Chapter 4

CHAPTER

FOUR

SANTOS

" A nd you can put rows of chairs right here by the pool." Natie waves his hand around the poolside area, wedged right on the shore. A small beach flanks the north side, with a private marina on the south. The main hotel overlooks the pool, and it's as if we're walking in a postcard. I never visited Shiba's Seaside growing up, but I used to drive past it, and there's no way it was this big when I was a kid. "We can do a makeshift aisle up to the front." My sister, her fiancé, and her best friend all pay close attention to his words. I take a step back and try not to be overwhelmed by Natie standing right there.

"How many guests are you expecting?"

"Oh, not that many, mostly Wayne's family," Santana replies. "So like, thirty?"

"Yeah, thirty," Wayne adds.

"We can definitely fit them," Natie replies. He puts his hands in his pockets and smiles at all of us. When he glances at me, my pulse quickens. Professional-mode Natie is sexy; he looked good at the office, but his resort clothes fit him in the best way. Those tight khaki pants have my jeans feeling one size too tight.

My memory pulls me back to one of my darkest, most discomfiting memories with him. When we were seniors, I wanted so badly to ask Natie to prom. I was such a coward that I didn't dare step within a ten-foot radius of the Queer Pride Union. I was so busy with football, and it's not like he had classes with me. But I used to stare at him during lunch. Natie, Firass, and all the other gay kids sat at a table in the corner. Every afternoon their group seemed to have a jovial time. From across the cafeteria, he never noticed me and my football buddies at all.

But prom was approaching, and my window of opportunity was closing. One day, his bestie was sick, so he sat mostly alone for the entire lunch period. He was reading a book, some fiction hardcover, and eating his lunch in silence. My friends weren't around, and none of his friends were conversing with him at the table. Time slowed as the nerves crept up on me. This was my chance!

I approached him, towering over all my peers, as usual. The energy in the bustling cafeteria shifted, likely because football players never ended up on this side of the room. When Natie looked up, my heart skipped a beat. He's right there, now just talk!

"H-he…hey…Natie," I murmured.

He looked around, mouth full of sandwich, and understandably perplexed. After a moment, he swallowed, crumpled the wrapper and said, "Hey."

"Um…so…" I wiped my palms on my jeans. "Prom is…coming up."

He fidgeted in his seat. "Yeah."

"You…you're going?"

He eyed me skeptically before looking down again. "Yeah."

"I…I um…I heard you don't have a date?"

Natie slammed his book closed, and I startled. "Okay, ha ha…very funny," he said with a scowl.

"What? N-no. I'm going, too. S-s-so, since you don't have a date, if you don't mind being seen with my teammates, we…w-we…"

He packed up his books with force and grabbed his tray. "Make fun of the dude with no date to prom. I'm a loser, is that what you wanted to prove?"

"N-n-n…" I shook my head, and my dreadful speech impediment engulfed my verbiage.

"Well, congrats. The Handyman is the best, everyone loves you, and I'm a nerd with no date. You win." He glowered at me, then hiked his backpack up. Other kids looked on with snickers of interest, but I didn't care. The only person I wanted to impress was walking away.

"N…Natie."

"I'm sure you'll have a good time with your friends and some girl. But I'd rather go with my friends than be seen anywhere near the pathetic likes of you and your teammates." He leered at me one last time before spinning on his heel. In that moment, my heart sank to depths unfathomable.

My home life was atrocious, but I thought life at school was a bright spot. Thanks to my conversational deficits, life sucked here, too. Natie wanted nothing to do with me, and knowing that was the greatest anguish of all.

I shake my head to pull myself back to the present—this is about Santana's big day.

"And we have a lovely restaurant, as well," Natie says. "If you'd follow me."

"Take my hand, Santos. I don't wanna slip into the water!" Gretchen laughs, and I hold her up as we walk around the pool.

An hour later, Natie is walking us to the parking lot. "And I'll email you the room rates for your guests."

"We're local," Santana remarks.

"But if you want a bridal suite," Natie sings with a chuckle. "That's available."

"Ooh," Gretchen coos in interest.

"It's whatever you want, babe," Wayne says, touching Santana's shoulder. Thank the heavens my sister found someone so cordial and chivalrous.

We make it to the car and all turn to our gracious host. "You've given us a lot to think about, Natie," Santana says.

"You've been a great help," Wayne adds.

"Hasn't he?" Gretchen asks, tapping my arm with the back of her hand.

"Um…yeah," I mutter. I haven't spoken all day, but that's my MO.

Santana looks at me, then at Natie. "Were you guys friends in high school? Or middle school?"

"Uh…" Natie eyes me in shock, and I certainly can't say anything. I'm tongue-tied on a good day, and right now, I'm in the hot seat.

I scratch my neck and look away while my cheeks burn. "Um, we…saw each other for sure," Natie says.

"Yup!" I yelp and nod. "S…s-saw each other."

Santana gives me a pointed look that screams "we'll talk about it later," but drops it. She turns to Natie and says, "Ah, well, email us the rates, please."

"Of course. If you choose us, I'm looking forward to working with you."

"We'll get at you with the deposit," Wayne adds. With that, Natie bids us all adieu, and I get into the driver's seat.

The four of us finish eating lunch in the house I grew up in. Santana and her fiancé own the place now, and I'm glad they've kept the framed portraits of my mom's side of the family. Our humble two-story isn't much, but Wayne is a good guy, and he doesn't seem to mind. I've seen him financially support my sister numerous times over the years, so I know she's in good hands. With the meal done, Wayne goes to nap—the life of a nurse is a busy one—and Gretchen is on her way out the door. Before I can leave, my sister taps my shoulder.

"Santos, come have tea with me."

I turn to her and shoot her a pointed look. "Do I have to?"

"I have the brand that Abuela used to drink." How dare she use our dead grandma as a trump card? This must be serious.

I sit at the kitchen table of my childhood. I can almost see Abuela washing dishes at the sink; I wonder if she's in Heaven, satisfied with the adults we've become. Five minutes later, Santana and I are sipping tea.

"Did you like the venue?"

"Yeah. The views would be nice," I reply. I raise the cup to my mouth and she eyes me curiously.

"So you think I should take it?"

"It's your wedding, Santana."

"But you're helping me organize it."

"True. But my input is…g-g-go with your gut."

She nods and looks down at her cup.

"Wish we could have more of our family come to this thing."

I sigh, then touch her hand. We haven't had a sibling heart-to-heart in some time. "Family is what you make of it, the people who are here."

"That's true." She pats my wrist, then smiles at me. "That Natie guy was super cute, too. Do you remember him from high school?"

My hand yanks back like a well-timed yo-yo. "Um…" I sip my tea and look away. The cabinets that haven't changed in decades are fascinating to me all of a sudden.

"I was only asking because he kept looking at you funny." She gazes at me perceptively, and I frown.

"Mhm," I murmur into my mug.

"Bet he was checking you out," she mutters.

My heart thrums like a pair of bongo drums at a concert. "Nice t-t-try."

Santana studies me for a moment more before standing up. "You're probably right. He was likely just recalling you from high school."

"Yup." I nod and bring the cup to the sink.

"But if I accept Shiba's Seaside, he'll be a huge help. We'll have to spend a lot of time working with him."

I already work with him, what's one more nail in the pathetic coffin that is my love life? "Mhm."

"Well, thanks for your help, Hermano ."

Santana and I talk logistics for another five minutes before I leave. I resolve to make sure my sister's wedding is everything she ever wanted. We may have grown up in a fractured home, but we're adults now.

After I start up my car, I think back on my youth, and what Natie and I were like before high school. Years ago, Natie and I got into a groove of talking about books before and after our English class. He thrilled me in ways I couldn't comprehend. Straight people have a rough time with puberty, but it's so much worse for gay guys who have no idea what's going on. All I knew was that Natie Shiba fascinated me.

He was crinkly brown eyes and tufts of shaggy dark hair on a thin body. While he was petite, I was already nearly six feet tall with a wide frame. We didn't look anything alike, and most of his class schedule didn't coincide with mine. I was borderline remedial, and he was smart and interesting―even at a young age, opposites attract.

But I relished the laughs we shared in English class. I mostly nodded along when he talked books, but I could occasionally comment letting him know I liked the reading. Being tongue-tied was my default, but Natie made me want to come out of my shell.

I was incapable, however, on the day the teacher called on me to read my work out loud. I outright refused, like the preteen punk I was, knowing I would lose points on my grades. I didn't care—not even Natie's disappointed expression from the desk in front of me could get me to stand up and read to the class.

After English, Natie caught up to me. "Santos, what was that?"

"What was…what?" I muttered, hoisting my bag on my shoulder. I shoved my hands in my pockets while students littered the halls.

"Why didn't you want to read out loud?"

My cheeks burned. "I…didn't want to."

"But your essay was so good!"

I loved the idea of him enjoying my work, but the mere thought of speaking in front of everyone gave me palpitations. So, I resisted. "I don't care. School is lame."

He paused, shaken by my harsh words. "Do…do you want my help?" Of course he still wants to assist me. "We could practice after school."

The thought of spending more time with Natie filled me with equal parts dread and elation. I bit my lip, then replied, "I…h-h-have football practice, but…"

Before I could continue, I noticed my teammates sauntering down the hall. They were laughing and tossing a football back and forth, even though I knew it was against the rules to do so indoors. Even as middle schoolers, most of the jocks felt untouchable. One buddy said, "Yo, Santos! Head's up!"

A moment later, he threw the ball right at me. I caught it with ease, but it whizzed by Natie's head. He seemed shaken, and the crowd of kids laughing and hollering didn't help diffuse the situation. Crap .

My buddies ran up to me before I could get another word in. They jostled my shoulders, as jocks did, and cheered. "Yo, Handyman, we kickin' ass this weekend, right? You're gonna mow down everyone on the field?"

As they laughed, I shrugged and nodded along as I often did in the locker room. My football buddies didn't care that I couldn't talk right. I participated efficiently during the games. My teammate turned to Natie and added, "Hey you're friends with that fruity guy, right?."

They chortled in derision, and the blood drained from my face. I was caught between defending Natie, and backing up my team, and like always, I was immobilized, unable to reply. I'm known as the placid and stolid guy on the team, but I wasn't in the locker room right now; I was in the hallway, and I was allowing them to mock Natie, my friend.

Natie looked between us, and then his face filled with despondence. "Yup, that's me," he dead-panned. With that, he walked away, and I knew I fucked up.

An hour later, I caught up to Natie in the halls before lunch. When I touched his shoulder, he turned, and his smile fell. I'd never seen his eyes so crestfallen. I wasn't his book-loving friend anymore, I was another jock who disparaged him with gay jokes. He saw me as everyone else did―simply a giant brute who could knock down other dudes on the football field.

"Natie…"

"I get it, Santos…" He bit his lip and looked away. "You don't have to keep acting like my friend anymore. I get it." He shrugged me off and power-walked away.

The dejection on his face scarred me. Even now, nearly two decades later, the heartbreak still burns my throat. I never wanted the ability to speak up more than in that very moment. I yearned to tell Natie that he was my friend, that I wanted to study with him, and that I was contrite. But instead, my lack of words estranged him. From that moment on, he spent every class as far away from me as possible, never speaking to me again.