Here to Stay

by Adriana Herrera

  “So now that you know I can make sofrito, does that mean we’re more than professional acquaintances?” The hint of playfulness in his smile made the blood bubble under my skin.

  Grinning would not help matters right now. “You could say we’re on friendly terms now.”

  He snorted as he ran a big hand over his hair. It was so black, it almost looked fake. Thick and getting just long enough it was curling at the end. When he spoke there was still humor there but he was not joking. “We better be careful then, things are getting dangerously close to real friends.”

  Between the heat coming from the stove and the way Rocco’s eyes were boring into me, I was pretty damn close to fanning myself. Thankfully, we were in an apartment full of New Yorkers and Tariq’s holler broke the spell.

  “Anybody want another drink?”

  We both practically jumped and went back to cleaning up before joining the others on the couch, the smells of coconut and sofrito and the chatter in Spanish making my apartment feel like home in a way that didn’t ache for the first time since I’d gotten to Dallas.

  Chapter Eight

  Rocco

  I pulled up to the curve of Julia’s building and thanked God for my tinted windows, because I knew my jaw had to be on the floor and drooling was almost certainly happening.

  Holy shit, this woman was going to be the fucking end of me. In the week since the visit to her program and dinner at her place, Julia and I managed to somehow keep things on the up-and-up when it came to my job and hers. She had been decidedly less friendly at the office than she’d been at her place, but things were definitely a lot warmer than in the beginning.

  And now it was Sunday and we were all headed to a Rangers game that my firm had given me tickets for. When I’d sent out the message inviting the group, Julia had been so quiet I thought she’d say no, but in the end she accepted, and since then I’d been trying to tell my thirsty self that this was not a date.

  Except Julia’s game-day attire involved cutoff jeans, which were almost certainly going to give me heart failure. Of course I had to fuck myself over by organizing an outing that had shorts as a dress code. I let my eyes slip a couple of times but made sure that they were above boob level when she got close enough to see me, but she must’ve caught on to something.

  I let out a snort as she death-glared me through the windshield.

  Was that a Yankees jersey? And why was she not getting in the car?

  I opened my door and stepped out, and the mean mugging didn’t stop once we were face to face.

  “Rocco? What are you doing here? I thought José was coming to pick me up.”

  Dammit José, she was probably trying to keep her distance. Like I should be doing.

  “Sorry,” I said, feeling like a total jackass. “He said since we lived so close I should get you and he’d pick up Tariq.”

  She frowned at my answer like she didn’t believe me, then checked her phone. Whatever she saw there must’ve confirmed my story, because she started moving toward the door. That gave me another chance to look at her outfit, and yes, I was going to have a lot of trouble keeping my eyes on the road.

  “José is a manipulative little shit. Lucky for him my family history has ingrained in me a high tolerance for his particular brand of bullshit,” she snapped out tersely, but a laugh escaped too. This woman had a soft heart, but she took no bullshit.

  She gave me a long look as she slid down into her seat but did not protest further. I tried hard not to stare for too long as I waited on her to settle in before closing the car door.

  Those were very short shorts and the gray tank top she had on under her jersey was giving me an incredible view of her of her assets.

  When I was finally in my seat, I looked over and couldn’t help but tease her. “So you’re just going to betray your borough like that, then? And for Cano? Isn’t he on the West Coast somewhere now?”

  She cut her eyes at me as she adjusted her seat belt, raising a shoulder to indicate just how little she cared about my views on her jersey choice.

  “Don’t talk about my baseball husband, Rocco. It’s rude to remind people of painful events in their life.” At that she lifted the corner of her mouth and looked at me. “He’s Dominican.”

  A laugh burst out of me when I realized that was the extent of her explanation. “He is that, but there are also a lot of Dominicans playing for the Mets.”

  “My dad grew up in the BX and that’s where my mom lived when she first came from the DR. So we’re a Yankees household. Also, Cano is fine as hell with those lips and that ass. And he does a ton of work for immigrant families.”

  Rationally I knew there was no reason for me to want to go looking for the man and punch him, but I really, really wanted to.

  “I guess, if your thing is rich, hot and nice...” I said, deadpan, hoping to get another laugh out of her.

  My chest puffed up when I heard her giggle as she looked through her bag. “You think you’re cute.”

  I was not a man to waste an opportunity. “I’m not going to brag, but my niece has called me boo-tiful on more than one occasion.”

  I knew I’d get her with that one. She actually paused from whatever she was looking at on her phone and looked up at me. “You’re playing dirty, but that’s sweet.”

  I was going to say some more dumbass shit since so far I was two for two in getting more smiles than side-eye when her phone rang.

  She was staring at it, looking a little embarrassed. “You can take it, no worries.”

  “Do you mind if I FaceTime my family for a minute? It’s my sister’s birthday.”

  That was really fucking cute, as if I needed any more excuses to be into this woman. “Sure, go ahead, I don’t mind.”

  Within a few seconds, an explosion of voices speaking over each other in English and Spanish filled the space of my car. I looked over at Julia and saw her face light up at whomever she was looking at on the screen.

  “Lita, we’ve been waiting for you, Mami! You know we can’t sing ‘Happy Birthday’ without you.”

  She looked so damn happy. “Abuela, it’s like noon here. How come you haven’t sung to her yet?”

  I heard the sound of someone clicking their tongue in disgust, and had to press my lips together not to laugh. “You know how your little sister is, she’s still sleeping, but it’s 1:00 p.m., we’re just going to wake her up. Did you get the cosita I sent you?”

  From my periphery, I heard a huff that sounded a lot more like affection than exasperation, and saw she was grinning as she shook her head at the screen. “Abue, you and Mami need to stop sending me food and VapoRub. The postal service is going to start wondering what’s wrong with me!”

  From the phone I heard a dismissive noise and a younger woman spoke up. “Lita mija, we just want to make sure you can eat like home over there. I talked to Yanel the other day and she said her daughter can find our food where she lives. I wrote down the name of the store for you.”

  I was literally holding my breath trying not to laugh, because this was the most adorable conversation I’d ever heard.

  When Julia spoke up next, I almost lost it. If someone could actually speak in eye roll, it was Julia. “Abue, Yanel’s daughter is in San Antonio. That’s really far from Dallas. I don’t know why I told you guys I couldn’t find guandules here. You’d think I’d said I couldn’t find water.”

  The sounds coming from the phone confirmed that for her mom and grandma, lack of guandules was right up there with lethal levels of dehydration.

  Julia was not having it though. “Okay, guys, let’s do this. I’m in a car with a friend going to a ball game, so I can’t be on the phone too long.”

  Another voice all of a sudden broke out. This time it was a male. “Mija, you’re getting out there and making friends, that’s good. Who is it? What’s her name?”

&n
bsp; Julia turned her head toward me and I winked at her, not sure why she was asking me for permission.

  “He’s a friend from work. He’s from Queens.”

  A lot of cooing and shouting ensued after, which all sounded positive, if extremely loud. My mom was Italian and my dad Irish, so I had not exactly grown up in a quiet household, but there had definitely not been this level of excitement.

  “Is he Boricua?” Seems like Mom was back again, and yeah, witnessing this side of Julia was not going to make keeping my distance any easier.

  She cleared her throat before answering, and I could feel the weight of her stare for a long time before she answered. “No, Ma,” she said, barely containing a laugh. “Not every person in Queens is Puerto Rican or Dominican.”

  Another voice came on the phone. This time it was the man who I assumed was Dad. “Is he the Mets fan? Pobre pendejo.”

  “Papi! Oh my God. You do the most,” she said, laughing again.

  I didn’t miss that she’d at least mentioned me to her dad. Even though the information she provided did result in me being mocked in Spanish.

  “Hey, I really need to go soon, so let’s sing cumple to Paula.” She sounded a little flustered and looked over at me as if worried that I’d understood. I wasn’t sure how I would break it to her that my Spanish was pretty damn good.

  I heard some more shuffling sounds from the phone, then lots of whispering, and before I knew it Julia was belting out the Spanish version of “Happy Birthday” at the top of her lungs while I drove us into Arlington.

  As I listened to her sing her heart out to her sister back in New York, I wondered if I’d ever been around anyone this free. Feeling a part of that moment, being there to see it, made me want so much.

  I came back from my stormy thoughts when Julia waved her hand in my peripheral vision.

  “Hey, sorry. I got distracted.”

  “No worries. I was just apologizing for how loud they got. My parents and my grandma only have one volume setting, and it’s loud.”

  I smiled at that, shaking my head. “It’s fine. Sounds like they miss you a lot, and that they’re very worried about the lack of guandules in Texas.”

  She exhaled and I saw her put her head back on the seat. I wish I could say I didn’t perv on how the swell of her breasts looked with her head thrown back like that, but I’d be lying.

  She smiled sadly at whatever came to mind, then rolled her head to look at me. “Right after the disaster with Matt—that’s my ex—I went to the store to get some stuff to make some food. I really wanted sancocho. You know what that is?”

  I scoffed at that, because really. “Julia, I ate Dominican rice and beans, maduros, and pernil at least once a week my entire childhood.”

  “Damn, your accent is pretty good.” She sounded impressed.

  “I can manage in español,” I offered as she gave me a narrowed look from under very long eyelashes.

  “You’re full of surprises.” She sounded legitimately perplexed. “Anyway, I went to like three Latinx food stores and couldn’t find the ingredients or even a can of guandules to make moro, so I called my mom from the car bawling. It wasn’t really about the sancocho though.”

  I couldn’t even relate to what it was like to call your mother in a time of need, but I could hear how low that moment had felt for her. “That was the last straw, huh?”

  “Yes, I felt dumb, trapped, homesick, and I just wanted something that was familiar and when I couldn’t even do that I lost it. My mother and abuela need to feel like they can fix all my problems, and sending bags and bags of dry peas makes them feel like they are.”

  There seemed to be more there, and I thought she wouldn’t go into it, but to my surprise after a moment she started talking again. “I miss them, but it’s hard for them to let me go, and that makes it harder for me to move on, to feel settled here. What you said before about never leaving the city, it’s the same for me basically.” She leaned forward, I assumed to get a look at my reaction, and kept explaining. “I’ve travelled, of course, but I haven’t really lived anywhere other than New York. Still, in a weird way, I’ve felt more like myself here than ever before.”

  I made a noise at that, curious about what she meant. It seemed to me that with a family like hers, there really would be no place like home. Everything would pale in comparison. “How so?”

  I turned to glance at her for a second and found her looking at me, her eyes not as humorous as they’d been before. “There is no standard. No one to watch if I’m living up to my dad and my mom’s example or whatever ‘rules for proper brown girls’ are being dictated on the block.”

  “I get that,” I said and she laughed, the “yeah, right” loud and clear. “I mean obviously not the brown girl part. But the feeling that I couldn’t be my own man if I stayed too close to them.”

  I didn’t add that my fear came from dreading I’d turn into my father, not because I had anyone to disappoint.

  “Yeah.” She looked out the window, and when she spoke it was soft, almost like she was saying it more to herself than to me. “I’m just Julia here.” She didn’t have to explain it; I understood what she meant. Here I felt like I could finally think about what I wanted, not what would make things easier for my sister. I wasn’t responsible for anyone but myself for a change, and even though those obligations still loomed large, I felt freer. I almost told her that, but the ballpark was straight ahead so I pointed to it instead.

  “We’re here. The VIP suite tickets get some parking garage passes. So we don’t have to walk in the sun.”

  It was October but it was hot as hell out, and this Dallas heat wasn’t anyone’s friend.

  Julia nodded and shifted in her seat, looking ahead. “I’ve never been to this park, but I love a ball game on a Sunday afternoon. My family and I always went to a few games each season.”

  “Yankees or Mets? Because you got me all confused with this lack of loyalty to your borough,” I teased.

  “Yankees, damn. I was in the middle of saying thank you, Mr. Rude,” she countered with obvious fake annoyance. “I’ve never been in an executive suite. This is really generous of you.”

  I didn’t say anything as I maneuvered the car into a parking spot in a covered garage connected to the stadium. When I powered down the car, I turned around to look at her.

  “I’m glad you took me up on it.”

  She looked ahead, clearly not wanting to make too much eye contact at that precise moment. “I almost didn’t.” There was no edge to how she said it, just bemusement, like she still couldn’t figure out how she’d ended up in my car.

  Julia looked at me for a moment longer and I wondered what she was thinking. She looked torn, like she wanted to say something, but at the end she just grabbed her purse and got out of the car. I did the same but before walking up to her, I stepped back, just so I could watch her. I didn’t want to creep, but those brown toned legs went on forever. When I looked at her feet, I could not help the smile tugging at my lips.

  “Silver glitter Chucks. I approve.” She preened and I almost moved in and nipped at those lips. Her lipstick was a deep red, that same shade that looked like wine, and I wanted a taste.

  “Thanks. I thought the gold ones would clash with my Yankees colors.”

  I bit my lip to keep from grinning at how serious she sounded and gestured toward the elevators that would take us to the suites. “Despite my feelings about your lack of love for the best NYC team, I do admire your dedication. I feel like I’m not properly representing with just my Mets hat. I’m not doing Queens justice.”

  She tapped my shoulder as we walked and I could’ve sworn there was an electric shock. This woman had me feeling too many things. I’d seen what she’d built for the kids in her program. Her dedication to them. The love she had for her family. And now I knew what her ass looked like in cutoffs.
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br />   I was fucking doomed.

  “Why so sad?” she asked, pulling me out of my head and back to her. I wondered if she was about to get serious, but when I looked at her, the grin on her face told me she was one hundred percent still on her bullshit. “Next time I’ll bring you one of my Yankees fitteds.”

  She hurried off, laughing hysterically, and all I could do was chase after her.

  Chapter Nine

  Julia

  “The suite is just in here, ma’am.”

  I looked over my shoulder as Rocco nodded in the direction of the dark wood double doors that the security guy decked out in full-on Rangers regalia was pointing at. We’d gotten into the stadium through some premium VIP line and then gone up in an elevator to the executive suites floor. It wasn’t like I was a country bumpkin, I had paid for VIP tickets for the Lemonade tour (because, Beyoncé), but this was literally a whole new ball game.

  I walked into the air-conditioned room and saw the incredible floor-to-ceiling glass wall with an amazing view of second base. I turned around as Rocco whispered something to a guy who’d come out with a spread of sports-watching snacks from a secret door behind the bar—because we had a bar. There were wings, chips, dips, and all kinds of other delicious-looking stuff.

  “What exactly is your job title?”

  He gave me a little grin, like he thought my saltiness was super cute. I’d almost overshared when we were in the car, and told him that he was really messing with my plan. But it was hard to look mad when a man that hot was being this nice. And Lord above, his ass. He was wearing jeans that were molded to his strong legs and a gray T-shirt that shouldn’t be as arousing as it was plastered to his massive chest. It was very hard not to stare.

  I literally jumped when his voice startled me out of my very non-friendly or professional thoughts. “This suite doesn’t belong to Davidson’s. They just give us tickets so we can have stuff to do on the weekends when we’re on long assignments. Incentive for teams to stay in town. Hell of a lot cheaper than paying for flights back and forth, and also they like to promote a work-life balance.” He used air quotes for the last part, but then went on. “They do a good job of not making us work a lot of hours, and encourage us to unplug.”