American Love Story (Dreamers)

by Adriana Herrera

  I cleared my throat and looked down, annoyed that after just a few words I was already bringing up Easton. I’d been thinking about him nonstop. Since that dinner, we’d texted a couple of times. Just silly shit about books we’d been reading or we’d send each other pictures of something we saw or were doing. I’d even promised him a photo of the soup.

  I looked over at my mom and she gave me a weird look, probably because I was smirking and staring into space like an idiot.

  “Pardon, Manman.” I squeezed her knee and she waved in my direction indicating I needed to keep talking.

  “I have a guest bedroom for when you and Oriol come and visit. I’m starting to feel comfortable there.”

  She smiled and kissed my cheek. “Good, you deserve it. You worked so long and so hard for that. I’m proud of you, bébé. But we need to talk about these clothes. I thought we agreed you needed to dress more formally.”

  I rolled my eyes because I knew she’d get on my case about it. “Odette, we would mean you and I both decided on something, not you telling me what to do.” She gave me her patented unbothered look, and raised as eyebrow as to say, and your point is?

  “I spent the day running errands,” I said, peering down at my sweatshirt, jeans and J’s combo. “This is perfectly fine.”

  She shook her head like I was a very lovable but completely lost cause. “But you’re a professor now. Why spend hundreds of dollars on tennis shoes? If you’re going to spend your money, buy something nice.”

  I threw my hands up, laughing. “These shoes are nice and I don’t need to wear suits all the time! I promise I don’t teach in these clothes.”

  She adopted the mischievous look that in my childhood had always been the prelude to something that would either mortify me or delight me. I could never tell.

  “Maybe I should start asking for OOTD selfies.”

  I did bust up at that. “Manman, where did you hear about that?” I said, grinning at how pleased with herself she looked for throwing “outfit of the day” at me.

  “You know I got my fashion sense from you. I’m not showing up in class looking like a scrub.” She gave me a look like she wasn’t convinced in the slightest that I wasn’t going to show up to class in some Tims.

  I had to distract her with something, or this was going to end with her forcing me to go shopping with her. “How’s business? You said you’re expanding?”

  She immediately perked up at that. My mom was the OG hustler. She’d started her own business when I was finishing high school and was always on the move trying to take it to the next level.

  She looked over at me, her face open and smiling, and I could tell she had a lot of updates. “Your Manman is now officially working in the Westchester courts,” she said, snapping her finger. “So far we’ve gotten a lot of business, there are lots of Caribbean people moving up here, so our court interpreters are getting a lot of work.”

  “Of course you are.” I grinned, so proud of her. She’d worked on that expansion for two years. “You always know when to make your next move. Did you hire more people?”

  “Yes, of course. I’ve been working with Camilo’s agency. Training some of the women in their economic mobility program.” Soon she was launching into a detailed explanation of the expansion. My mom had started working as court interpreter in New York City when I was finishing middle school, after years of night school and working minimum wage jobs to support us. Once she’d been in it for a while she noticed there was a lack of interpreters from Haiti, Cuba, Puerto Rico and Dominican Republic who could better accommodate people from those countries when they needed to testify in court or to be deposed. So she decided to start a business that specialized in court interpreters from the islands. After only a few years, business was booming. She had over fifty interpreters now. She favored women in her hiring, because she wanted to help those who, like her, were trying to make it here.

  “You are killing the game, Odette.” That made her preen, and she had plenty of reason to. She had put her all into that business, and I was so damn proud of my mother.

  I always had an amazing example to follow. My mother paid a steep price to be able to start her business, but she’d made sure she never had to ask for help again. That was something I never ever forgot.

  We both looked at each other as if we were thinking the same thing. But before we could go down memory lane we heard the doorbell and I stood up to get the door, and could already hear my two best friends arguing on the other side of the door.

  “Juan Pablo, just call her.” I found Camilo giving Juanpa epic stank face, while J just stood there unresponsive.

  “Do I even want to know?” I asked, as I ushered them inside.

  “Just trying to talk some sense into him.” I raised an eyebrow, because with Camilo that could mean anything, since he freely told us what to do about pretty much every aspect of our lives.

  He rolled his eyes at the puzzled look on my face. “Priscilla.” Oh. No wonder Juan Pablo wasn’t talking.

  I was going to tell Camilo to leave him alone when the doorbell rang again. I opened the door and found Camilo’s mom, Dinorah, and Juanpa’s parents, each holding a dish of something. My mom jumped up as soon as she saw them.

  “Finally, I thought I was going to have to sit and hear these three fight all night,” she said as she passed Camilo, Juanpa and I, delivering double kisses to them as she went.

  After the routine hellos, which with a mix of Caribbean people and J’s Italian mom, took some time, we all went in and started helping get dinner on the table.

  “Odette, this smells amazing,” Camilo exclaimed as he brought out the gigantic bowl of soup. I was just remembering I’d promised Easton a photo when my pocket buzzed.

  I still haven’t gotten any feast photos. You already forget about me, professor?

  Why did my stomach have to dip like that whenever I saw a text from Easton?

  I saw Camilo looking at me from the other side of the table and quickly shoved the phone in my pocket. I’d gotten enough from him about Easton last night when we had dinner at Juanpa’s.

  We got our bowls of soup and sat around my mom’s dining table. It felt so good to be with my people. Nesto was missing though, and that hurt a little bit. Now that I was up in Ithaca, we’d reconnected again and it made me miss the times when it was the four of us against the world. When I’d finally found friends who looked at me and truly saw me.

  I thought about Easton and the ease with which I could talk to him about my life. I couldn’t believe I told him about my dad. That was something I rarely ever discussed.

  “Damn bruh, where’s your head right now?” I snapped my head up to see J looking at me with bemusement.

  “Nothing. Just thinking about all the shit I need to do for my class.”

  Neither of them looked like they believed me, but I didn’t want to get into Easton right now. I was still trying to figure out how I felt about him. I’d been struck by his honesty of being unsure of what to do about the stops and his desire to help. Of course it could all be lip service, but it seemed like he was at least trying.

  Thankfully Camilo changed the subject.

  “How’s it going with Ari? I forgot to ask about it when I saw you before. I’m so glad you’re going to be his mentor, P.” I smiled at that, because I was glad too.

  “Honestly, I still haven’t gotten a chance to really sit down and talk with him.” I lifted a hand to appease Camilo’s stank face. “Chill, I made plans to meet him as soon as I get back to town.” I wasn’t going to drag my feet on this. I couldn’t control or fix some of the shit that was going on in Ithaca, but I could step up and support Ari.

  “Between the move and his schedule, we haven’t been able to make time.” I sighed, remembering what Nesto told me the night I moved in. “It seems like his uncle’s making trouble for him about his immigration a
nd—” I cringed thinking of his plans to come out “—things are getting pretty serious with him and Yin. Nesto’s worried if he comes out that will make things much worse.”

  Camilo and J both looked horrified. Milo was the first one to talk. “Oh my god. That is not okay. After poor Ari spent all that time in an immigration detention center. You’d think he’d earned his chance to fall in love and act like a normal twenty-two-year-old.”

  “I know that’s right.” It was rare to hear Juanpa give an opinion about things or people he didn’t know too well, but Ari had grown on all of us. He certainly deserved some peace.

  “I hope that between Nesto, Jude and I, we can make sure he at least feels more supported. It’s not like he’s not trying either. I’ve never seen anyone with more hustle.”

  Camilo put a hand on my shoulder, his gray eyes a little sad. “You’ll be good for him, you get where he’s at.” I nodded, remembering the tension of those first few months in the US when my mom and I had no idea how we were going to stay here. The desperation of not knowing. So many nights I’d up and find my mom crying in bed.

  Our first year here we’d lived with friends or friends of friends as our asylum case was evaluated. On people’s foldout couches or on a mattress on the floor. The money my dad had given her to come to the States kept in a secret place for when we landed somewhere that felt safe to put down roots.

  It wasn’t until we finally got to New York and my mom connected with an old friend of my grandmother’s that things started looking better. But that first year in Florida almost broke her. I wondered what Easton would think about if I told him everything. All the things my mother had to do to make sure we didn’t end up on the street.

  “Dude, you wild intense tonight. More than usual, and that’s saying a lot.” Juanpa again.

  Camilo smirked as he picked up a spoonful of soup. “He’s thinking about his man.”

  I thoroughly ignored that and changed the subject. “You assholes still want to see a movie afterwards?”

  Juanpa nodded and gave me a thumbs-up. “Yeah man. We’ll go to the place by me. It’s got a full bar and kitchen, bruh. We can order beer.”

  “Ignoring my true statement doesn’t make you less thirsty for Easton,” Camilo muttered, at least he was considerate enough to not get my mother’s attention.

  I shamelessly ignored Camilo again and turned to Juanpa. “Sounds good man.”

  I was about to ask what movie he’d decided on when Dinorah looked over at us. Like usual the “kids” had been talking with each other while the “grownups” did their own thing.

  “Patrice, m’ijo, tell us about your new job. We want to know how it’s going over there.”

  That got the conversation off in another direction, and as I talked, I tried to make myself forget that all I wanted to do was take my phone out and message Easton.

  Easton

  I was in the Bad Place.

  Patrice hadn’t answered the text I’d sent over two hours ago. So I walked out of my office at 9:00 p.m. on Friday, feeling the weight of my phone like an anvil in my pocket.

  I would have to sit and think about what was going on with me. My desperation for Patrice had reached the point where not getting a response from a text sent me into a tailspin of self-doubt. Every few minutes I was caught in a cycle of wanting to delete it, feeling stupid for sending it and ultimately hating him for ignoring me.

  “Man you look like you need a drink,” Ron said as he walked to the elevator where I was standing. “Did Sherriff Day cancel on you or something?”

  I shook my head and sighed. “No, the meeting is still on. I know Cindy won’t like that I called this meeting without asking her.”

  The look Ron gave me told me that he didn’t care about feelings if it meant getting a handle on what was going on with these stops.

  “I hope that Day can be reasonable. I’m not trying to tell anyone how to do their job, but this approach of waiting until shit explodes to do anything seems reckless.”

  Ron grunted as we got into the elevator. He was a big guy, Patrice’s size. Because everything these days ultimately led to Patrice.

  “It’s not about you telling him how to do his job, it’s about you having a conversation with him about problematic shit that’s happening on his watch. Day’s a good guy and I respect him. But waiting until something worse happens is not how you protect a community.”

  “I can’t argue with that,” I said, shoving my hands into my pockets.

  Ron’s scowl deepened as he went on. “The DA’s office and local law enforcement should be on the same page. They bring us the cases to prosecute, and if we can’t trust their judgement, it’s going to be a problem.”

  We walked out of the elevator into a crisp Ithaca fall evening, as I mulled over Ron’s words. “I’ve always respected Day too. I hope he can hear what we have to say.”

  Ron clapped me on the back, a smile appearing on his face. “For what it’s worth, everyone in town respects you too. Day won’t ignore something you bring to him.”

  I didn’t know how to react to that. I worked my ass off and I’d proven myself in the courtroom in the years since I started as a prosecutor many times over. But that niggling doubt that people saw me as just a rich kid rebelling against his parents was ever present.

  “Thanks for saying that, Ron.”

  He nodded as we reached the parking lot. “Don’t thank me, it’s the truth. You’re too hard on yourself. So you want to go for that beer? Corinne’s out of town with the kids seeing her sister in Syracuse.” He waggled his eyebrows.

  “Nice, nothing but beer and wings for the next two days, huh?” Ron’s deep laugh was something.

  “You know it.”

  Just as I was going to ask him where to meet him my phone buzzed. I held up a finger and quickly got the phone out of my jacket pocket. As soon as I saw the screen I felt a shiver run through my body.

  Patrice.

  I opened the message app and saw two photos: one of an enormous bowl of pumpkin and beef soup that looked delicious and the other of the Manhattan skyline.

  Soup was good then went to the movies with C and J. Driving back up to Juanpa’s place, I’m staying with him tonight. Got this shot when we were driving over the Whitestone Bridge. If you’re up for it, hit me up later. I’ll be around...

  My stomach did an actual flip.

  I had no idea my body could do the things it had done in the last two minutes. What did the text mean? Did he want me to call him?

  Ron cleared his throat, reminding me he was waiting for an answer about going for a drink. I slowly lifted my head and found him smirking at me. “I assume that text changed your plans for the evening.”

  I blushed and, like a complete tool, pressed the screen against my chest.

  He laughed, clapping my shoulder. “I gotta go, Mike’s already there and he eats all the good wings if I’m late, leaves all the sweet ones.” He made a hilarious face of disgust and I chuckled.

  “All right, Ron. Have a good weekend. See you Monday.”

  He waved as he got in his car. “I hope whoever made you smile like that treats you right, Easton. You deserve it.”

  Now I was really fucking blushing.

  I waved at Ron as he got in his truck and immediately started the three blocks to my building. I kept thinking of ways to respond. What should I say? Should I send a photo?

  By the time I got to my apartment, I’d made up my mind.

  I started undressing as I moved through the loft, the feel of air against my skin was almost too much. I felt like my body was on fire...over a text. I toed off my shoes by the stairs going up to the bedroom, and took off my shirt as I went.

  I got to the room and turned on the lamp by my bed then with my back to the window took a selfie. I sent Patrice the image of me, shirtless with rumpled hair, before I t
alked myself out of it.

  Just the clock tower view for me tonight, and bed soon...

  I knew I was starting something, but I was loathe to stop whatever this was.

  Chapter Seven

  Patrice

  I was in bed already when I felt my phone buzz with a message containing a selfie from Easton. My heart raced from just seeing his face. He was standing in his room, and there was enough of his bare chest in the picture that I could see a little bit of the patch of hair he had between his pecs. The same patch of hair that I’d run my lips over almost obsessively last summer. Seeing it now made me recall exactly how warm his skin always felt, the way he was always eager for my touch.

  I was really tripping.

  I’d felt too wired all day, wishing I was in Ithaca and could show up at Easton’s door and end this game we’d been playing for weeks now. I ran my fingers over the screen of my phone, considering my next move.

  I was always overthinking, calculating the many pitfalls that could come with being impulsive, of letting my feelings get the best of me. That’s why dating had always been on the backburner, something I couldn’t afford to throw myself into. There was too much at stake for distractions.

  But now, with tenure looming further in the distance, life didn’t feel like an obstacle course. I felt like I could look around, like I could relax, and the only thing I wanted was more of Easton.

  I opened my texting app and typed the words before I reconsidered.

  FaceTime me when you’re in bed, so I can say goodnight.

  Regret hit me almost as soon as I sent the message, but I wasn’t taking it back. Still, I quickly dropped the phone on the table next to the bed and grabbed my e-reader, pretending to read while I waited to hear the buzz of a message or a call coming in.

  I was reading the same sentence for the fifth time when the phone started skittering on the wooded surface. Instead of taking it, like a complete asshole, I got out of bed and ignored it. I listened to the phone vibrating as I slowly turned off my e-reader, then walked to the bathroom and wrapped my locs. I let myself feel the craving to see him, the butterflies in my stomach when the phone stopped buzzing. I thought about Easton sitting there confused, wondering why I’d told him to call just so I could ignore his call, and hated myself a little.