Pulling into the lot, I park next to a familiar Subaru that looks identical to mine except it’s white, whereas mine’s black. Hands still on the steering wheel, I let my head drop back onto my seat, eyes drifting closed as I force myself to take a couple of deep breaths.
It’s one dinner. What could go wrong in the span of one dinner?
Turning off the car, I climb out, hitting the lock button on the key fob as I make my way inside. The restaurant is busy, and as the mouthwatering aroma of Italian seasoning wafts over me, my stomach grumbles, reminding me that I haven’t eaten anything of substance since this morning.
Sweat lines the back of my neck, dread coating my gut as I stride toward the table where my family is waiting for me. I’m the last to arrive—not shocking.
My sister, Alondra—orAlly, as everyone calls her—spots me first, her dark brown eyes that match mine, lighting up as a smile splits on her face. “Matty! Finally, you made it!” She rises from her chair, coming over to wrap me up in a tight hug.
“Happy birthday,” I murmur in her ear, finding instant comfort from her embrace.
Ally is six years younger than me, but we’ve always been fairly close as far as siblings go. When I moved out as a teenager, she would sneak my mom’s phone at night after my parents went to bed, and would text and video chat with me, coming to sleep over at uncle Benny’s whenever she could.
Scanning the table, my gaze connects with my mom’s, a similar smile to my sisters on her face. “Hola, mijo,” she greets in her small voice.
“Hola, Mamá.” Ally returns to her seat to my mother’s right, and beside her is her boyfriend. “Hey, Scottie,” I mutter as I take a seat across from them. “How’s it going, man?”
“Not bad, not bad,” he replies with a kind smile.
Scottie reminds me of Kelso fromThat 70s Show. Like, there’s not a whole lot going on up in his head, but he’s a nice enough guy, and he treats Ally the way she should be treated. So, I can’t complain. They’ve been dating since high school. She was the head cheerleader, and he was the class clown. Everybody was shocked when she brought him home.
The server comes and takes my drink order, dropping off a few plates of appetizers they ordered before I arrived. When she steps away, Ally wastes no time showing me the diamond bracelet and matching earrings that Scottie got her for her birthday. He really does spoil her. For appearing like an airhead, he surprisingly has an impressive job and does quite well for himself.
“So,mijo,” my mother says, glancing across the table at me. “How are you doing? I never see you anymore.”
If there’s one thing she’s good at, it’s guilt trips.
“Doing fine,” I say shortly. “How are you,Mamá?”
She shrugs. “Oh, I would be doing better if you came around more.”
“Work’s busy,” I lie.
“You seem to make time for your sister just fine,” she argues, and she’s right. Ally and I see each other at least once every other week. The difference is, Ally didn’t turn her back on me when I was fifteen and outed, nor did she kick me out of my home at seventeen.
“Mamá,stop,” Ally says, placing a hand on her arm. “Let’s have a nice evening, yes?”
“Sí, it’s just so nice to see your handsome face, Matty.”
Something painfully similar to guilt swims in my stomach. There’s a part of me—the little boy who wants his mother’s love—that thinks I’m too hard on her. That it wasn’t her doing, per se. And while that part of meisright, the side of me that holds the grudge and the hurt and the anger is also right, too.
Sure, when my parents found out I was gay at fifteen by my not-quite-boyfriend-but-not-quite-friend’s blabbermouth of a dad, it wasn’t my mom who beat the shit out of me with a belt and forced me to go to a church program they sold to me as a “summer camp” but was more like something out of a horror film. And yeah, when I ran away from the camp and went back home, it wasn’t her who kicked me out in the dark of night in the pouring rain because“no son of mine is going to be a mamabicho.”
But she also didn’t do jack shit to stop him either, and that’s just as unforgivable in my book.
Growing up, Ally and I were all the other had. When I was seven and Ally was just a baby, our sister, Marisol, died from the chicken pox. She was three years younger than me. You’d think losing one child to an illness would be enough to make you cherish the kids you still have, regardless of their sexual orientation, but what the fuck do I know?
If it weren’t for Ally being so close to my mom, I’d probably never see her. And I can’t fault her for having a relationship with her own mother. It’s not like she knows the details of what went on with us, nor do I ever want her to know. It’s not her burden to carry, and I refuse to let her take on that weight.
Thankfully, she can sense the tension and does what she does best… filling the silence with her chatter to avoid any lulls where Mom has the opportunity to guilt trip me some more. It’s a miracle I make it out of the restaurant in one piece.
The drive home is a blur, the snow having since stopped. There’s not even a trace of it on the ground anymore. Maybe there won’t be a storm after all.
Strolling through the lobby of my building, the elevator doors are sliding shut as I approach, so I pick up the pace. They’re old and slow as fuck, and I know if I miss it, I’ll be waiting at least five minutes for the next.
“Hey, hold the door, please,” I shout, speeding up into a jog. Thankfully, a hand slides out, stopping the door just in time. “Thanks,” I murmur as I round the corner into the metal box, only for my eyes to collide with an icy pair of blues, attached to just the person I’d love to run into on an elevator. “Hola, cariño.”
I can’t explain why I want to fuck with him so much. He’s just so… animated, wearing his every emotion right there on his pretty face. Seeing him has my pulse racing, my body temperature rising. Just like when I saw him in the hallway when he introduced himself to me, I want to mess with him, rile him up. It’s like his anger ignites something inside of me that I can’t explain.
