought the conversation was about. His mother listened for a few moments. She was as hooked on the novelas as Nina, which was why Gabe usually lost his battles for the television.
“Rosa will never give up her vows,” his mother stated with certainty.
James shook his head. “She will if Renaldo tries to sell off the ranch, because it was her father’s dying wish that the ranch stay in the family, and she is the only one who can lawfully claim it.”
Gabe was proud. It was about a ranch.
His mother squinted at James for a few seconds. “But Eduardo may kill Renaldo before it gets that far.”
James thought for a second, then shrugged. “Maybe, but I don’t think he has the… guts to do it in the end.”
His mother tipped her head in half agreement before gathering up another tray and retreating back to the kitchen.
Alandria patted James on the hand. “It’s official, she likes you more than any other of Gabe’s boyfriends. Possibly combined.”
James ducked his head, but Gabe could see him trying to fight down a shy smile. He gave James a little nudge with his shoulder. James just kept rolling tamales, trying not to grin.
The conversation started to flit around between his sisters and Alisa again, with Gabe just listening quietly. Alandria was right; his mother seemed to have taken to James better than anyone else he’d ever been brave enough to bring home. With that bit of revelation, Gabe started to relax and even enjoy himself. Some of his fonder memories of childhood were sitting around his grandmother’s table with his sisters, helping to roll tamales or peel the skin off chilies so she could can them. It was only when they all grew up, when his sisters started having babies and he went off to college and started dating men, that a tension began to permeate family gatherings. But apparently James’ encyclopedic and esoteric knowledge of a decade of telenovelas seemed to be washing that tension right away. If only someone had told him that years ago.
The last of the corn husks were filled in record time, thanks in no small part to James’ expert skills, before Gabe’s mother came back out, gathered up the rest, and ordered them to clean up and set the table for dinner.
Dinner went surprisingly smooth, with Alisa dominating the conversation with stories of her travels, people she’d met, scrapes she’d gotten into, and how she was going to leverage it all into a PhD and teaching job. And that was why she was secretly Gabe’s favorite. She could have fallen into the same pattern of mediocrity, second-rate jobs, and abandoned education like a lot of his extended family. Instead she was determined to see the world and learn as much as she could. In between her stories, James was subtly grilled on his job and family, but seemed to come through it with general approval.
It was only after dinner that Gabe and James were quietly separated, James getting swept up by his sisters while Gabe was herded off by his father. James sent him an understanding smile.
“I need your help with something in the garage,” Gabe’s father said, ushering him toward the door.
“Sure.” The garage was dark and cool. “What do you need help with?”
His father reached behind a toolbox and pulled out a bottle of mescal about three quarters full with a handwritten label. It looked positively toxic. “Drinking this before your mother finds it.”
“Oh, God, Dad.” His father pulled out two water glasses from behind the toolbox and filled them with the sickly golden liquid. It was nearly enough to empty the bottle. Obviously refusing was not going to be an option.
Gabe took a glass and took a sip. He forced back a cough at the sharp burn, while his father took a large swallow of his. Gabe took another sip but didn’t comment. He wasn’t sure if his dad wanted to talk or drink or do both, but he knew better than to make assumptions.
His father took another couple of sips, not even wincing. “I like James. You should keep him.”
“Thank you, Dad. I like him too.”
“No. I mean it. The other men you’ve brought home have been children. Even the ones older than you, you could tell they just wanted to play. This one, he already has a family, he understands responsibility, priorities, he could keep you in line.”
Gabe felt the mescal start to go to his head. “I wish he’d play more. He’s got too much responsibility already. He needs to have a bit of fun once in a while.”
“I’m sure he will manage. But he also makes you happy. I can tell.”
Gabe nodded and took a few more sips. “He does.” When there was a space in both glasses, his father emptied the rest of the bottle into them.
“And how is your work?”
Gabe gave a small shrug. It was a complicated question at the best of times. Even when things were going perfectly, Gabe felt like they were teetering on the edge of disaster. “Busy. Got a lot of stuff going on.”
“Thinking up new ways of becoming richer.”
“That’s not my motivation, and you know it.”
“Yes.”
“But I am going to change the world, Dad. Some rich people are going to hate me for some of the things I’m going to do, but I’m going to make the world a better place. You’ll be able to point to some amazing things and say, ‘I know who made that happen.’”
“I’m always pointing to things and telling people that my son is responsible for it. People don’t believe me, but I tell them anyway.”
Gabe took a large swallow of mescal, his throat having been numbed to the worst of the burn. “Thank you.”
“For what?”
“Admitting I’m your son.”
“Why wouldn’t I?”
Gabe twitched his shoulders in a small shrug. He didn’t want to say the obvious answer out loud.
“I always knew, you know,” his father continued. “Right from the time you were small. I tried to tell your mother, but she wouldn’t hear of it. No son of hers would be that way.”
Gabe nearly choked on a mouthful of mescal. His father had never once mentioned his sexuality, even in passing, except to approve or disapprove of his boyfriends. “I didn’t know that.”
“She tried to send me to a priest for even saying such things. And what would a priest do, tell me that my son was wrong or broken? My Gabriel. What the hell do they know about it?”
“They say they speak for God,” Gabe muttered into his glass.
His father waved at him dismissively. “I do not trust any man who will not speak for himself, and that includes God.” Gabe broke out laughing. “But don’t tell your mother I said that.”
“I will take it to my grave, I promise.”
His father patted his cheek. “You’re a good boy. Now drink that. I have another half bottle I need to get rid of before your mother tries to clean up out here.”
Gabe groaned but tipped his head back and took another swallow. They drank in companionable silence and were into the second bottle when the door to the garage opened. Gabe shielded his eyes from the light where James and two of his sisters stood with their lips pinched and their arms folded.
“I take it I’m driving tonight?” James said.
“I’ll get us a ca
b.” Gabe was aware of the slur in his voice and the fact that his lips were feeling numb. He tried to lick them but couldn’t quite tell what his tongue was doing. He looked down at the last two inches of mescal in his glass and chugged it just as his mother joined James at the door. He watched his father empty his own glass in one swallow.
His mother shook her finger. “Do not come crying to me in the morning when you are sick.”
“Mescal doesn’t make you sick in the mornings. Everyone knows that,” Gabe’s father stated with certainty.
Bullshit, Gabe thought, fully aware of the epic hangover looming on the horizon. His mother marched in, took his father by the arm, and marched back out with him. He looked up at James.
“Come on. I’ll drive. Dylan’s got his last game in the morning, and you look like you’re about to pass out.”
“I’m fine. Really.”
Gabe was not unfamiliar with the sensation of waking up completely hungover, but it had been a long time since he’d done it in a bed so small. He had some vague memories of James dumping him into bed, but James was nowhere to be seen, and he was sprawled across what little bed there was.
He heard a shower turn on at the same moment his stomach decided to voice an objection to the previous night’s activities. He sprinted for the bathroom, only marginally aware that he was in just his shorts. By some luck the bathroom door was unlocked, and he stumbled in just in time to be sick. He heard the shower curtain pulled back, but he didn’t dare raise his head from its position half-buried in the toilet.
“Um…. Gabe?”
Gabe had been hoping it was James and not Dylan in the shower. “Yes, Dylan.”
“Are you okay?”
“Be very thankful your father’s idea of father/son quality time does not involve drinking a bottle and a half of bootleg mescal.”
“Ah, I see. Would you mind not flushing until I get the soap out of my hair?”
“No problem.” Dylan yanked the shower curtain back into place. Gabe still hadn’t moved as he tried to will his body back into some semblance of control. Dylan must have rushed his shower because just a couple minutes later it was turned off. He still didn’t move, not yet trusting his stomach.
There was the sound of a tap running before a plastic cup was pressed into his hand. “Drink that, then take a shower yourself. There are painkillers in the medicine chest, and Dad is making oatmeal.”
“Thank you,” Gabe croaked.
He heard Dylan chuckle and leave. Gabe slowly pushed himself up and followed Dylan’s advice. By the time he found his clothes neatly folded on top of James’ dresser, he was past the “praying for death” phase of a really solid hangover. Now he was in the “still wouldn’t mind death, but would rather just go back to sleep” phase.
He made his way into the kitchen, bowed by the crushing embarrassment. It was one thing to have a few glasses of wine and crash at your boyfriend’s place; it was another thing to get fairly shitfaced, steal his bed, then get sick in his bathroom in front of his teenaged son. James was wrapped in a blue, faded, threadbare bathrobe, his hair still disheveled from sleep.
“Morning.” He tried to sound far perkier than he felt.
“Hey there. How are you feeling?”
“I’ve felt better.”
James motioned him to one of the empty seats at the table. Dylan was already into a bowl of oatmeal, a plate of eggs, and a banana. “Please tell me I didn’t kick you out of your bed last night?” Gabe’s voice came out sounding close to tears, but that was possibly the hangover as much as for remorse for what he had done. Things had been going so well with James he was desperately hoping that two bottles of mescal hadn’t ruined things again.
“No. I managed to shove you over.”
“I am really sorry. I mean really, really sorry. I had no idea my dad wanted to drink with me.”
“It’s okay.” James didn’t sound too mad, or even particularly irritated. If anything he looked amused. That could only mean one thing. Gabe braced himself.
“Okay, what did I do last night?”
James bit his lower lip for a second. “Nothing, really. Mostly you just kept trying to sing ‘Hotel California’ in Spanish. Except either your Spanish is really bad or you couldn’t actually remember any of the lyrics.”
Gabe pressed his face into his hand as James finally broke and started to giggle. “Think you can handle some oatmeal?”
Gabe’s stomach said no while his brain pointed out that it might be settling. “I’ll try some.”
James put a glass of water and a bowl in front of him. It held something beige and pasty, and there were some raisins on top, but the smell was appealing. “I’m going to grab my own shower.”
“I’ll be here.”
James put a kiss on the top of his head while still giggling as Gabe took a bite. Gabe waited until he heard the shower running before slowly collapsing forward, pressing his face to the table. While there he sent up a thanks to anything that might be listening that James was the forgiving type.
Dylan laughed. “Still not feeling great?”
He was tempted to give Dylan the finger, but that would involve moving. “I’ve had worse hangovers; dangers of international business. You’re expected to drink whatever the locals pour and keep up with them. Matter of honor. Except in India. I love doing deals in India. The weddings take four hours but no one expects you to drink.”
“That’s good to know.” He could hear the laughter under Dylan’s words.
“The first time I met your father I was still hungover from closing a big deal in Japan. Spent the whole flight praying for death.” He pushed himself up and managed to shove another spoonful of oatmeal into his mouth. It did feel nice in his stomach, despite the vast quantities of energy needed to lift the spoon.
“Dad said he thinks meeting your family went well?”
Gabe nodded. “My sisters approved, my dad approved, and my mother didn’t make any snide comments about hell, which is about as close to approval as she gets. I think your father’s vast esoteric knowledge of the telenovelas helped smooth things there.”
“I knew all that would come in handy for him one of these days.” Dylan’s phone pinged. He looked down and smiled.
“New girlfriend?”
“New old girlfriend. Maybe. She’s looking for a rebound. Plus angling for a prom date.”
Gabe wondered what his high school dating life would have been like if texting had been invented. Probably not that much different, he had to admit. He looked down at his to-do list on his phone. It had about three-dozen items on it, but one stood out.
“Dylan, can I ask you some advice?”
“Sure.”
“What do women like?” Dylan raised an eyebrow. “Not like that. I need to get Tamyra something nice. She’s been working for me almost ten years now, and I need to get her something as nice as possible, except she does basically all my shopping of that sort for me.”
“Okay, I get the idea.” Dylan finished off his eggs in two bites. “Any vague idea of what she might like?”
“I’m thinking jewelry, but I’ve drawn a blank anywhere past that.” In truth, Gabe could barely think past the steady pounding behind his eyes.
“Jewelry is always good. Most women enjoy receiving that.”
“So… I don’t know, diamonds?”
Dylan waved his hand. “Boring. Diamonds are like roses. Nice, expensive, but not original. You want her to think you put thought into this.”
“I am putting thought into this. Hungover thought,” Gabe admitted, “but it still counts.”
“Okay. What does she usually wear, how does she dress?”
“Perfectly. I stumble off a twenty-hour flight looking dead, and she walks off the same flight looking like she just stepped out of the pages of a catalog.”
“Can you give me a little more detail?”
Gabe brought up the pictures on his phone and flipped through them. He found the one of Tamyra with Sara and
Christine, Frank and Nate’s PAs, taken at a large industry conference before Christmas.
“Here.” He handed the phone to Dylan and laid his head back on the table. “The TechPrim Angels. Tamyra’s the one in the middle.”
Dylan didn’t say anything for several seconds, just looked at the picture. “Is she single?”
“Too old for you, and lesbian.”
“What about the other two?”
“Too old for you and lesbians.”
“All three of them?”
“Yep.”
“Was that on purpose?”
Gabe grinned. “Officially and legally, no.” Unofficially it had solved so many problems.
“Okay.” Dylan stretched out the word before squinting closely at the picture. “This is sort of her usual wear?”
“Yeah.”
“Okay, jewel tones, not too flashy. You’ll want to go with something like emeralds or rubies. Single stones, necklace, earrings, matched stones, something like that.” Dylan handed the phone back over.
“Rubies?”
“Expensive but not generic.”
“Okay….” Gabe tried to properly engage his brain again. “Now where the fuck do I get ruby earrings?”
“If you were one of your VPs, I’d say the mall or something like that. But you’re you and I’ll bet she knows exactly how much you make, so you’re going to have to go custom made. Find some high-end guy, get it designed, the whole thing.”
“Without her finding out.”
“That’s your problem.”
The shower turned off, and Gabe tried to answer a few of his messages. All he managed to do in the end was text Tamyra a quick note about his location and what physical state he was in. She texted back telling him not to reply to any important messages until he was less hungover. He decided to take that as permission to slack off.
He shoveled a few more bites of oatmeal into his mouth, then chugged the water. James came into the kitchen dressed, but his hair was still damp. Gabe had the urge to reach up and rumple it.
“Feeling better?” James asked.
“A bit.”
Dylan glanced over at the clock. “Hey, we need to get going soon.”
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