American Sweethearts

by Adriana Herrera

  Something about his tone hit me the wrong way and I almost snapped at him. “Juan Pablo, I have to do my job.”

  He didn’t answer, but it was obvious he was thinking, What job? You’re off the fucking case.

  “Pris, please. I was about to tell you something. Please let them handle this, you’re not even on duty.”

  With every word out of his mouth I got more defensive. I wanted to tell him that it was fine for him to take the day off if he needed to, but he wasn’t the one with a job where you literally had lives on the line. That I couldn’t just switch off my responsibilities. But I didn’t, I didn’t want to be cruel or petty. And in the end he was right. This wasn’t even my case anymore.

  “Okay, why don’t you tell me whatever you were going to say.”

  He looked around the car as if he was suddenly confused with what was happening. “You’re not coming up?”

  I sighed, pushing my head to the headrest, tired as fuck and resentful that once again what had seemed to be a perfect fucking day was now ruined with a single phone call. Because I knew this conversation would only end in a fight.

  “J, please. Just tell me.” I kept my eyes closed, but my lids could’ve been a movie screen. I could clearly see his face. Tense, his lips pursed, frustrated with me.

  But there was more to his silence, whatever he was going to say worried him. “You know my friend Yariel?”

  My eyes snapped open at the question, because he really thought he was slick. “You mean the shortstop you were fucking for like a whole year?”

  He cleared his throat and his neck turned red, but his face stayed serious. “Yes. He’s a friend. He, uh.” His eyes kept looking away, and before he opened his mouth I knew things were about to get worse. J could keep it together, but when he felt against the wall, when he was desperate, his heart always was faster than his head.

  “I told him about your blog and your podcast and he mentioned it to his agent.” He was talking so fast I was having a hard time following, but as soon as the word agent left his mouth, I felt a surge of anger in the pit of my belly.

  “His what?”

  More fidgeting and eyes everywhere but on me. “He’s writing a memoir, about coming out in the majors and his boyfriend now, their life together. He has a book deal and an agent. He said she loved your blog and your content and she wants to talk to you about a book deal, Pris.”

  “You did what?” I wasn’t even pissed, I was freaked out. This felt like too much. I was okay with options, taking my time with things. But I didn’t want to know this. I didn’t want to have to make this decision right now.

  “Pris, I didn’t show anyone anything. I just mentioned to Yariel that my friend—” he really emphasized the word, as if to remind me who he was. What we were “—is an awesome columnist and that you’re kicking ass on your podcast, and that I thought you could write a really hot book about sex, wellness from a really bomb point of view.”

  “I didn’t need you to push me on this, J.”

  He pursed his lips, jaw clenched and I could see he was working hard on what to say next. He knew I fought dirty and I was in a mood where anything he said would be enough to set me off. A twisted, fucked-up part of me almost wished he’d sent something to the guy without telling me, or that he’d say something to piss me off, because that way I’d have an excuse to pop off. To tell him to get out of my car, say something ugly and end this right here.

  “Morena, I’m not pushing you.” That bastard knew I melted whenever he called me that. “It’s just an opportunity. You don’t need to do anything with it. You don’t even have to call the agent. It’s your call. She read your blog, listened to your podcast and loved it. I just want you to shine, and do what you love.”

  That should’ve made me happy, glad that Juan Pablo was so into this part of me. That I had his support, but it didn’t. I felt stifled, my heart racing at the idea that there was a chance I could make a go of this. Because if I tried and I failed, I didn’t know what I’d do.

  I felt the desperation crawling up my throat. I should’ve told him I was scared. That this felt like too much pressure, but instead I shut down.

  I gripped the steering wheel hard, my eyes focused on the snow that was somehow thicker now. “I need to go to work.”

  “Work?” He sounded baffled. Like he was sure he’d heard me wrong.

  “I need to go to the precinct. I have responsibilities. I don’t have a grandfather with property all over the Bronx, Juan Pablo.” He flinched at that and I just kept going.

  “I have myself and my work. If I leave the NYPD now to chase some fucking hobby because I’m unhappy at work, what will happen a year from now when it all goes south? Tell me, what?”

  “It’s not going to go south.”

  I scoffed at that, now fully invested in blowing up everything we’d managed to salvage in the last month.

  “And if it takes longer to get off the ground, I am here. I am your partner, I’m on your team, Priscilla. We all are. So what if you have to lean on me for a little bit?” He tapped his shoulder and I could see that his eyes were watering. “You can lean on me. You can, I promise you.”

  I shook my head hard, but I wouldn’t look at him. “I can’t, J, I have to go.”

  “You’re running, Priscilla. This won’t work if you keep running.” He sounded so defeated, and let down.

  “I need to go.” I was barely able to get that out. We sat there for a few breaths, then J had the last word.

  “I will never stop loving you, never. But, Pris, I can’t be with you while you hold me at arm’s length. You love me, I know you do, but you won’t let anyone see your wounds, mi vida. I can’t stand watching you suffer and not do anything. I don’t want to take care of you. I want to love you. To live with you. To be your man, Pris, and to do that, you have to let me in.”

  After that he opened the door, the wind howling as he jumped out. “Please be careful, and text me just to let me know you made it home okay. I hope it works out at the precinct.” With that he stepped out and I heard him get his bag out of the back before heading into his building.

  I watched him until he went inside, and after rubbing the tears out of my eyes, I pulled the car out of the parking lot and into the snowy street.

  I felt as desolate, as cold and gray as the streets I drove through. Juan Pablo had offered me everything I’d said I wanted. He’d shown me that he could be the man I’d always said I needed. And in the end, I’d been the one to trample on it all.

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Priscilla

  “You can’t be here.” I’d barely walked in when Chase intercepted me outside of the interrogation room.

  “What do you mean I can’t be here?” I was not in the mood for bullshit and Chase was really barking up the wrong fucking tree. “I just want to ask Mr. Baker a couple of questions,” I said, shouldering myself into the observation room. He was still in there, looking slick as always. Three-piece suit on point, wing tip shoes and dead eyes. His expensive lawyer sitting next to him, ready to pounce.

  “Chase, are you going to tell me you think this guy is innocent? Look at him!” I said, waving my hand at his smug face.

  Chase let out a sharp breath and rubbed his eyes hard. “I know how to do my job, Priscilla. Antagonizing him isn’t going to get us anything.”

  “I just need five minutes, just five, and I’ll fucking have him.”

  “Gutierrez.” My back went up at the way the lieutenant called my name. He was never friendly, but he’d never been hostile. But right now he sounded like the sight of me was making his blood boil. “You’re no longer assigned to this case. You’re not even on duty right now. Why are you here?”

  That question hit me like a ton of fucking bricks. Why was I here?

  Chase was doing his job. Even if it wasn’t what I’d do, it wasn’t my call. That
’s how things worked. I’d be furious if someone tried to come and overstep on one of my cases. I was acting recklessly because I was running. I was here so I didn’t have to sit with Juan Pablo and tell him about my fears. Or even more terrifying, my hopes. I could barely cope with the idea that in the last two days I’d been basically handed two opportunities that could change everything for me. I didn’t know how to process the prospect of doing this differently. Of having to count on others.

  Of having to rely on Juan Pablo.

  “Priscilla.”

  Oh my God, was I crying in front of the lieutenant? “Go home. You need the time. I don’t want to see you here until the second.” His eyes had lost the annoyance from earlier and now all I saw was concern. “We are all here for the same reason you are, we don’t want anything else to happen to that child. That’s why she’s out of the home, that’s why there’s an order of protection. If anything happens, I’ll call you myself. But you need to let this go.”

  I nodded numbly and walked out of the precinct without saying a word. By the time I got into my car I was sobbing. I didn’t know what to do with myself. No that was a lie, I wanted to go back to two hours ago and have a redo with Juan Pablo. I wanted to be in his warm living room, sitting in front of the fireplace. Instead I’d pushed him away and hurt him.

  And as if she could sense I was struggling, my mother’s number flashed on the Bluetooth screen.

  “Mami.” My voice was all clogged up from crying, but I was fucking done trying to keep it together. I was sad, and scared I’d ruined things with J and with my job.

  Before I could even speak she knew. “Que pasa, mija?”

  I took a deep breath and felt the tears streaming down my face. My nose was running. I felt so scared, but the desperation to finally say it won out. “I think I want to quit my job.” My heart was thumping so fast in my chest I thought it was almost certainly going to beat right out of it. My voice sounded exactly like I felt—small and terrified waiting for my mother’s judgement.

  “Mi amor, is that why you’ve been like this? So distant? Ay, mija.” The heaviness of those last words cut me to my core. “Have you been putting yourself through hell on your own?”

  I thought about that before I answered. I had, in the beginning. For months I’d been going through the motions every day feeling more and more like the life I’d been single-mindedly working for didn’t fit me at all. I’d sat with that truth like a lead balloon in my stomach, but then J had teased the truth out of me. He’d held space for me to finally speak the words out loud, my friends had been there too. And that had helped. But I’d still not let myself own it, because it all came down to this.

  My mother and my father.

  Their disappointment. I’d always thought I’d put up with almost anything if it meant that my parents could still be proud of me, but every day the weight of that felt like it would eventually bury me.

  “I’ve been talking about it to J.” Just saying his name made my breath hitch, because I’d hurt him tonight. When he’d tried to be there for me, I’d hurt him. “We had a big fight about it today.”

  There was some tongue clicking and teeth sucking. “Ay, Priscilla.” My mother was trying her hardest to be there for me, but the news that I was sabotaging her plans for J and me was a low blow. “Is this about your shop? Is that what you want to do?”

  I couldn’t tell if her tone was reprimanding or just curious. “Yes, kind of.” She just made a noise of approval, but didn’t ask anything more, waiting for me to explain. “I’ve been doing this blog, and I started a podcast.”

  My mother let out a soft laugh at that. “Mamita, you think I didn’t know about that?”

  I was sure flames were going to start sprouting from my face. Because the thought of my mother hearing the episode about ass play was literally too much for me to handle right now.

  “Oh my God, Mami, please tell me you haven’t been telling your friends.” I wasn’t exaggerating the panic in my voice even a little bit.

  “Some of my friends. I only listened to a few, the ones that I uh...thought I’d like. But, mija, how could you think that I wouldn’t be interested in something you’re doing? Your father and I love you and are so proud of you no matter what you do. Even if I don’t necessarily understand all of it.” She sounded more than a little flustered and I was starting to really think she actually listened to me go on for forty-five minutes about rimming, pegging and prostate massagers.

  Kill me now.

  But somewhere under the incredible cringe-worthiness in this conversation, I felt oxygen coming back into my body. My mother and I were talking about my podcast and there was no yelling or shaming. I’d told her I didn’t want to be a cop anymore and there had been no condemnation. We were talking.

  And the thing was, I knew my parents loved me. I had never doubted that ever. But they came here with nothing, and they sacrificed so much. I didn’t want them to feel like I’d tainted their legacy. That I’d broken my part of the deal. How could they talk to their friends about me now? To the family back home?

  “I just want you and Papi to be proud of me. You were both lawyers, for fuck’s sake.”

  “Priscilla, language.” I laughed at that, because my mother never let a curse word slide, not even in a crisis.

  “Perdon, Mami. I’m serious though, you left so much behind, and dealt with so much sh... I mean, crap for me to have everything I needed.” My mom and my dad had come in the seventies after finishing law school in the DR, hoping that an educated couple could make headway here. But there hadn’t been many options other than manual labor. My mom had worked in restaurants and my dad in a bodega Uptown. They’d managed to turn that into good jobs, but it had been a struggle for a long time. “I feel so selfish, like I’m being wasteful. I don’t know.” I started crying again, as my mother tried her best to soothe me from hundreds of miles away.

  “Mija, let’s do the Facetime, so I can see you.” I laughed at the way she said Facetime. I called her from my phone, still sitting in my car. But when I finally saw my mother the last of my control snapped and a deep sob escaped my throat. I felt so alone at that moment, and what hurt most was that I knew it didn’t have to be that way. That I could be with J now or Bri, or even my parents. But I’d been pushing them away at every opportunity.

  “Oh, Priscilla, mi amor. I need to be looking at you when I tell you this.” My mother’s skin was lighter than mine, but we had the same face. She had a few wrinkles now at sixty-seven and the little moles around her eyes were multiplying almost by the day, but it was still the face that had always shown me love, unconditionally.

  “We will always be proud of you, mija. No matter what you decide to do, we will always support you. I don’t care what it is.” She paused and wagged a finger in front of her face as I smiled. “As long as you’re happy. That is all we care about. You’ve always had a good head on your shoulders, mi amor. We trust your judgement, we trust you. You’re a helper and a doer, always, since you were little. We know that no matter what it is you end up doing, it’ll be something that will help people.”

  “I just don’t want to end up in a situation where I worry you, Mami. I don’t want you thinking I can’t take care of myself.”

  My mother looked at me like she couldn’t believe what I was saying, her head shaking in apparent disbelief. “You have never given me a reason to worry, and that’s not because you have a good job, but because you’re a good woman and I know what you’re made of. I want you to feel free to live your life, in whatever way you want.”

  She closed her eyes and I saw her reach out, almost as if she wished she could touch my face through the screen, and I wished she was here too. “I was lucky. Your abuela Miguelina was a strong woman and your abuelo was a fair man and he listened.” I smiled thinking of the strong, tall woman that we’d gone to visit every summer. “Girls got married off all the time
to older men, richer men, but your grandmother wouldn’t hear of it. She wanted me to go to college. And when I came home with your dad, and people talked.” My father was very dark skinned and it had been the source of many unpleasant conversations among my mother’s very light-skinned family.

  “I’m sorry that happened to you, Mami.” She waved a hand as if to say, it’s all in the past.

  “When I brought him home my mother only wanted to know two things: If I loved him and if he was good to me. The rest we could figure out together. She didn’t want me trapped by her choices.”

  I let out a long breath and looked at my mother’s tired eyes, but there was so much love there, love that could catch me if I needed it and maybe it was time for me to try and let go. “I’ve never felt trapped, Mami.”

  She dipped her head and smiled again. “Maybe not consciously, but we have so much to prove, mi amor. Even if we didn’t tell you, we asked for a lot. But it’s different now and I got nothing left to prove. Do your thing, mija. If I don’t understand something, I’ll ask.”

  I was completely wrung out. But now that things with my parents didn’t seem so terrible the pit in my stomach about Juan Pablo was getting wider by the second. “I think, I messed things up with J, Mami.”

  I expected her to dismiss my words, or tell me J was crazy about me, but her eyes got really serious, more serious than they’d been so far. “That you have to fix yourself, Priscilla. Let him be there for you, learn to lean on those of us who yearn to catch you, mi hija querida.”

  I was crying again, but this time it was different. I felt different.

  We ended the call after I promised her that I would call her after I got home, so she knew I was okay. Then I remembered J had asked me to do the same.

  I took a detour, but I’m headed home. Will let you know when I get there. I’m sorry about earlier.

  His response came almost immediately, like he’d been waiting for my message.

  Thanks for texting. There’s nothing to apologize for.