I huffed out a relieved breath that turned into a chuckle. Rubbed my forehead, where a permanent line was forming.
Coming home. Fuck me, this must be why Mom stayed away so much. The way Mateo sounded?
That was the way people sounded when the topic of my mom came up.
“These seven years,” I started. “They flew by for me. I don’t mean that as an excuse. I fucked up. I hear you totally. I think, in my mind, I wasn’t focused too much on the future. Figured we’d always, always have our friendship. Even if I wasn’t…”
Mateo raised his eyebrows. Waited.
“Even if I didn’t maintain it or put any work into it,” I finished. Those words hurt like hell coming out, but they were the honest truth in the face of what Mateo was saying about me.
“Seven years is a really, really long time,” he said softly. “I’m mostly mad because I fucking missed you.”
I rubbed the back of my neck. Was it a long time? “Yeah I fucking missed you too. I miss Rafael. I miss your parents. The longer I’ve been gone, the easier it’s been to ignore some things that are hard to feel.” I reached forward and tapped his knee. “And ignore the people I care about the most. I’m a total piece of shit. I must have looked like the world’s biggest asshole swaggering in here just now.”
“You really did,” he said, but he was smiling. Not his full one, but it was on the right track. The fist in my chest loosened a little. “And you don’t just look it. You are an asshole.”
I nodded, let out a big sigh. “What can I do? I’m home for two weeks.”
“Not for good?” he asked with something like hope in his voice.
“I haven’t changed that much.” I cracked a smile. “But I promise this time that when I leave, I won’t be that guy again.”
I could make that promise—right?
“Don’t fuck with me, okay?” he said softly. “I’m serious.”
“I’m serious too,” I said. “Can we please, like, can I hug you?”
He rolled his eyes but stood and wrapped me in a bear hug even though he was six inches shorter than me. I clapped him on the back, swamped with the memory of saying goodbye to him and Rafael the day that I left. How worried they’d looked, how happy I felt. I’ll call you when I get there, I’d said.
And I hadn’t.
I sank back into the chair, rocking back on the back leg. Packed away that guilty memory to scrutinize later. I hadn’t meant to not stay in touch. It was just one of those relationships I assumed would always be there, would always be good.
“I know I won’t make this up overnight, but honestly tell me what I can do while I’m home,” I said. “And please tell me all about this beautiful fucking gallery that makes me want to legit cry.”
Another smile tugged at his mouth. “Pop tell you that me and Rafael are engaged?”
“Yes,” I said, beaming. “Yes, he fucking did. The words I’m so happy for you both don’t even come close.”
“Thank you,” he said, voice softer. “And I need someone to plan our bachelor parties for us.”
“Sounds like a job for me, huh?” I said, waiting on tenterhooks.
He rubbed his chin. Finally said, “Yeah. Yeah, you can do it. I’d like that.”
I took out my phone and started typing. “And I’ll start by sending your mother flowers from that shop she likes.”
“Good idea.”
“What else?”
He jiggled his knee. Clapped his hands together. “Fix up my old bike?”
I leaned forward. “You’re talking about the old Harley Sportster? The one from senior year?”
“Yeah. It’s still in my parent’s garage but needs some serious work. Like a top-notch mechanic kind of work.”
I pointed at my chest. “I’m a top-notch fucking mechanic.”
“Yeah, yeah.” He waved off my bragging, wiped the smile off his face. “I’m still pissed at you. You can’t come in here and do your Max Devlin thing and make me forget.”
“What’s my Max Devlin thing?”
“Get in trouble. Charm the hell out of everyone until they forget. Stroll on out, whistling. Don’t even fucking pretend to not know.”
Now I rolled my eyes, although he had a point. It’d never been hard for me to flirt my way into—but also out of—trouble. And consequences. But this was my best friend, not a parking ticket. So I held up my palms and injected as much sincerity into my voice as I could. “You’re right,” I said. “And I’m really, really sorry. There’s no excuse.”
“Trial basis, you and me,” he said, pointing between us. “You better fix that bike. And we better have the best bachelor parties the world has ever seen. And then you better call me once a week once you ride out of this city. I’m serious.”
“It’s more than I deserve,” I said—and meant it. Mateo’s tenuous mercy had me feeling grateful, but blood still roared in my ears. A whole swarm of bees had lodged in my throat, and I was sweaty and nervous.
I’d made Mateo feel like shit.
These were the kind of complications my mom warned me would happen—the more I put down roots, the more I would stay in one place.
“Do you want to see the space?” he asked, nodding behind me.
“Hell yes,” I said. We walked back out, and I got an even better view of the way it was set up, the floor-to-ceiling windows making it feel like the busy urban street was inside the gallery. I strolled over to one of the pieces that had a red dot next to the hefty price tag. Let out a low whistle and flashed a half-smile at my friend.
“You really did it,” I said.
He shoved his hands into his pockets. “Of course. I said I was going to do it, didn’t I?”
“Graduation day,” I said, remembering. “Me, you, and Rafael spent the night on the fire escape at The Red Room, drinking those beers we had your cousin buy for us. You and Rafael wanted to get married, raise a family, and you wanted to be a famous artist with your own gallery.”
There was this quiet peace about Mateo—especially now that he wasn’t so pissed at me. Like a contentment. “Dreams aren’t just for dreaming about. I’ve never worked harder than I have for this, for my art, for the ability to have people come and see it and buy it. They were big goals, but I knew I could achieve them.”
We were staring at a painting of Central Park so full of vibrant color and texture it reminded me of a lightning strike.
“It’s incredible,” I said. “I’m so fucking proud of you.”
Mateo was quiet for a moment. “Thank you. I’m proud of myself too. And I’ll be honest—I wish you’d been here for it. Or at least had been aware of it.”
Those damn bees attacked my throat with a vengeance. “Yeah.” I cleared my throat again. “That would have been really special.” I cast him a sideways glance. “How much did your mom cry?”
“Whole-ass buckets of tears.”
I grinned. “And your dad?”
“He shed a few. Brought his phone and had my grandparents and cousins in San Juan on video cheering when I gave my speech. And then Rafael planned a surprise party for after. Pop was there.”