“We did it,” Greg says, pulling away, bringing Julien back to earth. “No more worrying.”
“I know.” Julien sighs, relieved.
Greg’s right.No more worrying.He doesn’t need to worry about Martin’s Place. He doesn’t need to worry about his SKA, which he thinks he did well on but doesn’t want to jinx the results. And he definitely doesn’t need to worry about whatever is transpiring between him and Greg because they agreed to the terms of the pact. Nobody gets their feelings hurt when a contract is up, right? This is like that.
“So,” Uncle Martin says, clapping his hands together. “Let’s do a toast.”
Uncle Martin gives a speech that goes on too long (classic) and then lets the staff loose to either continue eating and drinking or play another round on them.
The rest of the staff turns their attention back to their pizza, but Greg must be too amped to eat. He chugs back his champagne, grabs Julien by the elbow, and says, “I want a rematch.”
“Are you a glutton for getting your ass handed to you or something?” Julien asks.
“Sounding mighty confident there, Julien Boire,” Greg says, so close their chests almost touch. “Sure you aren’t scared I’ll make a comeback?”
“Fine,” Julien relents. “But I’m bringing my pizza with me.”
They sneak away with smiles on their faces and playfulness in their hearts.
Fifteen
JULIEN
Martin’s Place closes for the Christmas holidays, but Uncle Martin opens his home to anyone on staff who doesn’t have a place to go or people to see.
Braydon goes back to New Jersey on his school’s winter break. Chef Marco makes the trek to Maryland. Some of the bussers get a Christmas Eve poker game together every year, which they used to do in Uncle Martin’s basement until one year they got too loud, a neighbor called the cops, and Uncle Martin decided it was probably best that his employees didn’t gamble at his home, despite him being able to wipe the floor with them in a single round.
This left Greg.
Julien had gotten the text two nights earlier while he continued to refresh his email, waiting for his SKA results. He memorized which percentile he needed to be in to secure his spot, so the text was a welcome distraction from the mental turmoil of not knowing.
Would it be weird if I took Martin and Augustine up on their Christmas Eve offer?Greg asked.
Julien ate a SnoBall and thought this over. In any normal circumstance, it would be odd to have your friend-with-benefits crash your family Christmas, but Greg isn’t Julien’s friend-with-benefits to Aunt Augustine and Uncle Martin. He’s their employee, their family friend, Julien’s happy hour coconspirator.
Not at all, Julien replied.The more the merrier.
And it does, indeed, turn out to be quite merry.
A light snowfall begins right as Greg arrives. Flakes cling to his tan coat as he steps inside. He’s brought with him the ingredients for Merry Little Christmas cosmopolitans—the extras are cranberry juice and clove. To die for. But the surprise of it is that Greg brought alcohol-free spirits.
“Yuck. What kind of Christmas guest are you?” Aunt Augustine says, eyebrows downcast. “Good thing we have some hard stuff of our own.”
“A, be nice to the poor guy! He knows Julien doesn’t drink.” Uncle Martin shoots a comical glare at his excitable wife.
“Just because Julien doesn’t drink doesn’t mean we don’t,” Aunt Augustine says, flipping up her hands. “What are we, chopped liver?”
“That’s what we’re going to have for dinner if you don’t quit it with the kid,” Uncle Martin says. “Thank you for bringing these. We’re happy to have them and you!” When Aunt Augustine has dipped into the garage in search of her own vodka, Uncle Martin adds, “Probably for the best. When that one gets wasted, she subjects us all to Christmas caroling. She honest-to-God thinks she can hit whistle notes like Mariah.”
“We had a cat named Olly who would go into hiding every Christmas Eve and not emerge until December 26 when he knew it was safe,” Julien says, remembering those first Christmases without his parents. Missing them while simultaneously being happy that there would be no volatile outbursts, no strangers showing up at the front door at weird hours. He could focus on gifts and cookies and heartwarming movies.
“He was a smart cat,” Uncle Martin says, going to check on the turkey in the oven.
Julien gives Greg a quick tour—dining room, living room, and he’s already seen the kitchen.
“Thank you,” Julien says when they’re safely away from his aunt and uncle. “For bringing the nonalcoholic stuff. That was really thoughtful.” He feels a blaze inside his chest. He writes it off as yuletide cheer.
“Oh, it was nothing,” Greg says. “It was for me, too, you know.”
