I clomped my feet, making enough noise so they’d hear me. Nick was leaning back in the bar chair, his hands tangled in his brown, wispy hair as he used the moment to stretch his body. Lupita was waist deep in the huge restaurant-style fridge, pulling out everything she needed to make dinner. Nick saw me, hopped off his chair, and pulled out the one next to him.
“Hey, Wilson, nice to see you dressed,” he said through a smile.
“Funny, Nick. Hi, Lupita. Nice to see you,” I sang, hoping Lupita would hear me as I slipped into the chair Nick held.
“Gracias, señorita. Nicholas told me you are hungry. I’m making enchiladas rancheras. Son deliciosas,” Lupita declared as she kicked the door closed. Wedged between her chin and hands was a huge block of queso fresco cheese, a massive stack of corn tortillas, a bundle of green onions, and a grocery bag of red, plump tomatoes.
“Mucha hambre. Is that how you say very hungry?” I asked, rubbing my stomach.
“Sí, muy bien,” Lupita nodded as she slid a can of Coke across the granite counter to me.
Nick twisted and leaned in toward me, close enough that I could smell the faint hint of his cologne dance between us. “Wilson, I wanted to apologize for what happened upstairs. I didn’t mean to…it wasn’t supposed…I didn’t mean to umm…” Nick struggled to say the right thing. I felt the swell of his breath pour warmth down my neck and across my collarbone.
I turned, staring into his dark brown eyes, hoping he’d discover how hurt I was by what he said to me upstairs. But what was I going to say? Especially after I overheard what he was telling Lupita. So I swallowed the words I wanted to ask him.
“Well, it isn’t every day you see me buck naked,” I said as I cracked open the Coke and took a swig. He relaxed at my words, but it didn’t stop me from wanting to find out what Calvin had told him about Max.
“That’s true. I can’t stop that image from burning across my eyes,” he mumbled in a snarky tone before he glanced at me.
“Well I can poke your eyes out, that may help,” I retorted as I pointed my fingers toward his face.
It felt like the old Nick for a moment; the one I could hang out with and it wouldn’t be awkward.
“Naw, I got something better.” He hopped off the chair and went into the liquor room. I was hoping that I could broach the subject of Calvin and Max when he came back, but he didn’t give me a chance to say anything.
“Lupita, would you hand me a couple of glasses with ice, please?” Nick asked as he slid a bottle of Bacardi across the counter. Lupita handed him two short glasses filled to the brim with ice.
“Thanks,” he said.
“I don’t know, Nick, I haven’t really eaten anything today and I’ve already had that drink you made me earlier,” I said, taking a swig of my Coke.
“Oh, don’t worry, I’ll take care of you. Besides, Lupita is a great cook. Right, Lupita?”
“Sí, Nikos,” she confirmed as she worked the kitchen. She slipped a huge glass dish of enchiladas into the oven. “Quince minutos,” she declared before wiping her hands on the bottom of her apron.
“Hear that? Fifteen minutes and you will have some of the best Mexican food in town.”
“Really, so Lupita cooks for Browler’s Burritos?” I teased.
“Now come on, not everything is so black and white,” Nick answered.
“I didn’t think so.” I looked at Nick before turning to Lupita; we shared a smile.
Nick pulled the glasses over and filled them a third of the way up with rum before he snagged my Coke and topped them off.
“Just try this, you’ll like it,” Nick said as he held up one of the drinks.
“What if I don’t like it?”
“Trust me, you’ll like it,” he snickered.
“Well don’t be so sure. What if I don’t?” I pushed.
“You will. Everyone likes Bacardi and Coke.” His eyes twinkled. I stared at him as I put the rim of the glass to my mouth. I made sure he watched me, and just before I took a swig, I pulled the glass away. “Well, I am totally trusting you right now, so you’d better be right,” I said.
I pushed the chilled rim between my lips and let the drink pour across the tip of my tongue before it pooled against my taste buds. The back of my tongue began to burn and my windpipe constricted, causing me to swallow. The gulp I took blazed so slowly down my esophagus, it left a forest fire of burning residue. My eyes automatically began to water and tears ran down my cheeks.
“Holy shit, Wilson, you are supposed to sip it; not take a huge gulp. Well, not until you’ve had a couple, at least.” Nick grabbed the kitchen towel from the counter, leaned back in his chair, and started to fan me.
“I blame it on you, telling me everyone likes them. Besides, I’m not a lush like all of Cindy’s Seasonals,” I spat as I caught the towel and blotted my cheeks. My voice sounded like I had a bubble in my throat; I didn’t expect the drink to be so harsh.
“Aquí, bebés—eat,” said Lupita, totally oblivious to my rookie move of taking a huge swig. She slid two plates in front of us. Nick reached across to catch the cheese that was cresting the side of his plate.
“Cuidado esta caliente, Nikos,” Lupita chanted as she slapped his hand with her oven mitt.
“Ooooh, you got your hand slapped, you’re in trouu-bble,” I teased.
“Yeah, well she’s the only one who is allowed to slap my hand,” he said as he dropped the melted cheese in his mouth.
Lupita smiled at Nick; her brown eyes sparkled against her lively wrinkles and earthy skin. Her thick, onyx-black hair, speckled with strands of gray, was perched flawlessly on the crown of her head in a tight bun.
“And it’s a good thing I love you like mí madre,” he said as he looked at Lupita fondly; without hesitation, she bent toward him over the counter and wrapped her portly arms around him before whacking him across his shoulder.
It was comfortable—in fact, enjoyable—to watch Nick and Lupita interact. It kept my mind off every other crappy thing happening outside of the moment. I took a bite of the enchiladas and didn’t look back. They were amazing. White, Mexican cheese that melted in your mouth jumbled with green onions and black olives folded between huge, flour tortillas, drowning in ranchera sauce. I inhaled half of my first enchilada before ever looking up.
“Oh my God, these enchiladas are unbelievable, Lupita, thank you so much,” I said as I glanced at her and Nick. They both started smiling.
“What?” I asked.
“Triunfo mí magia,” Lupita whispered to Nick. She looked at me and added, “Gracias. I must go organizar señorita Cindy’s dormitorio.” She pulled off her apron and headed upstairs. Nick watched her leave before he turned to me and smiled.
“Why did she say triunfo magia?” I asked, looking at him.
He ignored my question as he motioned toward his face; his eyes were fixed on my mouth and licking the corner of his lip. “You’ve got some ranchero sauce right here,” he said.
I ran my tongue around my lips. “Did I get it?”
“No, it’s in the bottom corner.” He pushed his finger toward my face. He watched me struggle, trying to lick the corner of my mouth.
“Here, let me—help you,” he said as he stood next to me and snatched his napkin off the counter. He held my chin with one hand and delicately wiped the corner of my mouth. His fingers felt hot as they pressed, his eyes beamed bright, and his smirk twisted as he focused on helping me.
“So, why did Lupita say her magic is done?” I asked as he kept dabbing the corner of my mouth. Nick’s eyes constricted and his head tilted.
“I didn’t know you understood Spanish.”
“Ahh, yeah, well, four years with the same crazy Spanish teacher will do that.”
“You’ve had the same teacher for the last four years?” he asked, almost like he knew he was changing the subject.
“Señora Puttabaugh. Wesley encourages its students to take four years of a foreign language. Basically, it boils down to,
the woman’s gotta work and there isn’t a huge demand for more than one Spanish teacher in a boarding school of less than a hundred and seventy-five students.”
“Yeah, I guess you’re right,” Nick said, tossing his napkin. My eyes followed the napkin as it landed into the island’s stainless steel sink. I caught sight of his iPhone on the counter between us. Suddenly, I wanted to check my phone. Maybe Max texted me, or called and I didn’t hear it.
Who am I fooling? What I really want to find out is what Calvin said to Nick. I am aching to know what Nick knows about Max. It took every bit of self control I had not to blurt out my questions at him. But then again, my internal voice is never really too internal. So of course, keeping with tradition, I went there.
“So when you called Cal earlier, what did he say about Max and…me?” I spewed before I picked up my drink and took another swig.
I obviously tossed Nick off balance by the way I changed the subject. His eyes narrowed, his face flushed two shades of colorless, and he sucked in his bottom lip, catching it between his teeth as he thought about his response.
“He told me Frank…died,” Nick said before he retrieved his drink and poured the rest into his mouth. I knew this wasn’t a subject he wanted to talk about. But I wanted to know if he knew anything about Max, and if all I could do was pick his brain, then I was going to do it.
Nick continued, “…and that you and his brother…aaahh…broke up.”
“Is that what Cal’s calling it? A break-up?” I asked.
My intentions were beginning to warp into finding out exactly who said what.
“I don’t know, Wilson, that’s what I heard. The guy just lost his dad.” Nick stood up, his demeanor teetering on irritated.
Nick’s right. Max and Calvin’s dad is gone. Death has knocked on the Goldsteins’ door and they have their hands full with taking care of that business. What was I thinking?
“I’m gonna grab a couple more cans of Coke, do you need anything?” Nick asked.
I didn’t say anything, just shook my head.
“I’ll be right back,” he said as he passed the fridge and kept going.
I watched as he walked around the corner. My eyes dragged back to his plate, still filled with enchiladas. He hadn’t touched his dinner.
Chapter Thirty
I couldn’t stop thinking about Max and his family. I kept beating myself up for the mistakes I made—stupid lies I told, fucked-up choices I stuck by. I drank the rest of my Bacardi and Coke. The minute the empty glass clanged against the granite countertop, I swore, my brain swirled in my head and I felt the alcohol rush through my veins. The kitchen cabinets seemed to pulse toward me and the lights swarmed in and out of my vision. My eyelids became a bit heavier than a couple of minutes ago.
I snatched the Bacardi Nick had left on the counter and poured a shot into my glass, opened my mouth wide, and tossed it back. Holy shit, dragon fumes scorched through my nostrils. Flames burnt every last taste bud and nerve on the back of my tongue and esophagus. I couldn’t stop from coughing as my eyes experienced a flash flood of tears.
“Haarrrccckk, woooh, buuurrrnnnssss,” I sang to myself, dragging my arms across my wet eyes. In some strange way the firestorm going down my esophagus and churning in my stomach obliterated the pain of not being needed or wanted. I knew I was a lightweight, but I didn’t expect to feel so light-headed so quickly.
Nick walked back with two more Cokes.
“What are you doing, Wilson?” Nick asked as I poured another shot of Bacardi in my glass. I didn’t really care at this point who I was with or what I was doing.
“I’m becoming numb, jus’ where I think I should be,” I slurred before I chucked another burning shot down and exhaled a throat-clearing, raspy bellow.
“Well, for someone who hates Bacardi and Coke, maybe you should slow down or at least have some Coke with your rum,” Nick joked.
I stood up from the island and felt my legs go shaky under my body. Instantly my eyes twirled in my head, and I could tell the drinks were catching up to me. Maybe it was a mixture of my ruins and his rum, I don’t know, but I pushed my fingers against my chest and started to go off.
“Maybe you should know…why I wanna get numb. Did you know Nancy gave up on me? And Camille didn’t even frickin’ fight for me? Oh, and Calvin—can you believe he stabbed me in the back? Right in the back—and Max, I gave him everything, everything I was—everything I had—I gave it right to him. Here you go…just take it…take it,” I spouted.
“Wilson, maybe you should slow down a bit,” Nick said, taking my glass.
“Slow down! I did—I tried to do the right thing…I left. When Calvin blurted out to his family that I was…that I was… Max’s student! I left. I never wanted anyone to know I was Max’s teacher, I mean, that he was my teacher! But I knew that, that family was gonna need time to deal with all the trauma of Frank’s death and didn’t have the ability to deal with us,” I stuttered loudly.
“Wilson, shhh, it’s over now,” Nick said as he closed in against me. My bent arms pinned the space between us; his arms wrapped tight around my back. I balled my hands in fists and bounced them on his chest.
At first I didn’t accept him grabbing me; I wanted to fight. I hated how I felt. I didn’t want to be found out and I didn’t want to stay lost.
“Who told you its over? Who told you that?” I bellowed.
“I’m telling you now. What’s done is done, Wilson, the secret is out…it’s over; right now it’s over,” Nick kept repeating.
The muscles across my neck and back, down to my legs, tensed. I could feel the ache of wanting to give up creep into my body and I fought to keep it away.
“What the hell am I going to do? Maybe I should just go back over there, bust through the front door, and tell Nancy I’m not the ho she thinks I am. Make him see I’m better than any of those girls at Wesley. I am just as better as them…just as bet—” I felt my body release and camber toward Nick. The room began to spin and swirl into my chest.
“Come on, Wilson, sit down,” Nick cooed as he pushed me toward the chair. His hands slid down across my hips to the back of my thighs. The heat of his hands built a comfort and a memory of being with Max just the day before.
“Put your arms around my neck,” he whispered.
I wrapped my hands around his neck and I felt my feet leave the floor. I tightened against his chest and felt my body drop onto the chair. I didn’t let go. I was still spinning and I knew if I let go I’d probably fall over.
“Hold on, Max,” I mumbled.
“I’m not Max…I’m Nick,” he exhaled before he let go and left me sitting there. I dropped my head to the counter and felt the coolness of the stone begin to radiate the heat of my skin. I slid my hands across, allowing the chill of the granite to take over my arms. Nick’s iPhone vibrated silently against the countertop and my heart tumbled down into my gut. I pushed my hand into my pocket and pulled out my own phone. No calls, no texts. I slipped it back into my pocket and stared at the iPhone dancing and jumping in front of me. I blinked, trying to clear the vision of a couple of phones stacked jaggedly. It vibrated again. Someone’s really trying to get ahold of him. What if it’s Calvin? Or Cindy? How bad would it be if I just glanced at it? Just to see who texted him…
A long moment, wondering what I should do, seemed to pass before I reached out and pulled Nick’s iPhone down into my view. A cold chill flooded my skin. My mouth rushed dry and my eyes barely opened, burned waterless from trying to focus. I concentrated, trying to see who it was from, but my eyes wouldn’t cooperate. Finally, I picked up the phone and held it close to my face. It was from Calvin. I knew it. Maybe now I’ll get a straight answer. Now Nick can’t skate the question when I show him Calvin called.
I jostled the phone in my hand and stumbled off in the direction Nick went. I found him inside the huge walk-in liquor room/storehouse. Just one of the many outrageous things the Browlers had at their cabin. No joke, their liquor s
torage room was the size of a master bedroom and it was filled with any type of alcohol you’d ever want. Refrigerated units for different types of beer, wine, and any other alcohol best served chilled, lined the back wall. There were several rows of floor to ceiling shelving that created actual aisles that you had to walk up and down, just like in a real liquor store. On one side there were all types of wines; on the other side, hard liquor and mixtures.
I sidled around the corner of the hard liquor shelving and found Nick standing toward the end. He was staring straight ahead, and I noticed he was taking some deep breaths. He was leaning forward with his hands clenched, white, to the shelf in front of him. I heard him mumbling something under his breath. He adjusted his weight back and forth.
“What are you—why are you standing in here?” I stammered in a loud attempted whisper as my body swayed in waves. He jumped.
“Ahh, shit, you scared me,” Nick snapped. He looked nervous, almost uncomfortable. “I’m just thinking maybe I shouldn’t have given you so much rum.”
Maybe he shouldn’t have, because every time I tried to focus, both Nicks were looking blurry to me.
I adjusted his iPhone in my hand and went over to him. I could tell as I got closer, and he merged to being one Nick, he was still brooding over my earlier approach. Okay, so maybe it wasn’t fair of me to blurt out questions about Calvin and Max. But how else am I going to find out about what’s happening at the Goldsteins’? Nobody’s calling me, nobody’s coming to get me. I was lost in a sea of miscommunication and I thought Nick just might be the only person to throw me a lifeline.
He dropped his head, leaving me to look at the top of his wavy, brown hair. He made sure to keep his eyes focused on the floor, like he was trying to keep all his secrets.
“You got a couple of messages,” I said as I held his phone out to him.
“Thanks,” he mumbled before he dragged his hands down the bottles on the shelf and grabbed his phone. He glanced at the screen before he started to put it in his pocket.
“Don’t—they’re from Calvin. Don’t leave me blind here. I’m sorry I hurt you. Please, Nick, just tell me what he said. What if they’re about Max?”
Wilson Mooney Eighteen at Last Page 21