“It was a convertible. A1990…”
“Toyota Celica. I’ve seenit.”
She nodded approvingly. “Well, the car first belonged to Francis Goode. You knowhim?”
“Goode, like thediner?”
“Exactly like. He owns the place now, inherited it from his father. It was his cousin Shane who… Well, youknow.”
Was a murderer. Yeah, I knew. Heck, I’d written a book about it that was currently sitting on my harddrive.
“Anyway. Fran was a nice boy. Drove this little car around town like he was hot stuff. And Jules—he must’ve been maybe thirteen or fourteen at the time—he would just go starry-eyed over that car. And more likely than not, the man driving it.” She tossed me a wink, then she sobered. “But Fran joined the Army after that and when he came home, he wasn’t the same. He didn’t want anything to do with the car anymore. He put it up forsale.”
She sighed and faced me, making no effort to look at the lights anymore. “Now, Jules had wanted that car foryearsby that point. He’d saved every dollar he earned after school and on weekends, every birthday check from his Nonna. The car was safe, it was reliable, and Julian was an adult who had the right to buy a car if he wanted to. But John, Julian’s father, absolutely hated the idea of the car. Convertibles were terrible in the snow, he’d seen one too many accidents in his time, Julian should be saving his money forschool.”
I nodded. “Conflictingpriorities.”
“A dumb argument, really,” she said. “So stupid. And it went on for months, since both of them were partially right and neither would admit the other had a point. And then one day, Julian went out and bought thecar.”
I could see where this was headed and it made my stomach hurt forJulian.
“He took me for a ride in it,” she said with a grin. “It was beautiful. But when his father got home? Oh, the shit hit the fan.” She cleared her throat. “Pardon mylanguage.”
I gave her a half-smile.
“Mostly, at that point, John just wanted to win,” she said softly. “It’s a hard thing for a man to know his son’s grown and can make decisions on his own. He was hurt that Julian didn’t take his advice in the end. He forgot, I think, how many timeshehadn’t taken his own father’s advice, when he was nineteen. He called Julianungratefulandimmature. And Julian told his father he was old and didn’t understand anything. Said he didn’t need a fatheranymore.”
“Oh,God.”
“Julian stormed out of the house and John died thatnight.”
“Angela—” I didn’t even know where tobegin.
“It was so terrible,” she said, tears in her voice. “Julian blamed himself for the stress causing the heart attack, even though John’s doctor told us later that John’s blockages had been growing for years. And to this day, no matter how illogical he knows it is, I don’t think Julian’s forgiven himself for the things he told his father in anger. He doesn’t let himself get angry much anymore. He doesn’t speakup.”
I scratched a hand through my hair. “Except with me. He gets angry with me.Clearly.”
“Yes,” Angela said simply. “I can see that he does. You make him feel things, Daniel. You make him feel safe. Youreachhim, even the parts of himself that he’s guarded for a longwhile.”
I stared down at my hands. The sounds of the parade were all around us—the DJ was belting out a rollicking version of Frosty the Snowman, people nearby were laughing and chatting—but it all seemed far away. Angela was talking about Julian, but she might as well have been talking aboutme.
“But be careful, Daniel.” She scooted closer and squeezed my hand. “Remember that iceberg? What you see is only the smallest part of what there is. And he shows you more of himself than he shows most people—maybeanyone—but at his core, I think there are insecurities and worries he’s scared to show even you. And the closer you two get, the more of him you see,the more you mean to him, the harder he’ll try to keep you from seeing those things. Deep down, Julian isafraid.”
Well, that made fuckingtwo ofus.
“So what do I do?” I asked. “How do I… make him notafraid?”
Angela chuckled. “You can’t, honey,” she said gently. “We all have things we’re afraid of, and no one else can take those fears away. You just show him that it’sokayto be afraid. That you accept his fears and his anger and all the other parts of him he doesn’t like to show, the same way you accept all the good things about him. You stick by him. You let yourself be vulnerable and open. You love him scared. And thenhe’llrealize he doesn’t have tobe.”
I nodded, but didn’t say anything because I was afraid if I opened my mouth I might let out a great, big, snotty, totally un-manly sob. God, I couldn’t imagine letting someone see all of me—all my failures, all the stupid shit I’d gained and lost. How terrifying would thatbe?
But Julian… Julian wasdifferent.
From the beginning, he’d seen and accepted me. He’d accepted my flaws and my boundaries. He’d understood things without me articulatingthem.
I knew he had flaws and insecurities—a hundred different Julians’ worth—but I felt almost protective over them. He was perfect as he was, even when he was angry, even when he wouldn’t speak, even when he confused the fuck out of me. There was no part of him I didn’t want to know. There was no part of him I didn’t care about, didn’tlove.
So Julian and I needed to have a talk, for damn sure. One where I explained to him that I didn’t want there to be any more Curtises, or strained silences, or arguments between us. One where I was gonna have to be honest and vulnerable, to give him all my mistakes and failures, and hope he could dust them off and find the glimmer of good intention behind eachone.
I wanted him to be happy, whatever that entailed. And whether we ended up friends or something more—And Jesus, didn’tthatthought make my stomach flip?—I just really, really hoped there would be a place for me in thathappiness.
