Sixteen
JULIEN
Uncle Martin decides that the number one happy hour spot in the Lehigh Valley should host its own New Year’s Eve party: Pop Off for the New Year. Julien cringes at the name, but Uncle Martin seems proud that he’s up-to-date with the TikTok lingo, so Julien doesn’t dare question it.
Besides, they’re sold out. All seventy tickets went quickly. Eighty dollars (pretax and tip) gets entrants all-you-can drink party punch and house wine. Mixing not encouraged for the sanctity and cleanliness of their toilets.
Mixing, however, is exactly what Rufus is doing, back behind the DJ booth once again as he spins records, playing some sort of Mariah Carey cover/remix of “Auld Lang Syne” that Aunt Augustine requested.
Julien has escaped the crowd for a moment, grabbing a glass of water on the quiet side of the bar. Only one person is sitting down here—a brown-skinned woman wearing a dress that makes her look like a chic disco ball. She looks up from her phone, and they lock eyes. Her expression says she knows him, but Julien swears he’s never seen this woman before.
“You must be the mysterious Julien,” she says with the air of a femme fatale in a film noir.
Julien sips his water. “I’m guessing you’ve seen the TikToks?” He’s getting better at this social interaction thing. The more time he spends around Greg, the easier small talk gets. He had to work tooth-and-nail to pass the service portion of his first sommelier exam. Tableside manner doesn’t come naturally to him, the same way bedside manner doesn’t come naturally to most doctors. Not that wine is anything like open-heart surgery, but in another life, he might’ve been deft enough to study medicine.
“I’ve done one better. I’ve seen the location where you’ve filmed the TikToks,” the woman says.
“Oh.”
“The green screen, I mean. I’m Jessica. Rufus is my boyfriend.”
Julien understands at once and meets her extended hand. “Oh. Hi. I’ve heard a lot about you.”
“Like. Wise.” Why does she break up the word like that? He can’t imagine it’s for anygoodreason. “Greg barely shuts up about you.” Her brown eyes flick toward where Greg is refilling the party punch and chatting up a college girl wearing a red flannel and light-wash jeans.
“All good things, I hope.” Julien hadn’t known Greg was talking him up at home. Since Christmas when Aunt Augustine pointedly noted that nobody had slept on the couch the night before, Julien has barely brought up Greg around Aunt Augustine and Uncle Martin for fear they might get the wrong idea. The wrong idea that might be the right idea if Julien were a different person at a different point in his life.
That’s all his brain’s confusing way of phrasing that he’s beginning to develop meaningful feelings for Greg, but that seems unwise. Their sex is good, their conversation is better, but friendship-land is where their relationship should remain.
When Julien’s SKA scores came in, they were competitive enough to obtain a spot in the advanced course coming up in March in Texas, which means in a little over a year’s time, he could be sitting the advanced examination. With that under his belt and that new pin on his lapel, he’ll be hirable in a whole different echelon of establishments that could take him someplace new. Someplace far from the foreboding memories.
Someplace Greg won’t be.
And that’s all far away, and a million and one things could change over the course of a year. But as it stands, Julien has been wise to steer clear of romantic entanglements so that if the right opportunity arises, he can leave at a moment’s notice. Aunt Augustine and Uncle Martin wouldn’t be thrilled by that, but they love him too much to hold it against him.
Would Greg hold it against him?
Jessica calls Julien back to the moment. “Excellent things. He’s really impressed by you. Some might even say enamored.”
He can tell that Jessica has dipped into the wine significantly. An empty glass sits in front of her. Perhaps she’s saying more than she should be. “I don’t think that’s quite true.”
“It’s more than quite true. It’s honest-to-God true.” She smiles warmly at Julien. “I’m in school part-time getting my master’s in psychology, and that guy is the textbook definition of crushing hard.”
“I hope you’re not paying too much for those textbooks. Think they might need some updating.” Julien’s surprised he can even make a joke right now. A confirmation of Greg’s feelings from an outside party is both elating and alarming, causing his heart to thud.
“I guarantee he’s going to ask to kiss you at midnight.”
This is starting to sound very high school. Not that he really knows what high school romance is like because he self-selected out of it at every turn. Too many unknowns. Too many trappings for someone to uncover his OCD when they already hounded him about not having traditional parents. Whatever that was even supposed to mean.
Despite the childishness of it all, a flock of butterflies flaps inside Julien’s stomach. He’s never been kissed in a crowded room by a handsome man on New Year’s Eve before. Everyone else will be kissing, too. It’s not like anyone will be looking.
And ever since Christmas Eve, he’s been kissing Greg. Usually horizontally and one time completely upside down, Spider-Man-style—but a vertical, right-side-up kiss could be in the cards tonight. It didn’t need to be intrinsically complicated.
“Are you studying to be a psychologist or a psychic?” Julien asks, discovering that he likes Jessica. He doesn’t like many people right off the bat, but he likes her, and their easy banter reminds him that friendship doesn’t always have to be so laborious.
“I’m multifaceted,” she says, flipping her long hair over her right shoulder. “By day I sling burritos, and by night I memorize the functions of the brain. Nowhere in my textbooks does it say being psychicisn’tpossible.”
“Seriously, where is your school getting these books?”
