On the signage, above the list of wine, liquor, and fruits, Greg reads I’m Sorry for What I Said White Sangria. It’s unmistakably Julien’s handwriting.
“I’m sorry, Greg.” Julien has his hands clasped in front of his chest, as if nearly begging.
Once again,A man! Apologizing! Groundbreaking!Twice in only a matter of days. This time means more, though.
“When I said we didn’t need you anymore, I was saying it from a place of surprise and hurt. I don’t say that as an excuse. I rationalized it by assuming you were looking for permission to leave and were giving me polite notice on the end of our sex pact, but the truth is...” Julien flips around the sign beside the receptacle of red. It reads I Want to Make It Right Red Sangria. “Can we take a walk?”
Greg wavers, cheeks still burning hot from Julien’s sweet signs. His hesitant heart reminds him that the walk could end in an epic goodbye, one last conversation before letting go. The thoughtful gesture doesn’t mean reconciliation.
Not yet, but still hopeful, Greg agrees.
JULIEN
While nodding to Uncle Martin and Aunt Augustine who hold each other out on the makeshift dance floor, swaying to a slow song Rufus is playing, Julien leads the way outside. He tries not to entertain thoughts that he could have what they have, with Greg.
This impending conversation could chart several different courses, and despite his preparation and what he feels in his heart, his head has to be practical, quickly unfolding a safety net below the tightrope of emotions he’s walking.
The spring air has a slight, pleasant chill to it that cools Julien enough to speak again after a deep, audible breath. “The truth is, Greg, that this has been more than a sex pact for me for a while now. I’ve grown to trust you and really look forward to the time we spend together, both around and outside of work.”
Afraid that he might read too much into Greg’s expressions, Julien fixes his gaze ahead on the stone facade of the old YMCA as they saunter down Main Street, keeping step despite their stride differences. Around the corner, Julien spies the large glass library with its Japanese zen garden to the right. It’s all rocks and flowing fountains and cherry blossom trees that have finally reached peak bloom. If he’s going to get his heart broken, he wants to do it surrounded by beautiful pink flowers.
The nearest stone bench is spotlighted by the dipping orange sun, so Julien takes that as a sign to sit there, gesturing for Greg to join him before producing a crumpled-up card from his coat pocket. “This is what I was originally going to put for the red sangria.”
The card that reads I Really Like You Red Sangria is dwarfed in Greg’s large hand. “I appreciate the alliterations,” Greg says with a growing smirk.
“I thought you would.” Julien’s cheeks heat up again as he launches into his explanation. “Honestly, a similar thing happened with Colin before you came to town. I was starting to entertain feelings for him beyond our hookups, but I was too scared to say anything, then all of a sudden, he was moving away. I didn’t want to make that same mistake again. Not with you. Especially because...because my feelings for you are bigger, scarier. Boy, sorry, if this is a weird awful word vomit.”
“Julien.” Greg places his hand on top of Julien’s, which rests on the space of stone bench between them. Julien never wants to be without that warm, reassuring touch. “I’m listening. It’s not weird or awful. Truthfully, it’swonderful.”
Julien dons a smile that puffs out his cheeks, totally unselfconscious. “Does that mean...?”
“That I like you, too? Yeah, yeah it does. I was going to tell you before you left for Texas.” Greg shifts away, a display of something akin to guilt.
“I was going to tellyouwhen I got home...”
A laugh launches out of Greg that infects Julien, too. “A storm of bad timing, I guess.”
“A storm that’s only continued. Here I am, finally telling you that I like you in the middle of your going-away party.” Julien’s eyes land on a willow across the way, which mirrors his posture in this moment, all hunched over. Instead of feeding into his shrinking instincts, he straightens up. He knows how he feels and whatever the blowback, he can handle it. “But,” he says, voice more assertive now, “I had to tell you. I know you’re leaving and that Stryker is back in your life.”
“He’s not,” Greg interrupts. “That was a lapse in judgment to say the least. I fell back into a comfortable habit. Yeah. That’s what he was to me, a habit. But I’ve kicked it. And if I could, I’d kick New York. Straight to the curb.” He digs his shoe into the rocks in a show of frustration.
“You don’t want the job?” Julien senses his heart reinflating slowly.
Greg shakes his head. “I don’t want the job or the city or the too-small-too-noisy apartment. I don’t want to pack my stuff into brown boxes and wait hours for subway cars that aren’t coming. I don’t want to leave Martin’s Place, and I don’t want to leave you.”
Hot salty tears rim Julien’s eyes instantly. It’s everything he’s ever longed to hear, packaged in a way he never imagined hearing it, from a man he couldn’t have ever expected to be real. He sniffles, blinks back what he can before saying, “I don’t want you to leave, either.”
Greg leans forward and wraps Julien in one of those only-Greg-could-give-them hugs. “I’m sorry I sprang the interview on you. Since I’m working my way out of the debt hole I’m in, I was scared that their shiny hourly rate might be my only chance at doing it in the near future, but I think you’ve shown me that sometimes there are even better options beyond the obvious.”
If Greg weren’t holding him so tightly there in the zen garden, Julien fears he might float away like one of the pink petals on the spring breeze from how light he feels. “How so?”
“I mean, since you came into my life, I’ve taken up painting, gotten on a new medication. I’ve tried different kinds of wines and even more different kinds of sex toys.” Greg leans back so Julien can see his full expression. The way his words brighten his features—cheeks lifting, eyes lightening. “I had this wrong perception of New York City. That it’s the place where you go to make it, to prove your parents wrong about you. When you tell people you live there or post about living there, you get treated like you’re top-shelf when really, right now, you’re well liquor. Call liquor at best. And my journey to premium doesn’t need to look the way I thought it would when I was eighteen. I have a whole new vision.” Greg takes both of Julien’s hands in his.
“What does that vision include?” Julien asks, hoping to hear that it includes them together.
“Making social media content to help the restaurant, but not for monetization. Doing it because I love it and not because it’s easy cash flow,” Greg says to start. “Maybe using my mixology know-how to write a recipe book. Finally put down all those TikTok concoctions on paper so they can reach more people in a more tangible way.”
“That would be amazing.” Julien squeezes Greg’s hand.
