When the sisters vanish into the back to prepare our plates, Hector reaches for the first mini glass from the walnut tasting tray before him, so I do the same.
“Who decides what the cause is?” I ask. Plates of to-die-for calamari, a risotto ball, and some sort of micro-green salad with a pleasing pink dressing get placed before us, all so fragrant. Siena tells us to enjoy.
“There’s a committee that chooses. SBA provides grants, loans, help with filing incorporation papers, stuff like that. I think they do seminars and workshops too. One of the higher-ups teaches a personal finance class at Havensmith,” he says.
When I came around to volunteering, the Small Business Association was a minor detail in my major escape plan. Now, I realize that it’s an imperative part of the makeup of this town. It’s wild how much I can overlook when I’m so engrossed in my own ego.
“Your grandma would know more about all the ins and outs,” Hector says.
“What do you mean?” I ask. I take my first bite and can’t help but moan.
“Well, this year’s gala is mostly to pool together grant money for struggling businesses. Lorna’s place is on the list of recipients.”
I stop midchew. This is the first I’m hearing of definite hardship. Sure, the place isn’t a revolving door of spending customers, but it has its charms, its town significance, and one of the savviest business ladies running its operations.
“Why doesn’t she just ask my parents for money?” I ask, confused.
“Pride, probably,” Hector says, mouth hung up on something else. “Maybe other reasons. I don’t know. Everyone loves your grandma, but love doesn’t always mean spending money.”
I’m learning that the hard way. It’s weird how almost every conversation Hector and I have comes back to the green menace in the room. Dollar signs roll like slot machine reels above our heads. I wish their incessant clanking would stop. There’s no jackpot at the end of this rainbow.
I wonder what Siena and Christina see when they look at us. There are stark contrasts in the way we dress, but does the class disparity show? Am I a shallow asshole for even thinking that? It no longer feels like a deal breaker, but it’s still a serious consideration especially with my friends back home. Not to mention the media that sometimes circles me like a hawk.
I don’t want to cause Hector any extra hurt. He carries enough as it is.
I can never pretend to know what his journey to self-acceptance was like. In any case, he’s probably negotiating that every day. Being White and rich, even identifying as gay rather than bi, allows me mobility he doesn’t have, more privileges I’ve yet to fully take stock of. I’ve got work to do, personal work. Loads of it, I’m realizing.
Over tiramisu and our last glasses of wine, we drop talk of town-wide struggle and focus on the gala. The only way we can help Lorna’s Used Books & Beyond and the whole of Wind River is if we throw a gala where people are ready to throw around their cash. We think A Very Fine Vine should be a part of that success.
Christina and Siena are thrilled when we tell them the news. We discuss logistics: the college kitchen and the presentation of the food. They spit back numbers, both price and staff considerations. The ballpark is hefty, but Hector excuses himself to the bathroom to do some calculations.
Siena twirls her ponytail with her index finger while we wait. “I don’t mean to switch gears, and I hope this isn’t unprofessional, but do you happen to know if Noelle has a date to the gala? I was going to ask last night but…”
My attention piques. “Your mouths were a little busy?” I wink. “But, no, I don’t think she does.”
Siena’s face lifts. I never thought I’d be plugging a love connection today that wasn’t my own, but I’m happy to do a bit of matchmaking for a friend as good as Noelle.
“Glad to hear it,” Siena says, nearly giggling.
When Hector returns, he shoots me a thumbs-up behind their backs. We uncork another bottle of wine to celebrate. Hector and I leave full, a little drunk, and happy to be bringing some good to this town.
We decide it’s best we take a walk before we head back to the college, and my heart flutters when he discreetly slips his hand into mine. His mittens are soft; my emotions are softer.
At the end of the street, I pull Hector into an alley between two stores. I press him against the wall and kiss him. There’s something so hypnotic about his lips.
He tastes like garlic and red wine as our tongues brush together. I become aware of all the layers separating us, and while I want to do this right, I’m really looking forward to the moment when I can slip him out of his clothes.
The storage unit was fucking hot, but seeing him in all his naked glory would be beyond hot. It would be a downright inferno.
I stiffen in my briefs at the mere thought of our sweaty, heaving bodies. It’s not until Hector is whispering, “Easy there, dude,” into my ear that I realize I’m toying with the elastic of his underwear.
“My bad,” I say, taking a step back.
“Youarebad,” he says seductively. He takes my hand in his again and we head back onto the sidewalk. “Stop for a coffee? That will sober us up.”
Not to mention giving us time to cool down.I take a cleansing breath.
“Noelle would love an eyeful of this,” I say, holding up our waffled hands.
