“You’re wrong.” Joe had it backward. He felt too much, all the emotions, firing on every cell at once. “I’m in love with her.”
Joe looked pained, like it was the worst thing Nathan could have said. “It doesn’t matter.”
That’s when Nathan realized that a part of his brother, the romantic, was slowly being poisoned by his two broken hearts.
“This family needs to heal,” Joe continued. “You don’t get to flit around infatuated, while the rest of us are putting in the work. Not this time.”
Nathan thought about his last fight with Beto. How he’d frozen when confronted with his father’s suffering. The next day he was in New York with Rachel, pretending it never happened. “The trip was last minute,” Nathan said. “I wasn’t trying to run away. I just needed a break to get my head on straight.”
Joe laughed, and it was so sad and bitter that Nathan’s throat tightened. “A break? I’ve lost my wife. I might lose my kid. The livelihood of our entire family—no, half this goddamn city—is about to be on me!” He flung a hand at Nathan’s chest. “And now I’ve got you, trying to make a terrible situation immensely fucking worse, by going down in flames where the whole world can see.”
Nathan could feel himself retreating, his body instinctually trying to escape his brother’s wrath. Joe was right. He’d been hiding from this. Cowering on the other side of town, behind a wall of fucking dryers. “I’m sorry,” he said, even though the words felt thin and inadequate. “You’re right, it was selfish. I’ve just always been—” Nathan stopped, because he’d nearly said alone. But it wasn’t true. Because Joe had been there. As always. “It won’t happen again. I promise.”
The next day, Nathan was forced to follow through on that promise when he received a text from Beto asking him to stop by the house. After the argument with Joe, he’d decided to focus on what he could control. If Beto insulted him, Nathan didn’t have to argue. He could ignore it and engage with his father as an equal instead of a wounded son. He could keep the peace for both their sakes. And for Joe.
An hour later, he pulled into his parents’ driveway behind a car he didn’t recognize. A housekeeper let him in, explaining that Sofia was visiting with guests. Nathan started to seek out his mother but froze at the sight of Rachel in the foyer. She’d straightened her hair. The pearls were back, tucked inside the high collar of a stiff white shirt that made it look like she was wearing a uniform. When she finally looked up from her phone and saw him, he couldn’t think of anything to say except “Rachel?” It was a question, accusation, and plea all at once.
He started to reach for her. She shook her head and stepped back as Matt walked out of the living room. Rachel stiffened when Matt touched her lower back, and shuffled sideways, out of his reach.
“Nathaniel!” His mother walked out of the sitting room with a freckly redhead holding a camera trailing behind her. “What a surprise!” Sofia gave him air-kisses to preserve her lipstick.
“I came to see Beto,” Nathan said.
Sofia dismissed the explanation with a flick of burgundy-tipped fingers. “Since everyone’s here, let’s all get a picture.” She gestured toward Rachel and Matt. The suggestion broke through Rachel’s frozen posture, and she took a step back, swinging horrified eyes between the two men. When Beto appeared at the top of the stairs, Nathan nearly groaned with relief.
“I’m in the office,” he said, and beckoned for Nathan to follow.
Sofia grabbed Nathan’s arm. “We need to get a quick photo.”
“Need?” Beto laughed. “I doubt that. Nathaniel, come on.”
For once he was grateful for the smothering effect his father’s bullish behavior had on the people around him. Nathan kissed Sofia’s cheek and escaped up the stairs without turning back. Music floated into the hallway and grew louder as he walked into his father’s office. Nathan listened for a moment and recognized “Habanera” from Carmen. “Is that Grace Bumbry?”
Beto sat in his high-back leather chair. “‘L’amour est un oiseau rebelle.’ You listen to opera?”
Rachel had played it for him on their trip to New York. He remembered this piece in particular because she’d called it “the sexiest aria ever written.”
“I’ve just heard it before.”
Beto turned down the volume. “You’re full of surprises, mijo.”
Nathan sat in the chair on the opposite side of the desk. Beto grabbed a crystal decanter with golden liquid inside. “Mezcal,” he declared pointedly, apparently still traumatized by the poor drink selection at Nathan’s apartment.
I have something for you. Here.” Beto handed Nathan a leather book. “It’s my mother’s photo album. You were looking at those old pictures the other day, and I thought you might want to have it.”
Nathan’s heart pounded as he accepted the album. He didn’t know why their last vicious argument had inspired such a thoughtful gesture, but for the first time, he didn’t care. He just wanted the same thing as Beto, to fix something between them, even if it was merely being able to take his father’s kindness at face value.
Nathan opened the album to the first page. Abuelita’s face smiled back at him from beneath a lace wedding veil. He’d heard stories about her wedding, how the whole city was in attendance and the reception lasted so long they had to serve breakfast the next day, but she always said that looking at the photos was painful. After his grandfather’s death, she would talk about him as though he were still there. “Tomás always buys the perfect flowers for my birthday,” she would say, years after he was gone.
He flipped through the pages of mostly black-and-white photographs until he came to one of Beto as a pimply teenager, standing next to a wood paneled car with a wide grin. A calmness washed over Nathan, like he’d found something he didn’t know he was looking for. Confirmation that his father wasn’t infallible. He was just a guy who went through the same nerdy growing pains as everyone else.
“First time taking her out,” Beto said, tapping the car. “It took six months to convince my mother that I could handle it without crashing.”
“You look so happy.” Nathan wondered if Beto had ever smiled like that again. Maybe at his mother. Or when Joe was born. “It’s a good picture.” Nathan closed the album. “Thank you for this.”
Beto studied his face. “You look like something’s bothering you.”
“No, I’m just—”
“Don’t lie, Nathaniel, please.” For once, it was a request instead of a command. Beto leaned back in his chair and motioned for Nathan to continue.
His hands were clammy. He set his glass down and wiped them against his thighs. “I’m…” He thought it would be hard to say, but the truth spilled out in a rush. “I’m in love with someone. A woman.”
Beto nodded. “First time?”
“Yeah.”
“Do I know her?”
Nathan hesitated and Beto must have sensed his struggle. “You don’t have to say. But good for you.”
“It doesn’t feel good.” Nathan drained his glass and flinched at the trail of fire it made down his throat. “It actually feels like shit.”