“It’s wonderful to meet you,” Ben replied.
“I drive you home,” Nana said. “Then I make you for lunch.”
Tim chuckled, imagining Ben tied up on the table with an apple in his mouth. “Your English is good,” he said, picking the bags up again. “¡Muy bueno!”
“We have Englishman next door,” Nana said, taking his arm on one side and Ben’s on the other as she led them away. “I make him practice with me one time a week. We have tea together. Nice old man. One time he want to kiss me.” She giggled like a little girl, looking back and forth between them as they headed to the parking lot. Nana chatted about her other neighbors, then family members Tim didn’t know. She continued talking as they piled into her old Cadillac.
Traffic in Mexico City was notorious, rush hour turning the highways into parking lots. Nana was obviously mindful of this, checking the clock on her dashboard repeatedly as they drove in a race against time. She could barely see over the steering wheel, navigating the traffic with blind instinct as she continued to update him on family gossip, cars occasionally careening out of the way to avoid being hit.
Tim kept glancing back at Ben in the backseat as she chattered. He was looking out the windows, no doubt wondering if coming here was such a great idea. Mexico City, like most places, wasn’t best seen by car. Of course Tim could already spot architecture that made his mouth water, but the beautiful side of the city would reveal itself as soon as they reached his grandmother’s neighborhood.
“How is my Ella?” Nana asked as they neared the south side of the city.
“Mom’s fine.”
Pencil-thin eyebrows just managed to rise above the sunglasses. “Fine? Nothing more?”
“As far as I know.”
Nana slipped back into Spanish. «She never has much to say about you, either. I keep telling her that a mother is a part of her son’s life, whether he likes it or not.»
«I’d love it,» Tim replied. «She’s busy with Dad, as always.»
«Is that why?»
Of course not, but Tim wasn’t about to explain the real reason to his grandmother. He felt lucky Nana didn’t seem to be concerned about his sexuality, but he didn’t want to hear her agreeing with his mother about who goes to Hell.
«I’ll try harder,» Tim said. «I saw them just the other day, but I didn’t stay long.»
Nana nodded as if satisfied and took the exit to Xochimilco, the neighborhood and popular tourist spot where she lived. On either side of the street were never-ending walls, obscuring most of the homes behind from view. The monotony of this wall was broken by windows and doors, gates and garages, flower boxes and ornaments.
Nana’s house was pure comfort. As they pulled up, Tim took the key from her, hopped out, and opened the gate. Beyond was just enough room for her to park in front of the orange two-story building. After guiding the car in, Tim went to open Ben’s door, smiling the whole time. Just being here felt good. He took Ben’s hand and helped him out, amused by how hard Ben was trying to appear comfortable when he clearly wasn’t. Then Tim went to the trunk for their luggage. They’d take a train to the hotel later instead of risking traffic again.
“Where is the fat one?” Nana cried as if they had forgotten something important.
“Chinchilla?” Tim asked, hefting a suitcase to the brick pavement.
Nana nodded, eyeing the suitcase as if she expected the dog to hop out at any moment.
“She’s with a friend. She could have flown with us, but they would have put her in cargo.” Normally Tim preferred to drive down, but Ben didn’t have a lot of time off. So he had entrusted Marcello with Chinchilla’s well-being. He just hoped Chinchilla didn’t demand truffle purée and chilled champagne from now on.
“Ah!” Nana took Ben by the elbow. “Instead, you bring another beautiful creature. Come inside. I make enough food to kill an army.”
Tim laughed as he followed them in. The best thing about any grandmother’s house is the smell—like baby powder and fresh flowers, or maybe freshly washed sheets hanging in the sun, or sugar cookies cooling on a wire rack. If scientists could reproduce that scent and pump it into the open air, wars would cease, and whole armies would trade their guns for toys.
Nana’s house was a series of small rooms, the walls decorated with the same frames and knick-knacks that had been there since his childhood. Only the photos changed as children in the family grew older. And of course the painting he had brought her last time. That was in a place of honor in the dining room. Aside from it, all the furniture and baubles were comfortingly familiar.
“I have work in the kitchen.” Nana said in the small living room. “Then we eat.”
“I can help,” Ben offered.
“No, no. You a guest here. Relax. You can do the dishes later.”
“She’s kidding,” Tim said as she left the room.
“I ain’t scared of no dishes,” Ben said in a gruff voice.
“You will be when you see the feast she’s cooking up. Last time there wasn’t a clean plate left in the house.”
Ben pointed to a black and white photo of a little girl in a summer dress. “Is that you, Gordita?”
“It’s Gordito, and no, that’s my mom. Smart ass. Come on, I’ll give you a tour.”
They walked through the rooms on the first floor, avoiding the kitchen. Tim tried to express the memories he had made here, but most weren’t great stories. They were just him playing with his grandmother or watching her cook his favorite dishes, even if the rest of the family was having something different.
Upstairs were a couple of rooms and a bathroom. In Nana’s sewing room, Ben stood at the window, looking out at the neighborhood below. “It’s so different here,” he murmured.
“I know. Everything in the States is so polished and presentable. Mexico City, parts of it are completely relaxed, like when you put on a ratty old pair of sweatpants and stay inside.”
Ben turned from the window. “I love those days!”
“Yeah, me too. But Mexico City also has its evenings out, places where it puts on its best to impress. Or sometimes it dons stuffy business clothing or the latest fashion trends. Best of all, these places are often jumbled together. Wait until you see the hotel room. Smack dab in the middle of the city, and yet it’s so secluded and romantic that your poor little heart will explode.”
Ben gave him a curious look, as if this wasn’t the best news possible. “You should be a travel agent for Mexico,” he said as he strolled the room, taking in the details. “I had no idea about this part of your life. I mean, you mentioned your parents bringing you on vacation, but this is a whole new side to you. For me at least.”
“For me too, in a way. Since college, I’ve been coming down here more often. Usually I drive. You should come with me next time. There are tons of little tumbleweed villages along the way, some of them just like in the movies. Flying is faster, but you miss out on so much. You’re going to love it!”
Ben turned to him. “Already planning our next trip?”
Tim nodded. “Maybe.”
Ben smiled coyly.
“Is that a yes?”
“Sure. Sign me up.”
Tim grinned. “All right. If you’re lucky, Chinchilla might even let you sit in the front seat. Hey! Come downstairs. I want to show you something.”
Once back in the living room, Tim opened the wooden door to the backyard, which was just a strip of grass bordered by palms and a rickety old fence. Beyond this, water curved its way through the trees.
“There used to be a huge lake here,” Tim said. “Now the lake is gone, but there’s still a system of canals. And—well, check it out.”
Right on cue, a long narrow boat glided by. The boat had an open deck with a canvas roof and was painted with enough colors to give Jackson Pollock a headache. Tourists sat at a bench on board, drinking beer and staring at them as if they were part of the tour. Tim’s grandmother complained about the gringos, as if the loud tourists were there
only to irritate her, but then she often sat out here and waved.
“Can we ride one of those?” Ben asked, sounding like a kid.
Tim grinned. “Hell yeah! But I wanted to show you this because it’s typical of Mexico City. Sometimes it might look a little drab and worn compared to what we’re used to, but then you walk around the corner or enter the right building and find something that blows you away. Something you’d never find back home.”
“¡Almuerzo!” a voice shouted from inside.
Ben’s puzzled expression made Tim want to melt. “That means lunch is ready,” he explained.
“Oh, good. I’m hungry!”
“Trust me, that’s the last time you’ll say that at my grandma’s house.”
* * * * *
“You aren’t staying here? Why you want hotel?”
Tim eyed Nana from across a table cluttered with half-empty platters and pans. Maybe her English hadn’t been off when she said she would cook enough to kill an army. Tim doubted even a hundred men could eat everything on the table without exploding.
“We don’t want to inconvenience you,” Tim said.
“Inconvenience?”
“Molestia.”
“You think having my grandson here makes a problem?”
Of course not, but it did put a cramp in his romantic intentions. “I already have a room booked.”
Nana waved a hand dismissively. “Your father always say the same thing. My own daughter never sleeps here.”
Nana, master of the guilt trip.
“I’d love to stay here,” Ben said, nodding at Tim encouragingly. “It’ll be fun.”
Tim looked at Ben, picturing the hotel Jacuzzi, the dimly lit room, soft music, and the twinkling city lights beyond. That’s what they needed. Not the cozy comfort of a grandmother’s home. He focused on Ben, trying to silently communicate all of this. Staying here isn’t really what he wanted, was it? “Are you absolutely sure?”
“Yes!” Nana answered for him. “Oh, this is good. I better start dinner soon.”
“We’re going out,” Tim said, forcing a smile. “I want Ben to see more than just your dining room.”
“Yes, yes,” Nana said. She waggled her eyebrows. “Go out and be romantic. You want my car?”
“No, thanks. I think we need to walk this one off. Ready?”
He and Ben lumbered to their feet like pregnant women. A little exercise and fresh air were the only cure. If they took a nap now they’d probably end up in a coma. Besides, Mexico City had plenty of potential. A stroll through the streets, a kiss or two by a roaring fountain, and he and Ben would finally have their fresh start.
Chapter Thirty-six
Back on the streets of Xochimilco, where the narrow alleys felt like hallways, Tim waited patiently for Ben to share his opinion of the woman he loved so much.
“She’s cool,” Ben said.
“Yeah.” Tim nodded thoughtfully. “Cooler than I thought she would be. I figured she’d be uncomfortable. She was one of the main reasons I didn’t want to come out.”
“I worried about that too,” Ben said. “Every kid is used to their parents being angry, and disappointing them is part of growing up, but grandmas are sacred. When they’re unhappy, it feels horrible.”
“Exactly. I thought she would be broken hearted. But she seems okay.”
“Better than okay.” Ben laughed. “She’s awesome. I’m glad we’re staying there.”
Tim thought again of the luxurious hotel room, but didn’t say anything. He’d cancel the reservation later, but for now, he was determined not to become discouraged. “What do you want to see first? The National Palace? Some ancient pyramids? The Metropolitan Cathedral?”
“What about that volcano you used to talk about. Popo-oh-no, or something.”
Tim grinned. “Popocatépetl. That’s more of a day trip.”
“Oh. How about we ride those boats?”
“We can do that tonight. I don’t want to sit down anymore, do you?”
“I guess not.” Ben glanced around. “I don’t know. It’s all so new that anything will be interesting. You decide.”
“Okay, then. It’s straight into the heart of the city for us.”
They took a train to the Plaza de la Constitucion, a huge empty plaza in the middle of Mexico City. The world’s largest public square was impressive for its size alone, but something about all the concrete felt too militant. Tim considered the plaza an ideal starting place and nothing more. They wandered the city, soaking up the sights and sounds. Tim kept pulling Ben down small side streets to show him buildings that went from impressive to patchwork and weird.
“When I was a kid, this city felt like a wonderland to me,” Tim said. “Have you noticed how nothing really fits a scheme?”
“Yeah.” Ben glanced around. “No more cookie-cutter suburbs and strip malls.”
“Exactly. It’s like architects here just wake up every morning and say, ‘Well, what the hell should we try today?’”
“Some of these buildings look a little homemade,” Ben said carefully.
Tim laughed. “Some of them probably are, but that’s what makes them unique. The possibilities are endless. Wait until you see the more modern buildings here.”
“That’s right. You studied architecture, didn’t you?”
“Yeah, and man was that a buzz-kill. The practical aspects weren’t nearly as cool as my dreams. Maybe if I had lived down here I would have stayed interested, but in the U.S., I felt like I was learning how to build a bigger and better Walmart.”
“But think of all the people who need to buy cheap underwear and cheese in one convenient trip,” Ben teased.
Tim shrugged. “They’ll have to go commando and starve. I like painting better since I don’t have to limit my imagination. Or worry about a roof falling in on people.”
“Painting suits you better, anyway,” Ben said, taking his hand.
“Yeah?”
“I think so. You look like a jock but have the soul of an artist. What more could a guy want?”
“A gorgeous singing voice?”
Ben grinned at this flattery.
“A brave heart?”
Now Ben’s smile faltered. “I’m not so brave.”
“That’s not what I remember. The things you talked a teenage closet case into doing! Need I remind you?”
Ben turned a little red. “No need. I have a very good memory.”
Tim looked him over. “You know, we could still check into that hotel room, just for a little while.”
Ben looked uncomfortable, letting go of Tim’s hand to scratch his nose and not offering it again. He headed toward one of the major streets. “Let’s do some shopping. I think all this walking down back alleys is giving you the wrong idea about me.”
Ben’s tones were jovial, but he wasn’t looking at Tim anymore. “Sounded like the right idea to me,” Tim joked, stepping in at his side, but Ben didn’t laugh.
Talk about mixed signals! What was going on? They were somewhere new, their pasts far behind them, and it sure as hell seemed like Ben was interested. But every time Tim tried to get intimate, it seemed to cause Ben pain. Was it Jace? Had his ghost followed them all the way down here?
“Ben?” Tim reached out and took his hand. “Hold up a minute.”
Ben turned, his expression stopping Tim dead in his tracks. He could read Ben, knew his body language fluently, but Tim had never seen this before. The message Ben’s face conveyed was crystal clear: Not now. We’re not going to talk about this now.
Tim never expected that. Not from Ben, of all people. The bravest, boldest spirit he’d known in his life was avoiding a subject and asking Tim to do the same.
“Talk to me,” Tim tried.
Ben’s eyes softened. “Let’s just do some shopping, okay?” He squeezed Tim’s hand. “That’s what I need.”
“Okay,” Tim said, feeling anything but certain.
They hit some stores but didn’t buy anything
since Ben only seemed interested in browsing. Ben didn’t act moody during this. He still made casual conversation, Tim glad to join him, but the topics remained superficial. They even held hands, but this felt more like a consolation prize than anything. When their feet grew tired, they rested at a café and drank fruity aguas frescas as the sun went down. As much as Tim enjoyed watching people and taking in the sights and sounds, he found himself wanting to be alone with Ben. Maybe in privacy the truth would come out.
They caught a train back to Xochimilco, stopping in to check on Nana before heading for the canal boats. She loaded them up with leftovers, which Tim gratefully accepted. Bringing food and drinks on the trajineras boats was the norm for the natives, while tourists relied on enterprising individuals who would tie their smaller boats to the trajineras to hock their wares.
Most tourists left Xochimilco before nightfall, but some stuck around to party. Luckily, the atmosphere was fairly calm tonight. They approached one of the boat owners, whose dark eyes sparkled when Tim spoke the native tongue. Tim offered the man a much higher price than the norm. He wanted the boat for him and Ben alone. The driver accepted after haggling, Ben blissfully ignorant to the entire exchange.
“This is lovely,” Ben said, taking a seat at the long bench that filled the deck.
A couple of sputtering gas lamps provided atmosphere as the boat coasted into the canal, the world around them dark. Only lights from the neighborhood could be seen in the night. As they drifted down the waterway, leaving the homes behind, the stars above were matched by lamps from other boats on the canal. Over the gentle sound of the punt pushing through water, they could hear voices laughing.
Tim didn’t pay much attention to the surroundings. His eyes kept returning to Ben, face lit by flame, the shadows just enough to create the illusion that no time had gone by. Ben caught him looking and smiled before he stood and walked to the boat’s bow.
Tim followed, coming up behind him and placing his hands on Ben’s ribs. “Time for a Titanic moment? I’ll lift you up and you sing. Ready, Celine Dion?”