Trying to shake it off and keep things happy like Nicholas deserves, I just nod. “Guess I got off easy. Your dad chatted me up about the building and your business.”
“That’s it?”
“He did tell me that you’ve always been this way.”
“What way?”
“I don’t know. Bright.”
He looks he’s trying to hide his smile. It’s cute.
Why does everything I notice have to hurt a little bit now?
“Now you’ve met my parents,” he says. “Two bundles of energy and good nature. I’m glad to take after them, even when they spin around like a whirlwind.”
“I’m glad you take after them, too.”
Talking about family, Randy’s journal comes to mind, and I decide that I want to tell him about it this time.
“I hope you don’t think this is rude,” I preface, “but I found an old journal of Randy’s. It’s from the nineties. I’ve been reading it.”
He sits up straight. “Wow. Why would that be rude?”
“I thought it might be intrusive.”
Nicholas considers it. “You did inherit the journal. It might be more complicated for someone who knew him well to read it, but I guess I feel in your case, it’s a way to learn about him. Right?”
I nod, glad he understands. “Right. I guess your folks just made me think of him. It’s good that you have family that appreciates you.”
Nicholas nods, and his teeth brush his bottom lip. “What’s going on with Randy in the nineties?” he asks.
“He’s in love with some guy he’s been hooking up with for a while. Worked himself up for weeks getting ready to tell this guy, Allen, how he felt. Finally did, and Allen said he loves Randy, too. But he also loves this other guy.”
“Uh-oh.”
“Yeah. Randy doesn’t like that. The part I read last, he’s in a sorry fucking state about it.”
Nicholas smiles sadly. “He wasn’t the best at sharing.” He stands up and offers me his hand. “Come on,” he says. “Let’s go finish up the roses. I want you to tell me more about Randy and how it feels to read about him.”
I take his hand and stand, half-smiling to myself. “Okay. Sure. Just going to use the bathroom,” I mumble out and start walking behind him.
“That’s not the bathroom. Those are the stairs. There’s a bathroom down here.”
Before he can catch on, I take the stairs two at a time.
“Hey!” he yells after me, laughing, but he’s too late.
Upstairs, I take the old picture of him down from the wall. Early teen Nicholas stands beside a massive papier-mâché flower. He has the worst of all possible haircuts. It’s an attempt at spiky, early 2000s hair with blonde tips, but it's a porcupine-looking disaster. His smile is awkward and exaggerated, and he’s wearing a pink T-shirt with a Pokémon on it.
Nicholas appears behind me, laughing. “Unfair,” he says.
I pull my phone out and snap a picture of the photo. “This is perfect,” I tell him. “Literally perfect.”
He laughs and leans against the wall, but doesn’t object anymore.
Satisfied, I put the photo back. “Roses?” I ask.
Nicholas steps forward and pecks a quick kiss on my cheek. “Roses,” he answers.
