My Best Man Andy Schell (top rated ebook readers .TXT) 📖

at school on a break. It’s a little ritual we started a couple of weeks ago: iced coffee and turnovers while sharing bits of our histories. Never in my life have I gone so slowly with a guy, but Nicolo is different from anyone. He’s solid and honest. Kind and funny. Muscular and gentle. It’s almost as if we’re brothers, which sometimes worries me that we won’t progress to lovers. I guess we’re both too modest or inhibited by the world to kiss each other on campus. But last week he showed up at the house as I was leaving to go to work and before I drove away he leaned into my car and kissed me in a way brothers don’t. It was the best damn kiss I’ve ever had from a man.

“Thomas says Amity is coked up all the time,” Nicolo tells me.

“She’s a party girl,” I answer nebulously, as if her actions don’t affect me.

He shakes his head. “I can tell you’ve been bothered by some thing lately, and I know it’s her. She’s out of control, Harry.” “How do you know?” I ask. I’m open to other interpretations.

“She is. You better watch out, amigo. Roommates like that always end up causing you difficulty.”

I slug a shot of iced coffee, look him in the eye. “Why don’t you like her? You’re not very nice to her. To be honest, Nicolo, it’s the one thing about you that has bothered me.”

“Because she’s not for real,” he tells me evenly. The Latin macho stuff rises to the surface. “If you are going to become my boyfriend, I don’t want you hanging around with people who are trouble.”

I still can’t accept that this whole thing with Amity has been a game. I know that somewhere inside her, regardless of her manipulating and scheming, she does love me. She can’t help herself. Just like my father. Just like me. “If I become your boyfriend, you still won’t own me. I’ll hang around with whomever I want, and I’ll always love Amity, whether you like it or not,” I spout off, mostly in response to his macho posturing. At the same time, the scale has tipped so far that everything’s falling away, and quite frankly I’m quite ready to plot my escape from Amity.

He laughs and slugs me on the shoulder. “That’s what I like about you, Harry. That’s the fire I saw in you the night we met when you came to my rescue at the restaurant. But have you ever thought that I may want to protect you like you protected me?”

Do I need protection from Amity? I could use someone else’s opinion. Is this the time? Should I tell him about the engagement? Her scent on the will? Can Nicolo help me get out of this intact, emotionally and financially? I’d like to share my doubts, but if I do, then I’ll have to confess that Amity and I are engaged, and there’s a voice inside me warning against it. God, I’m a real shit. Where’s my integrity? Here I am, ready to pass judgment on Amity, and I’m deceiving just about everyone I know. The truth is, I’m falling in love with Nicolo and I’m not able to tell her about it. Nor am I being truthful with Nicolo that I’m engaged to be married to someone else while dreaming up a whole life spent with him.

“I appreciate your chivalry,” I tell Nicolo, “but I don’t need protection from Amity.”

He raises his arms in surrender. “You are free to love Amity or anyone else.” Then he lies back on his elbows, stretches his legs out, and crosses them. “Including me.”

For someone who is moving so slowly with me, I’m shocked that he says it . and profoundly exhilarated. “Your permission is noted,” I tell him, softening. “So when does summer school end?” I ask. It’s now late July.

“Middle of August,” he answers. “Then one more semester,

and I’m a journalist,” he states proudly, biting into his turnover. “Just like your father,” I say.

“That’s right.” His head rises more proudly still while he chews. “Where do you want to go to work?” I ask.

“Argentina,” he answers before swallowing. No hesitation.

If he goes to Argentina, I’ll lose him. I instantly have a new motivation to get my share of the Ford windfall: to hold on to Nicolo. I know from family friends that American dollars can buy a person (or a couple) residency of any country. I could go with him. “Why go back?”

“The political climate is changing. I think I can return to make a difference.”

“What if they disappeared you? You’re Gianni Feragamo’s son. Surely they’ll have it out for you.”

“My friends say it is different. The disappearances are ending. The country is opening up again. Raul Alfonsin, a lawyer who believes in democracy, is our new president. Argentina will be a democratic country. Of course, I can hear my father’s voice. “For how long?” he would say. “Democracy does not last in Argentina,” he would say.”

“So why go?”

“I do not want my father’s and sister’s deaths to be for nothing. If Argentina is to change, it must be documented and written about.

My English is good now. I can reach more people through both languages. But,” he laughs sadly, “I may never make it back. I don’t even know how I’m going to pay off all these loans I owe to the university.”

“You’re schooling yourself on loans?” I ask, sipping the iced coffee, letting it take a dent out of the humid Texas day.

“It took all of our money to come to America. I’ll owe close to fifty thousand dollars for school. That’s a lot of tips for an awkward waiter,” he laughs, seemingly unworried.

Shit. Now I’m really determined to get the money. It’s a drop in the bucket for me if my ship comes in. I’ll finish paying off my student loans and his. Help his mother financially if she needs it. Live six months out