Chapter Text
“ Mijo? Qué te pasó?”
The worry thick in his father’s voice—and reflected in his furrowed brow and sidelong glances—was the only thing that forced Nacho to ground himself. To take deep, shaky breaths to stop the hyperventilating and shaking in his hands. He white-knuckle gripped his knees and tried to smile for his Papá, but the smile wobbled precariously before crumbling back into tears.
Something about being with his Papá, sliding into Spanish like a comfortable pair of old slippers (the way it only felt when he spoke it with Papá), was immediately comforting. It bolstered him enough that he was able to choke out between ugly sobs that scratched up his throat, “I…I g-got in a fight.” At his father’s startled gasp, he clarified, “An argument. With L—a…friend. I j-just feel so s- stupid.”
Nacho sniffled, wishing that his Dad wasn’t driving so he could wrap him up in his strong arms and cradle him like he used to when he would come crying to him as a little boy. He wished, too, that he could tell him everything. Spill it all out like vomiting up the poison of a night’s hard drinking.
But he couldn’t tell him about the reality of his relationship with Lalo. This wasn’t exactly the ideal moment to come out as bisexual to his father. And he definitely couldn’t tell him that Lalo was involved with the cartel. His Dad was way too much of a straight arrow. Knowing his Papá, he would insist on going to the police. And Nacho really did not need to bring that kind of shitstorm down on their heads. He’d prefer that they both stayed alive.
So, he spun a…slightly altered…version of the truth. “Do you remember that guy Lalo who came into the shop a while ago? The guy with the Monte Carlo?” He waited for his father to nod before continuing, “Well, he’s staying in town for kind of a long time, I guess. He and I have been getting…friendly.” Nacho sniffled again, hiccuping a few times as the tears slowed down. “But I found out that he’s not who I thought he was. He’s an asshole.”
“Language,” his Dad chided him. But Nacho didn’t have it in him to care. The bitterness towards Lalo was too thick on his tongue for him to worry about anything else. He clenched his jaw, trying to trap all those roiling feelings behind his teeth so they wouldn’t bubble out.
“Oh, Ignacio. I’m so sorry, mijo,” his father said, voice warm with compassion, “It’s so hard to lose friends. You really felt close to this Lalo, hmm?”
Nacho nodded, sobbing pathetically again. “I really, really did,” he said, shaking his head in astonishment at his own stupidity. “I thought we’d be…really good friends…But he’s a liar . I hate him.” His voice broke on “hate,” and several more hiccuping sobs forced their way out of him. God, he was acting like such a child. Get your shit together, he snapped at himself internally.
His father’s hand dropped from the steering wheel of the old Chevrolet to squeeze his leg reassuringly. For some reason, the sudden realization that his Papá drove a ‘71 Chevy (granted, a beat up yellow pickup truck, not a pristine silver muscle car) and Lalo drove a ‘70 Chevy struck him as the funniest, most absurd commonality. His tears turned to strained laughter. Which then morphed into hysterical giggling.
His Dad’s eyes narrowed at him in concern. “ Estás bien, Ignacio?” Worry made his tone sharper than usual.
Nacho took a few deep breaths to stifle the weird hysterical giggles and nodded, hoping not to alarm his father too much. “Sorry, Papá. I’m ok. Really, I am. It just sucks, you know?”
Papá squeezed his leg sympathetically. “I know, mijo. I don’t know what this Lalo did to lose your trust, but whatever it was: good riddance to him. I’m proud of you for knowing when to walk away. A real man chooses his friends wisely. What is it the gringos say…” His father switched to English to carefully enunciate, “Quality over quantity.”
A feeble smile pulled at Nacho’s mouth, thanks to his father’s pearls of wisdom. “ Gracias, apá.” He sighed, “I just…wanna punch him in his stupid face.” He balled his hands into fists, imagining them slamming into Lalo’s annoyingly handsome face, bloodying up that smirking mouth of his.
“ Él no vale la pena,” his Papá said gently, patting his shoulder.
Trust Manuel Varga to insist on taking the high road. In Nacho’s humble opinion, beating Lalo to a pulp would very much be worth the trouble. He simply nodded, though, forcing himself to smile for his father’s benefit.
Suddenly, exhaustion settled over him like a heavy fog and he sank back into the fabric seat of the truck, letting his father’s idle chatter about his poker buddies and church gossip wash over him like a lullaby. Papá had to shake him awake when they arrived. Not at his apartment, it took him a minute to realize. At his father’s house.
Nacho shuffled inside in a zombie-like stupor and allowed his Papá to guide him to his old bedroom. He barely managed to shimmy out of his jeans before collapsing into bed. A few minutes later, he blinked awake at a small clink when his Papá set a colorful clay jarrito steaming with honey-sweetened cinnamon tea on the nightstand. Canelita was Nacho’s favorite, growing up. He swore it always cured his fevers and headaches. A stick of canela sat in the cup, just how he liked it. Nacho stirred it idly before taking a long drink. It instantly soothed him, swaddling him in the warm, sweet taste of childhood.
“ Duerme bien, mijo,” his Papá whispered, bending down to kiss his forehead.
“ Buenas noches, apá,” he mumbled in return. His heavy eyelids were already drooping closed before his father left the room.
***
Waking brought with it a pounding in his head and intense thirst. The sunlight streaming in through the blinds stabbed at his eyes and his mouth was as arid as the water-starved arroyo that ran behind the house. Nacho groaned, squeezing his eyes shut and groping on the nightstand, but the jarrito was sadly empty. He rolled out of bed with some difficulty, stumbling into the kitchen to get a glass of water.
When he sat down at the table, he saw that his father had left a note for him: Mijo, I’m at the shop. Stay home and rest today. I love you, Papá. A small smile curled his lips up. Then he cringed, starting to remember his conversation with his Dad last night. Had he really spilled his guts about Lalo (as much as he could) to his poor father who had enough to worry about?
Hangover aside, it hurt his head as he strained to recall if he’d let slip anything that could’ve hinted at the real nature of his relationship with Lalo. Or his cartel affiliation. Nothing was coming to mind, so he had to hope that he’d done a sufficient job of omitting details.
Nacho fixed himself a cup of coffee and some toast which he slathered in butter and sprinkled generously with sugar and cinnamon. That was about the extent of his culinary ability even on a good day; but hey, it was a solid hangover cure and had been his favorite snack as a kid. He wished his Papá was home so he could make him a cup of fragrant café de olla or more canelita. But coffee with a healthy glug of creamer would have to do the trick.
He tried to distract himself by reading the morning paper, but he couldn’t concentrate. After reading the same sentence about the city council vote to build a new park in the South Valley three times, he gave up with a sigh. His mind kept wandering back to the night before, the look of shock on Lalo’s face as he’d screamed at him. That bastard. Nacho could kick himself for ever being charmed by him. Now all those little nagging feelings that something was a bit off with Lalo made so much sense.
Of course, with his luck, he would give up selling weed and commit himself to a life barely above the poverty line (but rich with his father’s approval) only to wind up messing around with a guy in the Juarez cartel. Nothing could ever go his way.
Flipping open his phone, he saw a couple missed texts from Domingo: Nacho u ok? Hey man, call when u can. Hope ur good. Nacho typed out a quick response: I’m hungover as hell but I’m ok. Talk 2 u later Mingo. He appreciated his concern, but he wasn’t quite ready to talk it out with Domingo yet.
It was strangely disappointing to see that there were no missed calls or texts from Lalo. Annoyed at himself for wanting that, Nacho got to his feet and washed his dishes with aggressive vigor. He gulped down some more water, grimacing at the bitter taste of post-nasal drip from the cocaine. He couldn’t believe he actually did coke with Lalo last night. What the fuck? All the better reason to stay away from that piece of shit narco.
He called a taxi and rushed to the shower as soon as he got home to his apartment, collapsing gratefully back into bed. When he woke, the light in the room had shifted with the angle of the sun. He rolled over and reached for his phone. It was 2 pm. Still a bit groggy, but finally free of the hangover, he pulled on some black basketball shorts and a red tank top and fixed himself a cup o’ noodles before settling onto his small black couch. After flicking idly through TV channels and half-watching some reality dating show on VH1, he decided to text Amber and Jo.
Nacho met them at a party a couple years ago, and had been seeing both girls on and off since then, both together and separately. They liked hooking up with each other just as much if not more than with him, and they were always game to just hang out and smoke weed and play video games or watch a movie. That sounded like just what he needed at the moment, to keep stupid Lalo out of his head.
About thirty minutes later, the girls arrived. Amber with a six pack of Coors Light and Jo with a bag of Doritos. They were perfect angels. He loved them. Nacho kissed both girls and ushered them inside. The three of them hit Nacho’s bong and played Mortal Kombat on his Super Nintendo while they caught up. He hadn’t seen either of them in a few weeks.
“Why did I even move here from Michigan, just to end up working at another Chinese restaurant? I could’ve just stayed at my parents’. But then I’d probably have to murder them because they’re so annoying. But, ugh, my boss is such a bitch! She’s always up my ass,” Jo complained about her job waitressing at Canton Village.
Amber hit the bong and then passed it to Jo, coughing. “That sucks. You should quit and come work with me at Knockouts. You’d get way better tips. Trust me.”
Amber worked as a dancer at some “gentlemen's club” downtown. Nacho kind of wanted to see her there some time, but it felt weird to think about going to see her dance in a topless bar, even if they were friends with benefits. Like it would be too sleazy or something for him to show up there. She’d given him a few lap dances at his place, just for fun, though, and he had to say, he was a big fan.
“Yeah, I probably should,” Jo sighed in exasperation. “Anyways. I don’t wanna talk about work any more. What’s new with you, baby?” she asked Nacho. “It’s been awhile.”
Nacho shrugged. “Oh, you know: same old, same old. My Pop gave me the day off today because I was hungover, so I guess that’s one perk or working for your dad, right?”
He hesitated. Part of him wanted to tell them about Lalo, but part of him wasn’t sure about it. They knew
he was bi. It would be silly to hide that from his girls who routinely had sex with him and each other. They’d even had a couple fun nights inviting another guy to join them. But he didn’t want to admit that he’d been stupid enough to hook up with a cartel member.
In the end, he went for a watered down version of the truth, but still less altered than what he’d told his father. “Actually, I’ve been kind of seeing this guy…”
Both girls perked up, leaning forward with interest. Nacho sighed in frustration, “He was great at first. Older. Really hot. And funny. Very charming. But it turns out he’s a real asshole. I kind of broke up with him last night? I think? Not that we were really together. We just went on a couple dates. But I really liked him. You know, hooking up with him. Damn it.” He groaned, knocking his head back against the couch.
Jo and Amber made little noises of sympathy, patting his legs where they flanked him on either side.
Jo squeezed his shoulder. “Honey, you know the best cure to get over someone is to get under someone else, right? We should go to a gay bar! So you can pick up another silver fox and get over him!”
“Oh my god, yes,” Amber squealed, “And you should get on this forum I use: SeekingDaddy. I have a couple sugar daddies from there who are so hot and they give me free shit. So you know, it’s a win-win.”
Nacho wrinkled his nose. “Sugar daddies? More than one? For real, Amber?”
“Oh yeah,” she nodded enthusiastically. “It’s great, Nacho! I’m telling you. If you wanna get over this guy, get a sugar daddy! You could probably make bank, babe. You’re super hot.” She giggled and squeezed his bicep. “My sugar daddy Mark would probably go crazy for you. But sorry, I don’t wanna share him, so you’ll have to find one for yourself.”
“You’re crazy, mamita.” Nacho said, leaning over to tickle her. She shrieked and flailed her long, slender legs, swatting at him. It didn’t take long for the tickle fight to turn into a makeout session, the three of them tangled up on the couch, Mortal Kombat flickering forgotten on the screen.
Later, after the girls left and Nacho still lay naked in bed, he thought more about what Amber had suggested. He rotated the idea in his head. A sugar daddy? Was that really something he could do? Find some random older guy from the internet to pay him to go on dates and buy him stuff? It seemed a shade too close to prostitution to be comfortable. But he had to admit he was intrigued by the idea. And it would be a good way to get over Lalo…to find some other hot older man to spoil him.
What was that website she mentioned? Looking for Daddy or something like that? Curiosity continued to gnaw away at him, so he got out of bed and threw on some sweat pants before sitting at his desk and booting up his computer. He searched “looking for daddy” and scrolled down until he saw a link to a forum called SeekingDaddy; that was it! He clicked the link, nervously chewing his lip as it buffered.
The webpage had a sparkly pink background with purple text. Under the name of the site, large bubbly script declared: Find SugarLove! Start messaging your SugarBaby or SugarDaddy today! Join for free or sign up for a Premium Membership now! A side bar reading “topics” showed posts like “Generous Daddy Looking for a Sweet Sugar Baby to Spoil” and “19 Year Old Girl Next Door Looking for a Generous Connection”. A weird queasy feeling roiled in his stomach. It was both thrilling and intimidating to consider actually trying to meet someone from the site.
Nacho scrolled down to the Frequently Asked Questions section and read over the section titled “What is SeekingDaddy?” It read: SeekingDaddy is a dating site for the wealthy, successful, and beautiful. To date the most beautiful SugarBabies in the world you need to offer more than deep pockets. And to connect with wealthy, successful SugarDaddies, you need to bring more to the table than a pretty face. Bring your best self to your dates and enjoy the adventure of SugarDating! Start today to find romance and connection with the SugarDaddy or SugarBaby of your dreams! Set up your profile now!
His head was spinning. How did Amber actually do this? The types of guys who would sign up for this kind of thing had to be desperate and creepy, right? But he had to admit, he was curious…
He scrolled down to the section “Where Do I Find SugarDaddies?” and then “Safety”. After reading through both, he felt both enlightened and more confused than ever. The safety section recommended limiting the personal information posted in your profile and only posting pictures where nothing identifying other than your face could be seen, as well as meeting in public for first dates and telling a trusted friend date details like time and location. Some comments on the forum also recommended driving yourself or taking a taxi, especially on first dates.
God, women probably had to worry about these guys getting creepy or violent with them. He took a moment to be grateful for being a man. Though the idea of meeting up with a stranger was still nerve wracking. You never knew what some random person from the internet might be capable of. And clearly, he wasn’t as good a judge of character as he’d thought.
He also felt foolish for how immediately trusting he’d been of Lalo: he’d had this guy he met for two minutes at his dad’s shop pick him up at his house, drive him out into the middle of nowhere on their first date, and hadn’t told anyone what he was doing or where he was going…Reckless, in retrospect. Sure, he’d met Lalo in person. But he’d been just as much a stranger as any random sugar daddy from the internet would be. Hindsight is 20/20, he supposed. And with it, he could see all too clearly that he’d been a real idiot.
If he was actually going to try this out, he’d have to be smarter about it. The idea of actually trying to go through with the sugar baby lifestyle unsettled him. But he figured he’d take a few days to think on it, at least. No harm in that, right?