No one throws shade like the De la Cruzes- Times Magazine
”Sorry, did I keep you guys waiting?” Emiliano had asked them, and both of their responses had made Emilio want to roll his eyes, though he resisted the urge too. ‘Nope. Right on time. For when I called you, though, not your reappearance.’" Santiago had replied. In return, Emilio’s dear younger sister, Sunny had said, ‘it’s been four years, what’s another few minutes?’ he had forgotten just how petty his family could be.
“I’m actually quite an early bird,” He could have reappeared much later; in fact, it was supposed to be a few more years before he came back. If they were reacting like this to four years, they might have had a heart attack if they knew the actual duration he was meant to be away. Either way, they were still going to get that metaphorical heart attack, and possibly hate him more for not staying away until the term had finished “In more ways than one,” He mused, “Though it seems I had not been quite the early bird,” He had forced out a laugh, “Seems I’m really getting old, no?” He joked, taking a sip of his drink.
A sip that could very much ruin him in more ways than one, but oh well, it wouldn’t matter in the long run, and Emiliano De La Cruz was tired of playing it safe. His whole career had been built on the idea of being safe, of playing into the role of the American golden boy. Despite his parentage—being born to Cuban lesbian mothers—he was the epitome of the American dream- a thriving career, an all American blonde wife who came from humble origins and could relate to ordinary folks and was ‘america’s sweetheart’, the best siblings, and a tight knit friend group. Not only that he was good at sports, and had first started off playing soccer throughout his life, before he switched to American football and played quarterback for most of his high school years, while taking on roles that were bound to be received well by the public.
He had lived the perfect life, the life that was desirable and when people thought ‘America’ they thought about, that many people were able to overlook his lineage(though his mothers themselves having a strong influence in the film industry, did help as well) and considered him, to be ‘America’s golden boy’.
Anyways, the point was, he didn’t care about the effects of the alcohol, they were not to be that damaging, compared to if he smoked.
Talking about drinking, Emilano had raised his cup up as he advertised the drink to his siblings, it was some expensive wine, with a name that Emiliano find it hard to pronounce. But it was a good wine, a very good one that he thinks that his siblings should drink, so they can have fun while talking, but it seems that they were planning to have that conversation, today, without the drinks. He tried to urge them, stating that if they got the drinks, they could talk- knowing just exactly what they wanted to talk about but it seems apparently they’ve all had their drinks before inviting him here.
“And here I thought you said you wanted to catch up over some drink,” He said talking to Santiago, taking another deliberate sip of his wine, the alcohol warming his throat as he tried to steady his nerves. He could feel the tension in the room thickening, the unspoken words hanging in the air like a storm cloud and he felt the urge to maybe spill the wine on his red outfit, that way he could leave the conversation,to get something else and perhaps there would follow him and actually get some drinks- or maybe he could pour it on one of them- it would be Santiago, after all, Santiago was also wearing red.
“You know it’s a shame,” he continued, “In all my years at Beverly, I don’t think I’ve tasted a wine as good as this one. We should make sure to tip this people, the wine’s good this year, though it could be stronger.” He mused mostly to himself, before turning his attention back to his siblings. “Like Mum always said, when we were old enough to drink, the stronger the wine the stronger the bond.” He let out a chuckle, “I’ve always took it as her way of saying we should drink more together, and we really should, after all we have 4 years worth of drinking together to catch up too, but I suppose you guys already had your drinks without me.” He forced out a grin, “But really, I just don’t-'”
Emiliano was about to continue until Santiago cut him off, stating that Emiliano could have called, crossing his arms over the red of his shirt. The grin that had etched itself on Emiliano’s face fell at that, and he set his glass down, looking around the room, noticing that nobody else was there with them. All three of them were alone. Why didn’t you? Santiago continued, obvious disappointment laced in his voice and all Emiliano could about was that the drink should have really been stronger or he should have smoked before coming here. He sighed, running a hand through his hair and he wanted to say so many things-he had considered, continuing with overlooking all this, pretending as if nothing happened, and shrugging as he stated, the phone works both ways, or ignore the question and talk about something else. But they were all alone, it was just them- Emiliano, Santiago, Sunny, Mattias, with no one watching, no one trying to analyze their conversation. “I wanted to,” he admitted, grabbing his drink back up as he took a sip. It was the truth, Emiliano did want to contact them, the first year when he still had his phone, he fingers had hovered over the names, ‘first born 
’ , ‘fake twin 
’, ‘she-devil 
’ more times than he could count. But he never pressed call.
He couldn’t press call, because then, they would ask where he was, why he had left and he couldn’t tell them for many reasons, one he didn’t want them to think of him like that, he couldn’t let him know especially, and he couldn’t. He wasn’t supposed to tell anyone until 5 months reached at least, until everything died down- or at least when they expected the shxt to die down. He would tell them he was on vacation, and it had slipped his mind to tell them he was leaving, but will be back in 7 months. Though when it was time for the 5 months, things had happened… and well, he had lost his phone and the 1 year he was supposed to be gone had lasted longer.
“I wanted to,” He repeated, his gaze flickering from Santiago to Sunny. “Things … they got complicated.” He paused, struggling to find the right words. “it wasn’t your burden, either of you” That was a lie, considering what had happened, and Emilio knew that they had deserved the right to know, but if they had really cared, they would have tried to find him-ask their mama. He had seen a picture of them, they all looked quite content, and when they realize he was back, they could have tried calling- though he doesn’t think they have his phone number anymore, he got a new phone. Though, they could have tried coming to his hotel, why the fck did he have to do everything? They couldn’t even notice that this was not the time and place to be talking about this nor did they even care to ask him how he was doing.
He reminds himself, he was the one who disappeared, was he not? He was but because, it was due to the fact that… “F*ck” He cursed, as he threw his glass to the ground, wine splattering in all directions, as the glass shattered against the floor, the sound echoing through the room like a gunshot. His chest rose and fell, as Emilio looked at the broken glass on the ground, rubbing his fingers on his forehead.
He dropped his hands to his sides, his eyes still locked on the shards of glass, his mind racing. “I…” he started, his voice hoarse. “Shouldn’t have done that,” Emiliano’s voice caught in his throat as he bent down to clean up the mess he’d made. The broken glass had cut through his skin, leaving a small, bleeding gash on his palm. He ignored the pain, focusing on gathering the shards and disposing of them, his movements quick and deliberate.
“Seven years,” Emilio announced as he disposed of the pieces into the trash “I wasn’t going to call for seven years,” he admitted, his voice strained. “Perhaps that would have been for the best,” A weird smile etched his face.
@raviola - Santiago
@Caticorn - sunny
