You’d never heard of a color party, so I explained it to you. I’d convinced my parents to purchase a huge piñata that wasn’t just filled with candy, but with powdered dyes as well. That would be the surprise beginning of the color war. The balloons, too, would be filled with powder, and there would be little pouches scattered everywhere that would break open on contact. I wanted everyone to look like a painted canvas by the end of the day. I told you all about it, including the activities we’d planned, while you methodically sliced a banana with a clean knife. Why did everything look like a dick to me?
“You’re coming, right?” I wanted to see you streaked with color. Maybe you’d be so inclined to take off your shirt.
“But of course,” you said.
I stared at you, thinking about all these conflicting emotions inside of me. Whowereyou to me? Friend? For sure. Brother? Yes, but not quite. Notonly.The brew of uncertainty was like constant indigestion. So, I just asked you point-blank, “Henri, what do you think of me?”
“What do you mean?”
“I mean, we spend a lot of time together. We always have. You devote an entire day to me every week. You come to all of my functions. You buy me things and take me places. You…doteon me. And I want to know why.”
You swallowed and I watched your Adam’s apple bob in your muscular throat.
“Because we’re family,” you said.
Why didn’t I believe that was it?
“Brothers?” I asked and you nodded. “You think of me as a brother?”
You were quiet, eyes searching mine. “I think of you…” You stopped then started again. “I think of you as a very special young man who faces some severe challenges because of how unique we are.”
You’d always been tight with my parents. I’d thought it was because you were old friends, but maybe it was some sort of agreement you’d made with them. A pact to watch over me because no one else could. That would explain why my dad seemed to resent me at times. Like I was a burden he’d never bargained for. Not Papa though. Never Papa.
“Is that why you stay here in Miami instead of moving somewhere else?” I asked.
“There’s nowhere else I’d want to be, Vincent.”
I believed you, but was it love or duty?
“Youwantto be near me?” You nodded slowly. I bit my lip and glanced down at your hands where they gripped the counter so tightly the tendons in your wrists were straining. I glanced up at you with uncertainty. “Because I’m your responsibility?”
You looked so tormented in that moment, I was almost sorry I asked. Almost.
“It’s much more than that,” you said.
I searched your face, but you seemed paralyzed by my questions. I reached for one of your hands and squeezed. For one crazy moment I was certain this hand had touched me, and not in a brotherly way. But before I could determine much more than that, you withdrew to busy yourself with the dishes, and the impression was gone.
But the look on your face was guilty.
THE NEXT TIMEI saw you was at my birthday party. Everything was going as planned. Turnout was good. Most everyone we’d invited showed, including the girls Valentina was feuding with. And there was a healthy serving of man candy for Val’s pursuits. I’d baked about a million cupcakes,withsugar, and frosted them with a piping bag, so they looked all fancy, arranged in a huge rainbow—got to flex my gay pride.
Val and I had curated a playlist of straight bops set to max volume, the pool was sparkling, and Papa had the food and drinks handled. By the time the piñata broke, the crowd was amped up on adrenaline and sugar. Then it devolved into complete mayhem with people racing from one side of the yard to the other, pelting each other with color powder, spraying shaving cream, unfurling rolls of toilet paper, then jumping into the pool or shoving people into it. Thank God my dad was out of town, and we’d have a few days to clean up, because the backyard wasdestroyed.Even my cats kept their distance.
You were one of the few adults at this teenaged soiree, but you seemed as comfortable as if you were at the ballet or brunch, even joining in on the color war and shooting kids with Super Soakers and Nerf Guns. You wielded the weapons like a professional assassin, and I doubted you even knew how lethal you looked.
“Want me to push him in the pool?” Valentina said at my side when she caught me staring at you.
“What?” I schooled my expression and directed my attention at her instead. She smelled like a watermelon Jolly Rancher, and her curves were hard to miss. We’d been working on our tans all summer. Both our skin tones were naturally dark, so it was usually a contest of who could have fewer tan lines. Val liked to go topless in our backyard, something that drove my parents crazy. Her face, at the moment, was bright with color, not to mention the splotches of powder that streaked her cheeks and forehead. I caught the scandalized look in her eyes but said nothing.
“You know, get him wet so he takes off his shirt?” she said with a sly look.
I laughed. It was not a bad plan. “You don’t think he’s too old for me?” If she only knew how old you really were.
“Just old enough.” She smiled. “I made this for you, but it looks like your man piece needs it more.” She thrust a plastic cup into my fingers where it sweated against the palm of my hand. A mixture of Hawaiian Punch, Pixie Sticks, and Sprite, Valentina called it Sugar Rush. It was sweeter than cough syrup, but on a hot day like this, it really hit the spot.
I waved off a few guys calling for me to join them where they were dunking each other in the pool and passed by some girls painting each other’s chests and bellies with shaving cream. You were taking it all in, eyes sweeping over the wild rumpus until they landed on mine. A smile broke over your face, one that was just for me.
“You look thirsty,” I said, then flushed with embarrassment. But you missed the innuendo.
