We just recently moved back from London.
My wife, Sophie, and I.
Wife.
In all the scenarios that played out in my mind, I never imagined Julian would get married to a woman. And I suppose that assumption is on me, because I should’ve known that just because he kissed me didn’t mean he wasn’t attracted to women.
I mean, I enjoyed that kiss seventeen years ago.A fucking lot.But I hadn’t been with a man after him. I enjoyed women and I was sexually aroused by them.
It makes sense that perhaps Julian was the same.
In the last decade, I’d convinced myself I’d made peace with it. Now, I enjoyed the opposite sex and being the one in control—taking the lead, especially when it came to certain… extracurricular activities.
Saint Helena Academy would burst into flames if they knew what I got up to in my free time.
What happened between Julian and me—the kiss, the confusion, the way I left—was just the fumbling curiosity of two teenagers. At least, that’s what I’ve told myself over and over again. We were friends, we were young, and for me, that’s where it ended.
But as Julian walks toward me now—in a crisp white button-up and black trousers that cling a little too well to the muscle he’s clearly built since I last saw him—I’m suddenly questioning how true that really is.
His damp, light blond hair falls messily over his forehead, and I can’t help but glance at him, even though I keep telling myself not to. I take in the sharp cut of his jaw, the scruff that’s grown in over the years, the way he’s filled out.
It’s purely objective.
It doesn’t mean anything.
Just noticing the difference in him, that’s all.
But even as the thought crosses my mind, I can’t help but let my eyes trace the broadness of his shoulders, the way his chest has filled out under the fabric of his shirt. The Julian I knew at eighteen was all limbs and smiles—lanky, easygoing, with a lightness about him that made everything feel simpler.
But the Julian standing in front of me now?He’s all man. Brooding, rough around the edges in a way he never was before,and when his blue eyes meet mine, there’s a weight there I don’t remember. A tension that wasn’t there when we were young.
Something unspoken settles between us, and for a moment, I forget that I was the one who walked away. All I can think about is how much time has passed, and how much has changed—and whether or not I made the right choice all those years ago.
I shake my head as I push off the wall.
Of course I made the right choice to walk away.
The eighteen-year-old who got hard when he kissed his best friend wasn’t me.
I know who I am now.
“Hey,” I say, walking up to him.
“Hi.”
His voice is clipped—polite, but not warm. He stands too straight, like he’s bracing for something, and his grip on the strap of his gym bag is too tight. Back then, he was a bit taller, but now I have maybe an inch on him. It feels… strange to be standing before him after so many years.
“I don’t have a lot of time,” Julian says, face unsmiling. “Do you know of a place?”
So we can get this over with…
He doesn’t say it, but all those years learning his nuances clue me into how he’s really feeling about all of this.
“Yeah. Let me just drop my bag in my car and we can walk over. It’s just down the street.”
We walk through the parking lot, and Julian seems distracted. He points a key fob at a black Range Rover parked three spaces away from mine, so I walk to my white Audi Q6 and set the bag in the trunk. When I lock my car, Julian is standing a few feet away as he texts someone on his phone.
Crossing my arms, I wait until he finishes. It’s a beautiful day out—clear, warm but not too hot, with just a whisper of wind from the ocean. A small part of me regrets not going on the hikeStella invited me on this morning, but I’d wanted to get a full-body workout in.
