Rafael holds out for another couple of minutes before he laughs. “What the fuck, man? Why do you drive this thing?”
“It’s paid off.”
“It’s screaming at us!” Rafael points to a spot on the hood with so much certainty he might actually know how to fix it. “Itwantsto die. I think you should let it.”
“Not all of us are full-time drivers with fancy expensive car collections.”
“You don’t need afancy expensive car collection, but you deserve something made this decade. Thiscentury, even.”
“It’sfine. We’re almost there.” They aren’t, but it buys Julien a solid ten minutes of silence.
“Is there anything I should know about your family before we get there?”
Julien shrugs. “There’s not much to tell. We’re a pretty normal family.”
“Two of you are Formation 1 drivers.”
Well, when you put it like that… “Remind me, how many people in your family raced with Formation 1?”
“Okay, fair enough.” Rafael picks at the fabric peeling off the side paneling. “Your brother cooks?”
“Just the chef one.”
“And your parents?”
“Retired.”
“Do they know you’re gay?”
“Yeah.” Still, Julien sighs. “I think they’re fine with us individually, but Maman hates that all three of us like men. Matthieu says he’s bi, so if he could hurry up and make some cute babies, I think Thomas and I would be better off.”
“Is he dating anyone? Engaged or something?”
“I guess we’ll find out tonight.”
Rafael stops picking and leans further back against the seat. “It’s weird, I feel so nervous. I’m usually pretty good at stuff like this.”
“Meet a lot of families, huh?”
That kinda stings for some reason.
“I mean, I guess? But I haven’t been exclusive with anyone for a couple of years now. Easier that way.”
“There’s nothing to worry about with me, though.” Something gnaws at Julien, the pit in his stomach too tight to ignore. “Since we’re, um, friends.”
“Yeah, of course.” Rafael’s knee bounces. It’s distracting. “I still feel like I should’ve brought a gift. Is it too late to stop somewhere? I can be quick.”
“Oh, I already did that.” Julien points his thumb over his shoulder, to the back seat. “You’re bringing the wine—a nicePinot to pair with dinner. I’m bringing the dessert, which everyone will look at, but no one will eat. It’s pretty and French.”
“Like you.”
Julien drags his eyes away from the road to study Rafael’s face, to catch his teasing look, but the Brazilian doesn’t seem to be joking. He focuses on popping a plastic panel of the door back into place.
French. He meant the part about being French.
Julien pulls into the long driveway with trepidation. It feels more real now that he can see the house.
He parks next to a shiny black SUV. Not Maman’s usual tastes. Then again, he can make out the face of a driver inside, uplit by the blue light of a phone screen.
