“And you. Nice to meet you, Gus.”
Just like that, Jules and Gus are gone as quickly as they appeared, and I’m blinking at the absence, the empty chairs.
“You know,” Orie says, sliding into the empty spot Jules just occupied, shaking his head as he wrestles with his sandwich. “It’s the weirdest thing—don’t you think Gus and Ray look kinda alike?”
I let out a breath, but the moment Orie says it, I know it’s true. Orie came back here last year during the holidays, and met Alena and her kids, and he’s right. Gus and Ray have the same nose.
My father’s nose.
My nose.
Surely, it’s a genetically common trait. A phenotype that’s passed down across ethnic groups. I could walk past any other white man on the street and expect to see that nose.
Without warning, my mind reminds me of that night years ago, the night my father announced his cancer diagnosis. The woman on the balcony. How she disappeared and I never saw her again.
But it’s a stupid train of thought, and I’m not going to follow it off the cliff. That woman was too old to be Jules. And, besides, I know better.
Even if she’d lied about being on birth control, or if we’d fallen within that percent of error for protection, I couldn’t havegotten her pregnant, anyway. It’s not biologically possible. I have the world’s best built-in contraceptive.
“Russell?” Orie asks, waving his hand, and I look up at him. We stare at each other for a second, then he says, like it’s not the first time, “You wanna share some of that soup?”
“Yeah,” I laugh, shaking my head and running my hand through my hair. “Go for it, man.”
But even after we eat and clean up, even after I go back to my office and bury myself in paperwork, I can’t stop thinking about Gus’s nose. The similarities there.
And I can’t stop thinking about what a pointless waste of wishful thinking it is to linger on it, either.
Chapter 20
Jules
“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” I mutter, moving through the apartment and trying to keep my voice low, so Gus can’t hear me. Outside the windows, a gentle snow is falling, but the roads aren’t supposed to get bad. In fact, it’s supposed to be unseasonably warm later today, once the sun comes out, and I was actually looking forward to spending time with Gus before my shift at the Christmas Market.
But now, I’m frantically sending out messages to babysitters in the area, cursing under my breath, and trying to ignore the nervous staccato of my heart.
“Shit,” I whisper, when yet another profile just doesn’t sit right with me. Twenty-year-old photography student, CPR-certified, loves working with kids. But something about her doesn’t feel responsible enough, and I swipe past.
“Fuckingfuck,” I whisper, turning on my heel and pacing back up the hallway as Gus sits in the living room, watching cartoons, his limbs strewn about haphazardly in his Blue’s Clues pajamas.
I usually don’t swear in front of him.
But Ettie doesn’t usually cancel on me, either. I got her texts early this morning. At first, when I’d heard the phone buzzing,I’d thought it was Russell and picked it up with a thrill. Then I saw who they were really from.
Ettie:So fucking sorry dude, but D and I are both under the weather.
Ettie:Not sure it’s a good idea for Gus to come over today, wouldn’t want to mess with his heart stuff.
After so long of relying on her for babysitting, I’ve almost forgotten that she’s susceptible to getting sick, or having emergencies just as much as I am. And now I’m scrambling.
Ettie was going to watch Gus while Russell and I went to see his lawyer, then later while I worked with Sienna at the market.
Jules: Of course, totally understand. Feel better xx.
“Fuck,” I whisper again, just for good measure. It’s not the end of the world—I’ll have all day to find another sitter. But I barely trust Ettie to keep a close eye on Gus, to remember his limitations and what an attack might look like for him.
So, the idea of finding some random teenager might actually make me break out in hives.
And it’s not like I can bail on Sienna, either—it’s Saturday night, and we’re just a few
