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.”
“She doesn’t love you back?”
He thought about how Rachel was downstairs right now, letting Matt Abbott touch her like they were still together. “I don’t know what she feels. I don’t think she knows either. But I’m not sure I can wait around while she figures it out.”