American Sweethearts

by Adriana Herrera

  No. I was going nowhere.

  I sighed, the easy feeling from before dulled by the conversation. “I think I’ll sit tight in the NYPD. I love my side hustle and that’s good enough for now.”

  It was dark, so I couldn’t see his face, but I could tell he was trying to figure out what I wasn’t saying, but when he finally opened his mouth, I almost fell over. “Your blog is good and so is your podcast. I honestly think people would pay for what you have to say.”

  “You listen to my podcast?” I asked, floored, because I wasn’t exactly advertising among friends and family.

  “Milo turned me on to it, since somebody didn’t let me know about it.” He sounded a little hurt and my dumb “never going to learn its lesson” heart skipped a beat. “It’s good. You’re talking some next level woke shit on there. Sex, blackness, queer issues, feminism. It’s dope.”

  Before I knew what I was doing, my hand—probably by instinct—searched out his. I squeezed and pressed a kiss to his lips. “Thanks for the vote of confidence.”

  “You know I think you’re the smartest woman on the planet,” he griped. “No matter what mess is going on between us, I will always cape for you.”

  This was true; even when we could barely stand to be in the same room, if anyone dared say anything to me about Juan Pablo, they were getting their ass handed to them and I knew for sure it was the same for him.

  “What do you think?”

  I realized that in my musings about all the ways we were inexorably tangled for better or worse, I’d missed something he’d said. “Sure,” I said, and he laughed.

  “You have no idea what I just asked, do you?”

  I snorted and sat up. It was getting mad late and the sex and bubbly had me a little woozy. “Tell me again.”

  “I asked if you’ve given any more thought to doing one of your workshops at the center. Papi is happy to lend you the space.”

  I was glad for the darkness because I knew my face had to be slack from surprise. “You asked your dad already?”

  He scoffed again and found my hand. “Your stuff is needed. My dad’s been trying to find more ways to work with LGBT+ adults Uptown.”

  I tried to dissect the last few minutes for any kind of hidden agenda or if this was just J’s way of keeping the lines of communications open now that we’d hooked up. But I was either too moved by the offer, or too addled by the sex to catch it. “I do have this workshop I do with Bri about pleasure for trans and black bodies. We’ve been trying to find a spot to do it. I also have the one about pleasure after sixty.”

  “Papi will be down for both of those, and I’m there a lot during the off-season. We can make it work. So can I hit you up when we’re back in the city?”

  I was tempted, so tempted to say yes, to just let the things I was feeling make my mind up for me and accept the olive branch J was extending. The offer to be back in each other’s lives. Still, I wasn’t sure I could open that door just yet. What had happened just now felt too good, safe. And I wasn’t sure I could handle losing it again.

  So I leaned in and kissed him long and hard, like we usually did. Then I got up, and grabbed my sandals from the sand.

  “I’ll let you know. Take care, J.”

  Chapter Eight

  New York City, Two Weeks Later

  Juan Pablo

  “Did you call her?” I didn’t have to ask who because my mother had been asking me the same question every hour on the hour for the last two days. She was throwing a surprise party for my dad’s sixty-fifth birthday in a few days and she’d decided the party couldn’t happen without Priscilla. Meanwhile I was still smarting for the way she’d ghosted me after that night at the beach. Not because she hadn’t been jumping at the chance to pick up where we’d left off—or maybe just a little bit. But because I’d hoped that, like me, she’d felt like we were worth another try.

  I looked up from my overthinking to find my mother glaring at me, obviously over my bullshit. “Ma. She’s busy. I don’t know if she’s going to have time to come. Besides she’s not in the Bronx anymore.”

  The reality was that even as I told myself that I was willing to be patient, deep down I’d hoped she would be as eager as I was. But as soon as I tried to push for a little more contact, for the possibility of seeing each other once we were Stateside, she’d literally walked out on me. The morning after our sex on the beach, when I’d asked Easton where she was, he’d said she’d left for Santo Domingo. Without saying goodbye to me. I hadn’t heard from her since.

  It seemed like she’d finally gotten over whatever it was that we’d been doing all these years after all. But my mother was obviously on a whole other timeline.

  “Juan Pablo, I will tell Camilo to call her.”

  Oh hell, no. That little prick was such a terror my parents still used him to scare me into doing shit.

  “Damn, Ma. Chill. Let me just get something to eat and I’ll call her.”

  That got me an eye roll and a big shake of her head. “No, Caro. Call her now. I’ve been on you for days. You know how much Rafa loves her and she might not be in the Bronx but she’s still close.” She stretched out the last part too. Yeah, Pris was in Yonkers now and so was I. Except she wanted nothing to do with my ass, so it didn’t really matter.

  My mother put down the iPad she was using to inventory some coats and boots we’d gotten for the kids in the neighborhood, and walked around to where I was. “I loved seeing all of you back together for Milo’s wedding. Like the old days.”

  She sighed with a forlorn look in her eyes. Probably remembering the years when we’d all be at our house after school. My mom, being a teacher, would come home with us and most days, Milo, Patrice and Nesto would end up at our place until their moms got them after work. Pris too.

  I knew it wasn’t my mother trying to meddle, at least not intentionally, but it nettled. I didn’t like people in my business. After years of dating my best friend’s cousin and the daughter of my own father’s best friend, we both got tired of having everyone we knew all up in our business.

  “Juan, son.”

  I sighed and turned to her with my phone in my hand. “I’ll call her, Ma, but aren’t Tonin and Maritza coming down. Why can’t they ask her?” I knew pointing out that Priscilla’s parents could let her know about the party was not going to dissuade my mother in the slightest. No, because she had an agenda. She’d been walking by every ten minutes while I worked with one of my PT clients at my dad’s center.

  “We’re the hosts and we should confirm.” There was no dissuading her when she got like this.

  I didn’t know why we were suddenly going by the Ina Garten party etiquette rules, but this was not an argument I was winning. So I sighed and walked back to the PT room to call Priscilla.

  There were a few people there working with the weights and other equipment under the supervision of the other physical therapist and two of the interns we had working for us this semester. Too crowded. I wasn’t talking to Priscilla with this many people around.

  I didn’t know what the hell was wrong with me. I was practically coming out of my skin at the prospect of calling her and getting ignored. I knew that it wouldn’t be easy for us to become friends again and the cabana sex was probably not the best idea, but I really didn’t think I’d get shut out like that.

  I knew I hadn’t been the only one that night at the beach who’d been blown away by how easy, how all-consuming it was when we were together. I’d always been up for sex and had been with enough people to know that when it came to feeling good, I did not discriminate. Pleasure was pleasure and chemistry was chemistry. But I didn’t believe in soulmates. Not really. There were a lot of people out there I could be with that could make me happy. That I could make happy, but there wasn’t another person on this planet who knew me like Priscilla Gutierrez did.

  We’d talked like we hadn�
��t in years. Hell, that whole week we’d been tight. Almost like the old days—well, not quite. In the old days I wouldn’t have had to ask her how work was. I would’ve known that. I would’ve been the first to know. But then again, maybe not. Her job had always been a contentious issue for us. So maybe even if we had been together, she would’ve kept her uncertainty about staying in the force to herself.

  I wasn’t one to give up easily, but at times like these it did seem like it might be too late for us. Like I should let go of the idea that Priscilla could be in my life again. But it wasn’t like she seemed happy. No, she’d sounded disillusioned and tired. And I hadn’t been able to get out of my head that she seemed lonely too. Like she didn’t trust that anyone could understand why she was tired, why she didn’t just move on or do something different.

  I’d always wondered if eventually Priscilla would outgrow her job. Or if like my dad, it would take her being forced out of it to realize there was more out there that could fulfill her. Other jobs that could make her feel like she was doing something with purpose. Because I knew ultimately that is what she’d always wanted—to feel useful, to help. And from the way she spoke that night I was sure her job wasn’t fulfilling that need like it used to.

  That I also knew to be true. And I knew her—even when she didn’t want me to see too much, I knew her.

  But Priscilla did not take kindly to people getting all up in her business. She hated feeling talked down to, especially when she was feeling unsure. Just like me, when she needed an opinion she asked for it. And unless you asked her for it, she did not put her nose into anyone’s business. Not even when she saw you trifling.

  Growing up as the only child of two very overprotective Dominican immigrants, Pris craved her space more than she craved anything else. The way she set boundaries for herself was by not ever giving her parents any reason to believe she didn’t know what she was doing. Pris’s boundaries were non-negotiable. So my blowing up her phone with a shady ass excuse, when she’d let me know in no uncertain terms that I didn’t need to be calling her, was probably going to get me an ass chewing.

  But nobody else needed to know that I’d been looking for an excuse to call her again and my mother had finally given me one.

  I leaned against the brick wall next to the door of the center and called, with my head pounding more than it should have over a call to a woman who I’d known my entire life. And yet here I was with drops of sweat beading at the small of my back. It rang three times, then four, and finally it went to her voicemail.

  I considered not leaving a message and just calling back. Then thought better of it and decided it would look even thirstier for me to call and not say anything like I was some creepy asshole. I got my shit together just as the beep for the message blasted in my ear.

  “Hey. So hope you’re good. My mom told me to hit you up and remind you that my dad’s sixty-fifth is this weekend. It’s a surprise party on Saturday at 6:00 p.m. here at the center.”

  I took a breath and sweated some more, knowing I was acting a fool on this damn call. “Anyways, we hope to see you there. We miss you. I miss you.”

  I tapped on the screen and exhaled, thinking that last part was probably going to send her running in the other direction. I knew that Priscilla had left that night because the power of our connection, the way we fell into each other again like barely a day had passed was scary as fuck. Because even though neither of us could deny the highs that being together brought, the lows always wiped us both out.

  Priscilla

  “Well, today was particularly shittastic. We’ll never have to wait too long for a fucked-up take as long as that guy from probation keeps coming to these meetings.”

  I sighed and kept walking out of our weekly multi-disciplinary team meeting, and turned to my friend Bri.

  “I appreciate you and your patience, Bri.”

  He gave me a rueful look and rolled his eyes in the direction of the conference room we’d just exited. “Well, it’s all for the children.” He delivered that deadpan, because that’s the BS that the problematic people in our team usually lead with whenever they were about to say something dumb.

  The meetings were useful and I appreciated being in the loop about the cases we worked on, which all involved children who had been abused, so a team approach was great. But my tolerance for bullshit seemed to be at an all-time low. Only the fact that Bri and the two ADAs we worked with were there to hold it down, kept me from snatching one or two of the usual assholes in that meeting. Thankfully they usually intervened, so I didn’t have to be the one to constantly point out shit like “I’m not sure what they do in Peru about child abuse, Ted, because I was born here and my parents are Dominican.” Or “Latinx people don’t all live in the same country, Karen.”

  Bri looked at his watch and angled his head in the direction of the Child Advocacy Center’s exit. “Reyes’s mom sent me lunch. You want to walk over with me? I know there’s enough for five people.”

  I smiled at that and nodded, as I patted my jacket looking for where I’d put my phone. “Sure. I can use some Dominican arroz con habichuelas. Leave it to you to score the one Dominican dude in the Tri-State area willing to bring you his mom’s cooking to work.”

  Bri’s angelic face reddened. He had two small black gauges in his ears which really stood out in contrast to his slender and pale neck. He was small, about three inches shorter than me, but he was very strong. His forearms corded with muscle. He always wore slacks and sweaters with leather vans. He was pretty, and he took meticulous care of himself. He said it was a ritual that felt almost sacred for him after his transition. To be able to dress and groom himself. To look on the outside how he always knew himself to be on the inside.

  “You look good, Bri. Are those the ones Reyes did for Vans?” I pointed at the burgundy leather slip-ons with soles that had the Pride colors on top. The left shoe had the words We Are and the right had Orgullo the word for Pride in Spanish.

  Bri’s man, Reyes, was a renowned Dominican pop-culture graphic artist and lately was working on some pretty big projects.

  Bri blushed again and nodded. “Yeah, they’re not supposed to come out until April, for Pride next year, but I got some early ones.”

  I winked at how happy he looked. “You got the connect. He better get me a pair.”

  He laughed. “Of course, I told him already.”

  I threw an arm around him, a smile on my own lips. Seeing Bri’s glow whenever he talked about his boyfriend was infectious. “That’s why you’re my favorite, and why that man of yours is a keeper.”

  Bri’s blue eyes sparkled at the mention of his partner. Like they always did. Bri was from the Midwest, Wisconsin. But he’d come to New York for college and stayed. Once he decided to transition things with his family became strained, but they’d eventually come around. He was amazing and doing so much for trans youth Uptown, together with his man, who was the most woke Dominican cis dude I had ever met, and my bar was high. When Bri and I met through work when I’d started here a year ago we made fast friends.

  He’d also gotten an earful when I got back from the DR and had to tell someone about what had gone down between J and me.

  As we walked out of the center and headed the few blocks to his boyfriend’s studio I remembered to check the messages on my phone. As soon as I saw the missed call and voicemail from Juan Pablo my heart pounded against my chest.

  How the hell could he still do that after all this time? Just seeing his name on my screen sent my heart into a gallop in my chest. I’d been thinking nonstop about him reading my blog and listening to my podcasts. About the way he got the essence of what I was doing, because he knew, he got me. And I was avoiding what all that meant at all costs.

  Other than Bri, Easton and Camilo, I hadn’t really told anyone about this new venture. How happy it made me to write and share my thoughts on sexuality, desire and my ow
n journey in all that. A journey that, in large part, Juan Pablo had been along for the ride.

  “You’re pensive today.”

  Bri’s curious voice brought me out of the swirl in my head. He was looking at my phone which I was now clutching tightly. “Bad news?”

  I shook my head once and then sighed. “It’s Juan Pablo.”

  “Oh?” Bri knew me enough to know that with J nothing was ever simple for me. Not because he was making it complicated these days, but more because my feelings for him never seemed to get less confusing, or consuming.

  “I don’t know what he’s calling about. I haven’t talked to him since I got back.”

  Bri raised an eyebrow in question; he was well aware the lines of communication had been severed on my end. Thankfully we were almost to Reyes’s studio and that bought me some time to digest why I was making such a big deal out of a voicemail. When we arrived I held my phone up and waved Bri off. “Let me listen to the message, I’ll catch up with you in a minute.”

  As soon as Bri was in the store I tapped on my phone and pressed it to my ear. J’s voice as always made my guts go liquid, and as I listened I felt a mix of feelings I wasn’t sure how to untangle.

  I knew his mother had probably asked him to call me. I knew Irene’s agenda and it involved me shacked up with her son after a white wedding.

  There was no nefariousness to his message. I could be polite. This was family business, and J and I had never let our mess interfere with that. So I texted him back.

  Priscilla: So your mom’s got you calling people for an RSVP?

  After a few seconds the three dots appeared and a response came shortly after.

  Juan Pablo: Nah. You’re my only assignment.

  Why did my belly have to flip over like that?