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“You aren’t going to show us around?” she says.
“Me?” I all but squeak.
“Well, you’ve been a student here longer than Diego, right? You probably know this place even better than he does.”
“Honey, they probably have classes and stuff,” Diego’s father says. “We shouldn’t bother them.”
I should take the easy out. I’m sure it would make Diego feel a lot better if I left now. But his parents are so sweet, and when am I going to get another chance to learn about Diego right from the source? Plus, they picked up on Diego’s use of my pronouns instantly and without a singlecomplaint or question, and that gives them, like, a million points in my book.
“I have time,” I say. “My study group isn’t meeting until after lunch. I was just going to hang around on campus. I could give you a tour, get lunch, then meet up with my group.” I shoot a nervous look at Diego. “I mean, if Diego’s okay with that.”
Diego is very, very still. Dangerously still. I don’t know if he’s terrified or angry or what, but his parents answer before he can.
“Don’t be ridiculous,” his mother says. “Of course he’s okays with it.”
She loops her arm through mine without a beat of hesitation, and we’re off. I’m walking arm-in-arm with Diego’s mom, pointing out the student center and administrative buildings. I even take her inside the admin building to show her the historical photos of what the campus looked like before it was this huge, sprawling behemoth of a university. She seems fascinated by all of it, engrossed in every word, and I suddenly understand where Diego gets his insatiable curiosity. She’s a lot less timid about it than Diego is, however, diving in fearlessly where he might tiptoe delicately.
I lead Diego’s parents to the liberal arts buildings next. It’s where Diego does all his teaching, after all, and where his office is. We have to be a bit quiet. Even on a Saturday, there are a few people hanging around working, but oncewe reach Diego’s office, we’re free to talk how we please.
His mother sets her hands on her hips as she looks around the sparse office. “You haven’t even decorated,” she says.
“I’ve been busy working and studying, Mama,” Diego says. “I’m a student, too, you know.”
She waves her hand. “How are you supposed to work and study in such a drab place? It’s depressing.”
“It’s not like I have anything to decorate with,” Diego says.
“Then I’ll send some things. Your old room at home has plenty of junk in it.”
“Mama, please.”
I hide a laugh behind my hand. For all that Diego stresses that six-year gap between us, he sounds very much like a kid right now, a kid being scolded by his over-concerned mother.
“Avery, back me up,” his mother says, suddenly swinging on me. “This office is depressing, isn’t it? Do any of you students actually visit him here?”
I swallow hard to keep heat from flashing through my face. I only visited Diego here once, and while nothing technically happened, I definitely pushed that line as far back as I could.
“It… It could use a little love,” I say.
“Ha, there, you see? Avery agrees with me. I knew I liked them.”
Diego’s mom slings her arm around my shoulder and hugs me against her, and her warmth soaks through me. This much, Diego did not inherit from her. He seems more like his father in this regard, a bit more withdrawn and withholding when it comes to such an overt show of affection. But screw it, I like it. I like being forward and blunt with my feelings, and I hug her right back.
“If I send him things, will you please make sure he decorates?” she says. “I don’t know who else I can ask.”
“I’m on it,” I say. “This office will be like an interior decoration magazine shot the next time you see it.”
A commotion sounds out in the hall, doors opening, voices bouncing against the walls and ceiling, footsteps creating a low rumble of thunder. It must be a group leaving, someone who booked a room for a project or something. Either way, it reminds me that this has eaten up the afternoon and I’m in jeopardy of blowing off my study group for the second time.
“Oh shit,” I say. “I mean, oh shoot?”
Diego’s parents laugh, so I assume their ears are not too virginal.
“Sorry, people must be leaving. It reminded me of the time,” I explain. I check my phone. “I have to get going or I won’t have time to eat before my group meets. I wish I could continue the tour for you.”
Diego’s mother gasps. “We’ve taken up your whole Saturday. I’m so sorry.”
“I told you we shouldn’t have pestered them,” Diego’s father throws in.
