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Stories
by Ruben Reyes
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They reconnected at a crummy alumni reunion put on in Orange County, organized by folks who had graduated at a time when racial slurs were still en vogue and an interracial gay relationship raised major eyebrows. As two of the youngest men there, and by far the handsomest, they slowly drifted to each other. When Neto very vaguely mentioned working in finance, Steven's interest deflated, but then he made a quip about being as well endowed as the university, and that was enough reason for Steven feel him out a bit longer. The handsome and rich so seldom needed a personality.
A real attraction emerged from the elitist petri dish of a hotel ballroom and Neto fed it. He made time for dates with Steven, despite working arduous hours and unexpected overtime. He paid for day trips and overnight stays in Joshua Tree and Big Bear. Steven was merely smitten at first, but then fell fully in love with a man who looked at him as if there were nothing more precious in the world. When Neto asked him to move in, Steven didn't flinch.
They'd been living together for about three months when Neto finally told Steven about his mango tree. Steven laughed at first, but by the end of the night he'd left the apartment, feigning a trip to the gym. Instead, he went to Yogurtland and filled a medium-size cup. Steven surveyed the toppings, calculating whether the kiwi chunks would be lighter than the strawberry slices, and therefore cheaper, until the sight of syrupy, congealed mango bits put him off fruit entirely. He ate plain vanilla in silence, trying to make sense of what Neto had told him.
Neto's morning drive to LAX was perfect for organizing the loose ends of his life. He called his mother, who was recently on his ass for not keeping in touch.
"It's been three weeks since I've seen you," she said. Her filtered voice rushed out of the car speakers. She still lived in Neto's childhood home, on a suburban street full of empty nesters. He visited as often as his work schedule allowed, but it never felt like enough, so he called her almost daily to keep her at bay. The past couple of weeks, though, the strategy was only moderately successful. "Three weeks. I've been counting."
"They're selling units in a new apartment building in the Arts District, not too far from my place," Neto said. "It'd be easier to see each other if you didn't live all the way out in Diamond Bar."
She tsk-tsked and said it'd be too small. They rehashed the same conversation every couple of months. Neto was willing to buy his parents an apartment, so long as they downsized. The boxes of Christmas decorations, the extra sets of kitchenware, the bags of old hand-me-downs his mother insisted she'd eventually take to his relatives in El Salvador—all of it had to go. Neto told them to leave everything behind, and that he'd furnish the apartment with entirely new things. But his mother hated hearing that, insisting that she needed every piece of her hundred-piece nativity scene. Every box of trinkets was a treasure chest.
"Have you talked to your tia recently?" she asked, changing the subject. The boxes of mangoes arrived fine, so Neto hadn't.
"Send her a little extra this week," she said. "She woke up with a massive headache this morning. She won't ask for it, but she needs money to pay for a doctor's visit and whatever they might prescribe."
Neto was pulling up into the airport parking lot, so he promised he would and hung up. When he'd first conceived of the scheme, a deliveryman handled the pickup, but a few weeks in, an aching anxiety set in. Neto spent the earliest hours of his day, which used to be his most productive, worrying. His mangoes were so sweet, so delicious, and he relied on them the way Steven relied on his antidepressants. The delivery took on an almost mythic quality. If he didn't get his mangoes, everything else he'd built for himself would fall apart too. Until the doorbell rang, Neto was useless, so he began making the drive himself.
Excerpted from There Is a Rio Grande in Heaven by Ruben Reyes. Copyright © 2024 by Ruben Reyes. Excerpted by permission of Mariner Books. All rights reserved. No part of this excerpt may be reproduced or reprinted without permission in writing from the publisher.
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