“It’s the Sommelier Knowledge Assessment. It decides whether my application will move forward for one of the two hundred seats in the class,” he says. For a moment, he realizes how wrapped up he’s been in his sex-tracurricular activities with Greg and how he hasn’t been dedicating as much time to studying. He needs to get back to that.
“Two hundred isn’t many,” she says unhelpfully. “I was already so proud of you for becoming certified. Are you sure you wouldn’t want to take more time before you move up?”
He shakes his head. “No, it’s now or never. I have momentum. I need to keep it.” There are cogs in his chest that turn at various speeds. The one dedicated solely to his sommelier training is never not at a full sprint. Winding and winding. He’s not going to crap out on this. Becoming a sommelier is his ticket away from the memories, toward seeing the world. Visiting all the places he’s only read about in books or seen in photos on Instagram. The higher his status, the more desirable a hire he’ll be at a luxury tropical resort, or an urban Michelin-starred restaurant. Places that are inaccessible to him from where he currently stands.
“I understand, but slowing down for a second is okay. You’re young,” she says, sitting.
“But I’m anadult.”
“Yes, but even adults need breaks. I just mean I’m worried you’ll burn yourself out between work and studying andother things.” She seems about to mention Greg again, to insinuate something Julien wishes she wouldn’t.
It’s sex! It’s great sex! But it’s not a relationship or marriage or a mortgage or whatever else. His primary love is wine, and his major passion is becoming a sommelier. He’s not letting her opinion or the restaurant or a guy stand in the way of the eventual one-hundred-and-twenty-grand-a-year salary he could have once he becomes a master. And hewillbecome a master. He doesn’t care that the odds are not exactly in his favor.
As if Greg also knew Aunt Augustine had intentions to say his name, he appears in the doorway, knocking. “Hey. Sorry to interrupt. Julien, did you, uh, still want that ride home?”
Julien feels the blush come on immediately. “Yeah. Thanks.”
Greg nods, keys jangling in his fist. “Okay. No rush. I’ll be outside whenever you’re ready.”
Julien waits until Greg’s footfalls dwindle to look at Aunt Augustine again. She’s grinning, but not saying anything. He’s not sure how he feels about that. “I’m fine,” he says finally. “Thank you for caring and for looking out for me, but I promise. I’ve juggled more plates than this before, and I haven’t dropped one yet.”
“Okay. All’s I’m saying is, it wouldn’t hurt if you swap a few of those fine pieces of china out for paper plates,” she says. “Lighten your load.”
He bobbles his head noncommittally. “I’ll think about it. Hope you have a good night.”
“I’d say the same to you,” Aunt Augustine calls after him. “But I’m more than certain you will!”
Fourteen
GREG
Greg expected Julien would be uber competitive, yet he’s still tickled by the way Julien lines up his petite putter behind the lime-green ball, one eye closed and tongue sticking out just a tad from the left corner of his mouth. Deadly serious. Julien clearly has no idea he’s holding up theentirestaff of Martin’s Place, who shift around behind them impatiently waiting for their turns at glow-in-the-dark indoor mini golf.
Greg has noticed that Julien will disappear into a task or sensation with such tunnel vision that it’s not until he appears out the other end of it that he realizes he’s been gone from the plane of existence other human beings live on.
Greg loves it. Secretly. He loves the way Julien can tune into something so ardently. He has even come to love the nights where—after sex—Julien will completely ignore him at the kitchen table of his apartment, enraptured by his studies for the SKA, which Greg is almost certain he aced last week, though Julien is tight-lipped and modest about it.
Now, Greg admires Julien’s ass in his fitted gray chinos as he lightly swings back. The ball goes sailing down the green, over a hill, under a windmill, and misses the hole by a small margin before coming to a stop.
“Impressive,” Greg says.
“More like endless,” Braydon says with an extra helping of his usual sass. “Out of the way slowpokes, mama is going to show you how it’s done.”
Mama does not, in fact, show anyone anything other than sheer overconfidence. His red ball lands in the sand trap.
Greg doesn’t understand why Martin and Augustine insisted they come here—“staff bonding” was their official statement—or why they’re all playing in one large group. It takes ages for everyone to take their turns. The parents of the family of four behind them in the course are trying desperately to entertain their children who seem set on climbing on every fixture with a DO NOT CLIMB sign. They either can’t read yet, or they genuinely don’t care.
On Julien’s second turn, he knocks the ball in, scoring two points for the round. He’s winning to no one’s surprise and everyone’s chagrin. Everyone except Greg, that is.
“I didn’t know you were some sort of mini golf savant.”
Julien laughs at that. “We did a lot of outings like this when Aunt Augustine and Uncle Martin got custody of me. I think it was their way of distracting me from all the life changes. I didn’t make friends easily, so this was a good way to pass the time. Sometimes they didn’t even play. I’d putt against myself.”
“That’s incredibly cute,” Greg says before realizing how that sounds and who all is standing around them. This has been happening often over the past few weeks. He will slip up—say something un-fuck-buddy-esque—and Julien will blush, and they will both pretend that whatever is happening between them is still firmly about sex.
And it is. For the most part. It’s been two months, and Julien still hasn’t even kissed him. Not even the night when Greg strip-quizzed Julien for his SKA. Every right answer meant Greg took off a single article of clothing. Let’s just say Julien had never performed so well before in a study session.
“What about you? What did young Greg get up to?” Julien asks as the rest of the staff finish their turns at hole number seventeen. They’ve been at this awhile.
