His sister.
For a moment, Tomás couldn’t breathe.
He got out of the car, did a lap around the street, staying away from the pickup area now swarming with children and teachers helping get them on the bus and into their parents’ loving arms. He saw one of them clock him, then excuse herself from the fray and cross over, a polite but distant smile on her face. “Hello there. Can I help you?”
Tomás scrambled to appear normal, calm. “I’m fine, thank you. I’m waiting for a friend of mine. A teacher. Spenser Harris.”
The woman hesitated, this response clearly not in any of the narratives she was expecting. “Would you like me to tell him you’re waiting for him?”
Did he? Tomás was fairly sure he should give this up and leave, but he couldn’t. “I don’t want to trouble him. I’m happy to wait.”
She left him then, but of course it wasn’t long before Spenser himself came outside, frowning as he hurried up to Tomás in concern. “Tomás? Why are you—has something happened?”
He hadn’t seen it coming, but it was then that Tomás broke. He gave up trying to mask his anxiety or push it down, or dress it up or any other of the million tactics he’d developed to escape it. He simply let out a long, ragged breath. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to bother you.”
Spenser’s expression transformed into empathy and concern, and it wasn’t until Tomás felt the force of it that he realized this was what he’d come for. This was what he needed. Spenser took his hand, squeezing it. “I need to finish up inside before I can leave. Come in with me, and wait in my room?”
Tomás let Spenser lead him into the school—by his hand until they were clear of a copse of bushes, then by standing beside him and shepherding him gently through the halls. Tomás noted the crucifix on the walls, the prayer board by the chapel door, the flyer noting a time for a marriage protection rally hanging on the wall of the main office, where Spenser carefully introduced Tomás as his friend.
It hit Tomás then—Spenser wasn’t out, not at work. Couldn’t be out. He tried not to let his gaze linger on the flyer, but in so many ways it was all he could see. Every time Spenser went into the office to ask for photocopies or a stapler refill, he had to look at the damn thing. God knew—ha—what else he had to endure here about first the amendment, now the efforts to block impending legislation to make marriage equality the law of the land.
No way was Spenser going to marriage equality rallies. He could call his representatives, and that was about it.
So Tomás did his best to look like Spenser’s friend, not the guy who wanted more than anything to go back to this guy’s apartment and lose himself in the man’s arms, bed, life. He smiled politely and shook hands with teachers who made Spenser pause and introduce Tomás. In a way it all was good medicine, centering Tomás and taking his mind off the spiral that had brought him here.
Then Spenser led Tomás into a classroom and shut the door. Alone with Spenser, Tomás knew an entirely different kind of tension.
The kindergarten decor—brightly colored alphabet and number lines, bulletin boards featuring shapes and colors and inquiries about the weather—kept Tomás’s desire in check. It was a comfortable, welcoming space, with a reading nook and an art corner and a line of cubbies marked with laminated nameplates in a cheerful font. Spenser fit into it better than Tomás would have predicted, well-scrubbed and welcoming in his khakis, checkered dress shirt, and tan boat shoes. Tomás had no difficulty imagining Spenser sitting on the tuffet reading to children in a semicircle or crouching and speaking in a soft voice to a troubled child.
Right now Tomás was the troubled individual, and though Spenser had to look up slightly rather than crouch down, he was all gentleness and concern. “What happened? What has you so upset?”
Tomás didn’t know where to begin, didn’t know what detail to offer first. Wasn’t sure what he should and shouldn’t say. He tried to glance away, to see if avoiding Spenser’s gaze would give him some clarity, but he fixed on the teasing hint of his collarbone. He felt ridiculous for being here, for putting this on their barely begun relationship. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have come here. I don’t know what I was thinking.”
Spenser led him to a chair and pushed on his shoulders until he sat in it. The chair was designed for six-year-olds, which meant Tomás’s knees came up to his chin. Spenser sat on the edge of the worktable opposite and regarded him with worry. “There’s no problem with you coming here. I’m glad you did, if something has you upset.”
Tomás remembered the sign in the office. “I know you’re not out here, that you can’t be. I didn’t mean to put you at risk.”
“I’m not out, no, but there isn’t anyone operating under the illusion I’ll bring a nice young lady as my date to the employee picnic, either.” Spenser nudged Tomás’s ankle with his foot. “Don’t worry about that, seriously. Why did you seem so upset outside? Why do you look upset now?”
He couldn’t get out of this confession now. Tomás ran a hand over his face and stared into the tight-knit fibers of the industrial-grade carpet. “It’s complicated and involved to explain.” When Spenser let the silence stretch out, Tomás filled it without meaning to. “It’s about my family. I have a decision to make, and I don’t want to make it.” He met Spenser’s gaze. “And if I tell you any more, you have to promise me you’ll keep my confidence. No more of this mandatory reporting stuff.”
He expected Spenser to dismiss the idea, but no, Spenser’s expression remained serious. “Give me the general gist of the topic, and I’ll let you know whether or not I can offer you that assurance.”
Moment of truth. Tomás drew a breath. “I need to tell you a story involving an undocumented immigrant.”
Spenser’s whole body relaxed, and though he didn’t smile, his posture was easier now. “I’m not required by law to report undocumented immigrants. But if this undocumented immigrant threatens the health and safety of a minor, whether or not the minor is a US citizen, I’m obligated to report the matter.” He leaned forward, touching Tomás’s leg. “Are…you the undocumented immigrant?”
Tomás shook his head. “No. But both my parents are.” He felt cold admitting it out loud, despite what Spenser had assured him. “My sister is a citizen as well, but she’s a terrible parent and has already been reported to DHS. Multiple times. Someone is threatening to report my parents too, possibly my sister’s worker. So I keep acting as Alisa’s backup. I’ve been named as guardian a few times, and I get a tiny monthly stipend that covers one or two meals’ worth of food at best. But usually I don’t get anything at all. Alisa knows we’re over a barrel and leaves the kids with us all the time while she runs off.” He hesitated, realizing he’d wandered into the health-and-safety-of-a-minor territory. “DHS knows all this. They watch us like hawks. And any second they’re going to swoop in, take my sister’s kids, and bring in the ICE to haul my parents back to Mexico.”
He paused for breath, and Spenser’s grip on his leg tightened. “Tomás—I’m so sorry. That must be terrible for you.”
Tomás laughed darkly. “Oh, that’s not the issue. What’s got me now is Ed and Laurie found me a lawyer to help with the immigration aspect who thinks the best way to save my parents and the kids is to turn on my sister.” He exhaled, the last of his fight escaping. “I can’t. I can’t take it anymore.”
With his hand still on Tomás’s thigh, Spenser leaned forward and pressed a kiss on Tomás’s forehead. “Let me get you home.”
Tomás tensed. “That’s the problem. I don’t want to go—”
Spenser laid a finger against his lips. “I meant to my home. Let me make you dinner.” He traced the outline of Tomás’s lips and dragged the pad of his thumb across the stubble of his chin. “Let me take care of you.”
It was what Tomás wanted more than anything, to be taken care of. To be with Spenser and forget the rest of the world, if only for a little while. But the claws of doubt and despair wouldn’t let him go so easi
ly, and they tried to tear this apart too. “You deserve better than this. I’m too busy to date. I’m never around. I’m all bottled up.”
Spenser leaned in close, kissing the point of Tomás’s jaw just below his ear. “Let me get you home and uncork you.”
Part of Tomás wanted to cry, to weep in relief and collapse in surrender in this man’s arms. But he laughed instead, his despair transforming in the magic of Spenser’s embrace. Shutting his eyes, Tomás turned his face so his lips could meet Spenser’s own.
A noise in the hall made Spenser leap back, reminding them both of where they were. Before Tomás could apologize again, though, Spenser took his hand and pulled him to his feet.
“Come on. Let’s go home.”
This time Tomás didn’t misunderstand Spenser. He did admit to himself, however, this was why he’d come to Spenser, the dream he was chasing: that the man smiling at him and urging him to his car could be his safe space.
That Spenser could be his home.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
Spenser wasn’t entirely sure he knew how to ease Tomás’s burden, but he did know he would do his damnedest to try.
Tomás tensed as they approached Spenser’s door, which of course was directly across the hall from his own. Spenser could hear José and Renata’s voices drifting through the panel, along with the sounds and smell of a meal being prepared. He herded Tomás into his apartment with a quiet whisper. Once he shut the door, however, he spied one of Duon’s hoodies over the back of a chair and acknowledged a snafu in his plan. “Who’s picking up Duon tonight?”
“Ed said he’d take care of it.” Tomás paced in agitation, listless beside the table. “They’re going to see my car and wonder why I didn’t come in.”
It took Spenser a second to realize Tomás meant his parents. Spenser did his best to think on his feet. “Why don’t you go wash up, and then we can make dinner together. I’ll tell your parents you’re having dinner with me.”
Tomás hesitated, then nodded and disappeared into the living room, heading for the bathroom. Spenser grabbed his phone from his schoolbag, texting Ed frantically as he walked toward the door.
You have Duon? I have Tomás. He’s upset. I’m going to keep him here at my place and calm him down.
The reply came before Spenser made it all the way in the hall. We’ve got Duon. He can have a night getting spoiled with his uncles. You kids have fun.
Spenser typed a quick thanks, then tucked his phone into his pocket as he knocked on the door to Tomás’s place.
Renata answered the door. She had on an apron, and her face and hair were damp with the steam from her cooking. She smiled as she saw Spenser, speaking slowly and carefully in English. “Hello, Spenser. How can I help you?”
Spenser thought of what Tomás had confessed, that at any moment this kind woman could be removed from his life forever. He took a breath and put himself back on track. “Hello, Renata. I wanted to tell you Tomás is with me, in my apartment. I’m making him dinner.”
If she knew something was wrong, she didn’t say anything. She only put her hands on either side of his face, drew him down, and kissed each of his cheeks. “Have a good dinner.” Releasing him, she reached for the door, smiling as she pushed it closed.
Spenser’s cheeks were still flushed as he returned to his own place, but Tomás wasn’t in the room, so he took refuge in fussing in the fridge and the pantry as he attempted to invent something for dinner. He’d planned leftovers for Duon and himself, but now he fished a package of Italian sausage out of the freezer, set it to defrost in the microwave as he pulled out a box of pasta, a jar of sauce, and a bag of salad. When Tomás came into the kitchen, Spenser nodded at the potential spread with a rueful smile. “It’s not going to be much of a dinner, I’m afraid.”
Tomás came up behind him, crowding Spenser with his body. Spenser thought Tomás was going to put his chin on his shoulder, but he only lingered close. Close enough for his scent to overpower Spenser. “Spaghetti is always good.”
Spaghetti was always easy, which was why Spenser made it often. “I’ve never been a great cook.”
“I enjoy your cooking. Your apartment always smells like a church potluck. And I love church potlucks.”
Spenser put a pot below the faucet and began to fill it. “My adoptive mother, Clara, was practically a gourmet chef. I never knew what I was eating half the time. When I got out on my own, I ate takeout a lot, until my cooperating teacher taught me about hot dishes. How to cut recipes in half or make enough to freeze for lunches.”
Tomás leaned on the counter, but when the pasta pot was full of water, he carried it to the stove before Spenser could. They worked in tandem, cooking together, Tomás frying the sausage while Spenser cut vegetables for a salad, all the while casually discussing Spenser’s past.
Tomás’s fingers brushed Spenser’s and stole a slice of freshly sliced cucumber. “How many places did you live? I mean, how many different families and shelters?”
Spenser paused his knife as he did the math. “Seven. Eight, counting my mother. But if you go by houses, adding her gives us another six. And three more school districts.”
“That’s so much change. Do you remember all of it? I mean, for most of what I remember of my life, I was always with my parents in this place across the hall, and it all blurs together.”
Spenser had to think about his answer, which he decided was answer in itself. “I remember, vaguely, but I don’t think about it much. The past is a box I keep tucked away in the back of my mind.” He sprinkled the sliced cucumber over the salad. “I’m not full of trauma, though, if that’s what you’re thinking. My life wasn’t an after-school special. It’s just my life. A little chaotic, a little lonely.”
“Are you lonely now? I mean, I never saw you go out much, before we…” Tomás rolled his eyes at himself. “Sorry, I’m fucking this up.”
His self-consciousness was endearing. “No, I don’t get out much, but I do get out. I’m busy with my job, is all. And now with Duon. I’m a quiet person.” He shook the tip of his knife playfully at Tomás while he grabbed a tomato. “Besides, you’re the last person who can pull off throwing shade at me for not getting out much, Mr. Workaholic.”
Tomás grunted and stabbed at the sausage with his spatula. “Touché. But it’s not by choice. I’m a people person. I prefer a job where I can interact.”
“Have you ever been able to go hang out? Meet friends at a bar? Socialize without scheduling it?”
He paused, considering, then grimaced and shook his head. “Not really, no. But it’s like I said. There’s no room for it. I make all the money in the family. I’m responsible for everyone.”
Tomás didn’t say it in a complaining way, but the heaviness of his burden broke Spenser’s heart. He wanted to take the man into his arms, kiss him, and lead him to the bedroom and make him forget about everything. Before he could come up with a consoling reply, Tomás stole another cucumber from the salad, sighing with regret before he put it in his mouth. “I really have to remember to leave a bottle of Tajín over here someday.”
Spenser frowned. “A bottle of what?”
Tomás’s grin made Spenser’s belly flutter. “It’s a spice, I guess you’d say. Condiment.” He made shaking motions over an invisible cucumber slice in his other palm. “You put it on cucumbers, watermelon, everything. The kids have been known to sneak the bottle and eat it in front of the television.”
Spenser couldn’t imagine a spice he’d do that to. “What in the world is in this stuff?”
“Huh, you know, I never thought about it. Lime, for sure. A little cayenne. Sugar too. Salt.” He grinned again, resuming his stirring of the meat. “And magic.”
Anything that made Tomás smile like that was something Spenser wanted to have on hand. He made a note to ask Renata where she bought it.
But even without Tajín, they made their own magic. They cooked together. Ate together. Almost burned the garlic bread because they flirt
ed with each other at the cupboard too long instead of setting the table and remembering to set a timer. When the meal was done, they did dishes while MPR chatted in the background, as they complained they’d eaten too much while picking at the last of the bread until Spenser put it away. It was a soft, companionable evening, and from the way they touched each other’s arms, shoulders, backs, Spenser knew they were headed to something more than a good-night kiss at the door.
But as Tomás drained the dishwater and Spenser hung up his towel, the room grew quiet enough that the voice from the radio punctuated their bubble.
Despite the failed November vote to define marriage as between one man and one woman, opposition groups are renewing their vows to block the statehouse’s efforts to move forward with a marriage equality bill. Several local demonstrations have been planned throughout the state, as well as a rally at the statehouse in St. Paul later this month.
Tomás glanced at Spenser, his expression sober, wary. “I saw a flyer about the rally, I think, in the office at your school. Do they put pressure on you regarding the equality issue?”
Spenser hesitated, then nodded. “It’s a difficult position to be in. As I said, I think they all know and are content to ignore my orientation. But the principal is insisting we all participate in what he calls awareness on the issue. I’m mostly hoping it all goes away.”
“But you do want marriage equality, right?”
“Of course I do. In Minnesota, in the United States, in the whole world.” Spenser wrapped his arms around himself. “But I want to keep my job too. And honestly, I’m pessimistic about the whole thing. The vote failing was a wonderful surprise, but I can’t see them actually passing equality. Or, if they do, the Supreme Court is going to show up and end everything. I’d rather not get my hopes up.”
Tomás opened his mouth, then shut it with a sigh. “I don’t know. I do hope still. For marriage equality. For immigration reform. I keep thinking, if they only see us. See Ed and Laurie and you and me and Duon, and my parents, and…everyone. When it’s real people, not policy, it’s different. It has to be. People can’t hate as easily when they see you.”
Enjoy the Dance Page 16
