Page 2 of Green Tea and Pink Apples

Yeah, they sat together, shared comments and drinks while their cousins and siblings graduated or got married or started having kids, but they were pretty much the only single people left in their age range between their two families. Of course, they sat together.

It was the best part of these events, sometimes. Most of the times. Being grumpy and snarky in a corner while Santi sipped whiskey and smiled and intimidated strangers into walking away through the sheer power of being talented and gay.

“Youwantme to be with Santi for the entire evening?” Matt asked suspiciously when his silence had probably gone on too long. His mom never wanted that. She always wanted Matt to mingle more. This had to be a trap. “What did I do deserve to have pins stuck in me all night?”

“What?” His mom stopped in the midst of critically grooming him. “Santi’s a bit sharp, but only with fools. You are many things but you are not that.” She gave his collar one last pat.

Matt felt a tiny frown forming. “Thanks, I think?”

His mom seemed to be processing what he’d said. “Are you implying Santi willpick on you?”

“No,” Matt insisted immediately. If anything, it would be the opposite. Santi would go too easy on him. But Matt was not going to get into that with his mother tonight—or ever. “He gets moody sometimes. Not mean. But lately especially, I got the impression he doesn’t want me around.”

“He’s an artist!” His mom rolled her eyes and made a shooing motion with one hand, urging Matt down the hall ahead of her. “Of course,he’s moody. I’d expect nothing less. But I’m sure he’d never get moody with you, no matter what’s going on with him.”

“Wait. What?” Matt barely made it a step. “What’s going on with him? Wait. You didn’t say why he needs babysitting.”

He was shushed and ignored. “He doesn’t bring dates to these things either. His friends sometimes… or were they hisfriends?” Matt’s mother was too civilized to make air quotes but her tone implied them. She glanced at Matt as though Matt knew if Santi had been dating, seeing, or sleeping with anyone he’d brought to town for visits. Matt stared back at her with as much blankness as he was capable of. Which was a considerable amount. “But he hasn’t brought anyone tonight. And the rest of the family is busy, which leaves you. I hardly thought this would be difficult for you. Are you two fighting and no one told me?”

Matt shook his head without hesitation. Santi wouldn’t fight with him. Santi barely bickered with him, and held back anything worse, even the mild teasing Matt was used to from his family. Matt thoughtthatwas the insult, in a way that shouldn’t bother him but consistently did. He could never tell if Santi thought Matt was too dumb to understand those remarks, so he didn’t bother, or if Santi was being kind.

“Santi’s not going to want to waste his entire evening with me.” Matt wondered if his smile was gone. His mother was giving him a strange look.

“Matty, you can charm anyone. Not that you need to. You’re already his favorite.”

Favorite. Matt had left his e-reader in the middle of a chapter for this. “Jesus Christ.”

“Matty!” His arm was swatted, less lightly than before.

Matt exhaled through his nose. “I’ll try.” He didn’t think he sounded as calm as he should have. “I’ll try, but he’s going to see through this in ten minutes or less, and he’s not going to bother with me for the entire night.” He turned away from his mother’s suddenly intense stare. “You never did say why I’m on Santi duty. Does he not want to be here?”Either, he finished mentally.

“Well.” His mom tugged Matt back by his sleeve though he hadn’t made a move toward the party. “Ella, your cousin’s fiancée—you met her? Over the summer?—she’s a little… sheltered. And you know how Santi can get.”

Matt wasn’t even going to respond to that one. “And?”

“And Bea mentioned he’s been stressed and wants to try some new things.” There wasn’t much Matt’s mom wouldn’t do for her best friend Bea, including babysitting her grown-up son. “And I think it would be nice if we could be there for him. As family.”

“Santi is not family.” The words were clipped and abrupt and as far from nice and charming as Matt could get.

“Matt!” His mom was absolutely scandalized and judged him as harshly as he deserved. He felt like shit for saying that. But he didn’t take it back.

“Okay,” he agreed, and waited until he turned around to frown.

By Del Prete standards, this engagement party was a simple family gathering, on par with Thanksgiving but with more champagne. The foyer and the living room were buzzing with cousins and second cousins and aunts and uncles and various spouses and significant others. Wine was plentiful—their own label, nothing too flashy—and Matt spotted one of the caterers behind the bar with a cocktail shaker.

The dining room was set up, although no one had wandered that far yet. On a warmer night, some people might have strayed outside to sit by the pool. Matt nodded to a few people and got swept up in more than one hug. He snatched an hors d'oeuvre while avoiding the groom and bride-to-be, only to get caught by his dad, who reeled him into a discussion about football that it took Matt several moments of smilingly agreeing about draft picks to get out of.

Aunt Gill whispered all the gossip about one of the new money couples from the valley and the party they had thrown to try to make their name in the area. They’d served cheap wine. Gill was horrified. Matt was suitably shocked. Not that anyone had tried to get away with serving cheap wine, but that anyone thought they could jump into these social circles by skimping on something like that with people who made wine for a living. It was not a faux pas that would be forgotten soon. But he also had no doubt that everyone at that party had finished every last drop, no matter how cheap it was.

He smiled and nodded for that too, then spun around to avoid his brother Paul’s eye, which was when Matt finally saw his mark for the evening.

He took the glass a waiter offered him without glancing to see whether the wine was white or red. It didn’t matter; he just wanted something in his hands for this.

Santi had opted for black and white instead of color this evening, and no jacket. Matt was too far away at first to see what the print on his shirt was, but he could see the glint of silver at Santi’s buttoned collar from pins and a thin chain. Pinstriped pants. Shiny shoes. Nothing that exactly matched, but somehow did.

Santi’s head was down, thick ebony curls on full display, although he looked up with no warning when Matt was several feet away. His hair stayed dramatically over half his face. It was the same color as his eyes and his obscene eyelashes. Santi was shorter than his father and his brother, though he shared the same strong Italian characteristics in every other way. The Del Pretes were Italian in origin too, but the Santis had olive skin and big Roman noses. Santi’s nose was at least somewhat smaller than his dad’s. He had complained about it all through their teen years. Matt was the one who looked like a Roman centurion, Santi had whined, he should have the nose.

Matt, who had never even held a plastic sword and never would, had told him to grow a mustache. Santi had frostily informed him that when he grew a mustache, he looked like Luigi, and Matt had cracked up laughing. Santi had ignored him for weeks.

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