Camilo and J both looked horrified. Milo was the first one to talk. “Oh my god. That is not okay. After poor Ari spent all that time in an immigration detention center. You’d think he’d earned his chance to fall in love and act like a normal twenty-two-year-old.”

“I know that’s right.” It was rare to hear Juanpa give an opinion about things or people he didn’t know too well, but Ari had grown on all of us. He certainly deserved some peace.

“I hope that between Nesto, Jude and I, we can make sure he at least feels more supported. It’s not like he’s not trying either. I’ve never seen anyone with more hustle.”

Camilo put a hand on my shoulder, his gray eyes a little sad. “You’ll be good for him, you get where he’s at.” I nodded, remembering the tension of those first few months in the US when my mom and I had no idea how we were going to stay here. The desperation of not knowing. So many nights I’d up and find my mom crying in bed.

Our first year here we’d lived with friends or friends of friends as our asylum case was evaluated. On people’s foldout couches or on a mattress on the floor. The money my dad had given her to come to the States kept in a secret place for when we landed somewhere that felt safe to put down roots.

It wasn’t until we finally got to New York and my mom connected with an old friend of my grandmother’s that things started looking better. But that first year in Florida almost broke her. I wondered what Easton would think about if I told him everything. All the things my mother had to do to make sure we didn’t end up on the street.

“Dude, you wild intense tonight. More than usual, and that’s saying a lot.” Juanpa again.

Camilo smirked as he picked up a spoonful of soup. “He’s thinking about his man.”

I thoroughly ignored that and changed the subject. “You assholes still want to see a movie afterwards?”

Juanpa nodded and gave me a thumbs-up. “Yeah man. We’ll go to the place by me. It’s got a full bar and kitchen, bruh. We can order beer.”

“Ignoring my true statement doesn’t make you less thirsty for Easton,” Camilo muttered, at least he was considerate enough to not get my mother’s attention.

I shamelessly ignored Camilo again and turned to Juanpa. “Sounds good man.”

I was about to ask what movie he’d decided on when Dinorah looked over at us. Like usual the “kids” had been talking with each other while the “grownups” did their own thing.

“Patrice, m’ijo, tell us about your new job. We want to know how it’s going over there.”