“Smart,” Julien says, meaning it. It makes sense. Julien was dismissive of Greg’s wardrobe when he arrived at Martin’s Place—namely his ridiculous Gucci belt—but Julien, for the first time, contemplates the world Greg dropped in from. Something like a Gucci belt was probably part of the uniform for a Manhattan-based influencer. It wasn’t flashy or out-of-place. It was what Greg had. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to come across as judgmental.”
That’s another thing Julien has become hypervigilant about since meeting Greg. He doesn’t want to have his walls up too high, his resting-bitch-face showcased too often. Just like he wants people to not prejudge him, he needs to do the same for others.
“It’s okay. You thought what I wanted you to think.” Carlos toys with the end of his seat belt which he’s just fastened. “I know that sounds manipulative, but I only mean the way we present ourselves to others factors a lot into how others treat us both professionally and personally.”
Julien chews on this tiny nugget of wisdom like a piece of sugar-free gum. “I guess I get so wrapped up in the learning part of being a sommelier that I neglect some of the other parts.”
“That’s the American school system for you. It rewards children being quiet, passive absorbers of knowledge but not so much active, vocal sharers. Heck, being vocal sharers probably got you in trouble.”
Julien never fit in with the outspoken kids in his elementary school classes. But thinking about what Carlos just said, he reconsiders. Maybe he was projecting otherness, which made the kids not approach, not include. Self-isolation.
“I didn’t do trouble,” Julien confesses. “I like to keep things safe.” He doesn’t know why he’s telling Carlos so much about his personal life other than the fact that they share a passion, are currently sharing an armrest, and Carlos’s expression is so open.
“Safe can be good sometimes.” Carlos nods to the cute flight attendant eight rows ahead of them instructing them on drop-down air mask etiquette. “But not always.”
Greg flickers through Julien’s mind, and he’s forced to consider anew why he jumped down Greg’s throat the moment he brought up the job offer. The only conclusion he can reasonably come to is that he chose to self-isolate over being vulnerable. Over telling Greg that he’d like him to stay. Or at the very least telling Greg that his feelings for him extend beyond the bedroom.
“Speaking of not playing it safe.” Carlos clears his throat as the plane begins to taxi. “Do you ever find yourself in New York?”
“Not often.” Aunt Augustine and Uncle Martin took him there as a kid to see the Rockefeller Center tree (which he loved) and to eat hot dogs from vendor carts (which he did not), and it all felt overstimulating and fairy-tale faraway.
Is that part of the reason he reacted so poorly to Greg’s news? There’s perhaps a part of him that believes New York, despite being a bus ride away, is of another land entirely. A land that sees Julien as nothing more than a tourist crying over drippy mustard and not knowing why.
Carlos produces a business card. “If you do, I would love to get together.”
Julien relishes the feel of the matte piece of paper with Carlos Domingo, Certified Sommelier etched across it. Right below are his email and his phone number. It’s been ages since someone Julien hadn’t met on an app deigned to ask him out. He warms at the prospect, but it’s sunshine filtered through a dense fog.
Greg, however? Greg was—is?—a bright, clear day.
Julien barely registers that Carlos is trying to give him something else. The plane’s nose has tipped up, and they’re ascending. “For your ears.” It’s a stick of gum. Julien takes it and thanks him. “You can get rid of it if you’d like. I won’t be offended.”
“Oh. No. Thanks.” Julien’s already unwrapping it, the pressure in the cabin changing rapidly.
“I meant the card.” Carlos dips his head, almost bashful. Julien doesn’t think he’s ever made a man bashful before.
“Oh.” Julien toys with it some more. “I’m flattered, really.”
“But there’s someone else?” Carlos fills in for him kindly.
Julien’s nod knocks a fantasy loose: Greg standing in the airport arrivals area holding one of those big pieces of card stock with Julien’s name written across it. It’s something he saw in a movie...or many movies? He can’t even remember now, but he’s certain it was a rom-com Aunt Augustine had put on and blown through boxes of tissues and chocolates while watching.
“I had a feeling.” Carlos offers a small smile. “I don’t make a habit of looking over people’s shoulders, but I saw you typing out a message to someone at dinner on that first night.”
There’s that photo of the cocktail menu sitting in Julien’s camera roll, unsent. The fear of that message going unanswered—being unwanted—stopped him from sending it. “It’s a complicated situation,” Julien explains.
“What makes it so complicated?”
Carlos’s question uncorks Julien. Suddenly, he’s pouring himself out into a glass, serving his emotions up for Carlos to dissect. For the next several hours, Carlos spits back advice like he’s noting the hints of baking spices and red plums.
“This field of study we’ve chosen,” Carlos says, sometime after the midflight drinks and Biscoff cookies have been served, “is a marathon, not a sprint. Don’t anticipate your successes or big moves until you’re staring at them head-on. It’ll save you a lot of disappointment.”
By the time they touch down in Allentown, Julien is certain he needs to come clean about his feelings to Greg. They’ll kiss. Julien might cry. They’ll have amazing sex. He can see it all in his mind’s eye. His muscles relax. His heart grows full again.
Back on the ground, standing near the gate, Julien gives Carlos a hug. “Thank you. Sorry I unloaded all of that on you.”
“Don’t be sorry. I asked.” Carlos chuckles good-naturedly. “I hope everything goes well with your gentleman. And, well, if it doesn’t, you have my business card. Take care.”
With that, he takes off toward his shuttle, leaving Julien infinitely lighter than when he boarded.
