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It was beyond awkward standing in a bedroom with my drunk boss. I thanked my lucky stars Sofia was the only one aware of this debacle, and I knew she’d never tell a single soul. Not even Sara.
The thought of his wife sent a shiver through my body. Where was she? From the pictures I had seen online, I would have bet five dollars that woman would have this house filled with cozy beige and white furniture.Sheshould have picked him up from the bar—certainly not me. Hector had been in Kansas City several months—long enough for furniture, and long enough for his wife to join him.
I needed to stop thinking of him in any capacity not related to work. His personal life was none of my business, even if I now found myself in the precarious situation of having to drag his drunk ass home. He groaned on the bed, looking up at the ceiling. I took his shoes off, which I reasoned with myself was not crossing a line. I wasn’t taking them off to touch him. Not at all. I was being a civil servant. Serving my fellow man.
“Good night, Hector. I think the person who picks you up drunk at a bar at three in the morning gets to be on a first-name basis.”
“You’re leaving?”
“Yes. I have to go to work in a few hours.”
“Don go,” he said, his words slurred, missing consonants.
“I have to.”
“I’m hungry. I can’t sleep if I haven’t food.”
I groaned. This fool was going to slice a finger off if he tried making something.
“All right, let’s see what we can find in your fridge. But then Ihaveto go.”
He sprang up, and it was only a little funny when he clung to the rail for balance as he descended the staircase.
There wasn’t much in the fridge, but I managed to find enough to make a turkey and cheese sandwich. I started a pot of coffee to hopefully sober him up.
As I worked, Hector sat on the single stool at the kitchen island. He bent over, his arm on the counter, and his head rested on his shoulder.
“How is Ramiro?” he asked with the subtlety of a bulldozer.
I winced. I tried not to think about him but answered after handing Hector his plate. “I haven’t seen him since my birthday party.”
He looked up from the sandwich after the first bite.
“You haven’t?” he asked.
I shook my head.
“Why?”
“He’s in Florida.” There was no way of knowing whether the move was permanent or not, so I refrained from voicing any assumptions.
“I’m sorry,” he said.
“For what?”
“I’m sorry that you broke up.”
“Broke up? Ramiro and I have never been a couple.”
I tried not to get angry when he smiled.
“You haven’t?”
“No.”
“At the party, I could have sworn—”
“He’s like a brother to me,” I cut him off, wanting to be done with this conversation.
