CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
I don’t know if it’s the guilt, regret, or longing, but I can’t sleep.
My mind isn’t allowed to wander unsupervised anymore. Every time it does, it goes somewhere it shouldn’t. A slew of ASMR videos make me drowsy, but something always wakes me up, prickling down my spine until all the exhaustion melts from my body.
One can only go down so many YouTube rabbit holes. After seven true-crime videos in a row, I’m a new kind of nervous, because hello, we’re in a remote cabin in the middle of the woods. How have we not revisited the possibility of an ax murderer in our midst? I shift over to music once I’ve figured out the perfect escape route in case the potential murderer decides to attack tonight.
I find my way to New Nostalgia without thinking, hovering over the title of the song Julian had played earlier. I hit play and settle into my blanket cocoon, cranking up the volume to drown out Andy’s snoring.
It’s easier to connect with the lyrics this time. On a closer listen, it’s not really about a giant squid. Well, it is, but it’s also about regret. About hurting someone you barely knew and falling slowly for them in the aftermath.
I’m only halfway through the song when I smash the Next button, unable to make it through to the end. It’s too on the nose, as if it transcribed the static that rings in my ears whenever I think about Julian into lyrics and melodies. The next song isn’t as loaded, a more upbeat track about new love in the spring. It takes three more songs until my heart slows down and I’m able to think coherently again. New Nostalgia’s songs all sound a bit similar, but they’re the type of catchy I won’t be able to get out of my head for weeks.
After streaming the album twice over, skipping that song both times, I text Julian.
Leaving it there doesn’t feel like enough. Less is more when it comes to texting, but I don’t know how to keep from word vomiting.
It’s not an ideal way to bridge the gap between us following this afternoon. I could’ve led with the truth, but this sounds way better than “Hey, sorry I shut you down today; I had to protect you from a literal bloodbath.” He doesn’t owe me kindness, though, especially not after blowing him off. So I set my phone on my nightstand, not expecting a reply.
But his response comes almost immediately.
I snort, double-checking that I haven’t woken Andy up before hiding my phone beneath my comforter. While his reply is clearly casual, he didn’t acknowledge the apology either. Maybe he’s still pissed?
I’m halfway through typing out a response when I remember the time. With the exception of the night we’d spent at Mami’s secret pier, I’ve never seen or heard from Julian past sundown. I assumed he’s one of those gremlin people who can’t be seen or fed after dark, which is fair considering his dad makes him get up at the ass crack of dawn every day.
The thought of him cowering under his own comforter makes me laugh so hard I have to cover my mouth, sure that I’ve woken up Andy this time. But thankfully he’s as knocked out as ever.
I bite back a grin, holding my fist up to my mouth. Why can’t everything be this easy? No drawn-out apologies, no explanations, just moving on as if nothing happened.
He sends another message before I can reply.
I sigh, setting the phone down on my chest while I consider how to respond. Writing novel-length messages isn’t my forte, and I don’t know how to convey tone over text yet. Ultimately, I settle on something that isn’t entirely off base.
As nice as it is to have Julian to distract me from myself, he’s bound to fall asleep any second…
I blink the sleep out of my eyes, double-checking the time. Why does Julian want to go for a drive at 2 a.m.?
Fair enough. While I don’t want to leave the comfort of my bed, the thought of seeing Julian again after the day I’ve had feels simultaneously terrifying and soothing.
My stomach flutters as I rush to the bathroom to make myself look presentable. There’s not much I can do when my eyes are red rimmed, the skin beneath them purpled and heavy with exhaustion. I’m the perfect picture of a night gone wrong. All I can do is hope Julian won’t look too closely.
The rest of the house is fast asleep, snores echoing through the halls as I tiptoe out the front door. One wrong move and I can add a grounding to the heap of disasters I’ve been through today.
Julian’s parked out front with more energy than anyone should have at this hour. He’s playing out a passionate finger drum solo on the steering wheel, mouthing along to a rock song I don’t recognize.
“How are you still so awake?” I ask around a yawn.
“Pure adrenaline from the fear of someone hiding under my bed and murdering me,” he explains casually, turning down the radio once I’m buckled in. “Also coffee. Lots of coffee.”
“You drank coffee in the middle of the night?”
He scoffs as he starts up the car and pulls out of the driveway. “You would’ve too if you’d seen that movie.”
True. The last time Maya and I watched a horror movie together, we spent the next two weeks sleeping on each other’s floors because every shadow scared the life out of us.
“So, what’s the plan?” I ask, stretching myself out. “Drive off into the sunset? Cross state lines?”
The road is as dark as the night he drove me home from the country club. Thinking back on that night feels odd, especially when I remember how afraid I was of someone who’s actually harmless. Something in me is still afraid of Julian, but it’s not the same. It’s the kind of fear I’m willing to face.
Julian flashes a radiant smile, taking his eyes off the road long enough to meet mine. That’s another thing I’m not afraid of anymore. Looking at him. And the things I feel when I do.
“I’m taking you to the greatest place in the known universe.”
The greatest place in the known universe, it turns out, is a twenty-four-hour diner.
Julian takes us thirty minutes outside of Lake Andreas, driving down sleepy suburban roads until we’re on the highway. A blinding neon sign welcomes us to AL’S DINER: SERVING ALL THE BEST PANCAKES AT ALL THE BEST TIMES. Julian hops out of the car, racing to the passenger side to whip my door open with a flourish.
“This is the greatest place in the known universe?” I ask skeptically.
“Shut up and prepare to have your mind blown.”
The counters are sticky with long-dried maple syrup and the booths are torn at the seams, leaking cotton stuffing onto the checkerboard floors. The air is thick with the scent of fresh coffee and the crackle of bacon. Frank Sinatra croons from a radio beside the cash register. Julian greets the elderly waitress behind the counter like an old friend, stopping to chat with her about her grandson’s first year at basketball camp before guiding me to a nearby booth. There’s only one other patron, a trucker huddled over a mug of coffee and a platter of eggs, but Julian still picks a secluded table tucked away in a corner.
“The pancakes are their thing, but you have to try the milkshakes—they’re wild. Or if you’re not into breakfast foods—although if you aren’t, I’m going to have to seriously reconsider this relationship—then the burgers are great. Or the disco fries. Apparently, that’s a New Jersey thing—the owner grew up there. You haven’t lived until you’ve had French fries smothered in mozzarella and gravy.”
The menu is overwhelming, which is saying a lot considering how often our family goes to The Cheesecake Factory. The thick booklet spans from omelets to surf and turf to an assortment of holiday specials, ranging from Christmas ham to something called the Reindeer Special. The items start to blur together as I scan the pancake selection. What’s the difference between a Reese’s Pieces Extravaganza and a Peanut Butter Explosion?
“Why don’t you order for us?” I suggest, setting my menu aside. Julian’s clearly the expert.
He beams, happily accepting the challenge before waving over the waitress, Judy. He keeps it simple, ordering a cup of coffee for himself (which I don’t protest, even though I’m sure he’s had more than enough caffeine for one night), disco fries to share, and two shakes. Vanilla for him, mint chocolate for me.
It probably says something about my standards that a boy remembering my favorite flavor of ice cream makes my heart race.
Julian clinks his coffee mug against my shake after Judy returns with our drinks. “To not sleeping.”
“To not sleeping,” I echo, watching Julian savor his first sip. “Do you make a habit out of going to diners in the middle of the night?”
“I guess you could say that,” he replies, cradling the mug close to his chest. “We used to come up here every weekend for breakfast. Mom can’t cook eggs to save her life. But it’s usually just me now,” he says with a half-hearted shrug, letting go of his mug to start rearranging the sugar packets.
“Food’s that good, huh?”
He nods weakly. “It is. But it’s comforting too. Reminds me of when things weren’t complicated…well, when they were less complicated. Plus, it’s the only place that’s still open past midnight, and sometimes I really need to get out of the house.”
I groan, slouching against the table. “Tell me about it.”
Julian bites his lip, tapping his fingers against his place mat and peeking at me from beneath his lashes. He looks away the moment I catch him eyeing me, shifting his gaze to the TV in the corner.
“You look like you’re getting ready to tell me that my dog died,” I say after Julian cautiously peeks at me again.
He curls in on himself, flushed down to his collar at having been caught. “You look like you just found out your dog died.”
“Harsh.” But fair. I probably look worse than that, to be honest. Fighting with your sister and processing your complicated emotions for someone you’re supposed to hate is a lot to handle in one day. Also, I’m more of a cat person. “It’s been a weird day.”
Julian runs a finger along the rim of his mug, tendrils of steam bending around his fingertip. “Because I asked you to go to a concert with me, or because you got assaulted by water balloons filled with what I’m guessing was either real animal blood or puréed beets?"
I choke on my shake, narrowly covering my mouth before it sprays out all over the table.
“Y-you saw?” I ask between coughs into my sleeve, the corners of my eyes watering.
His grin is coy as he leans across the table to pat me on the back. “I did.” He waits until I’ve made it through the coughing fit to slump back into his seat. “Would’ve been hard not to. It’s not every day that someone stages a sneak attack in your driveway.”
“Sorry,” I mumble, pushing through the ache in my chest. Guess that’s why he was willing to talk to me again. “I tried to stop her, but…” I trail off, shrugging in defeat.
“I get it,” he replies, eyes falling to my place mat. “It’s what we deserve.”
“Not you, though.” I shift forward, stomach pressed against the edge of the table, our hands a hairsbreadth apart. Every part of me itches to get closer. “You weren’t involved.”
“But I could’ve stopped them. If I’d paid more attention, I probably would’ve seen that something was up.” He curls in on himself, pulling his hands back and pushing them deep into the pockets of his cardigan. “Stella and Henry really are sorry, though. I know that doesn’t mean much coming from me, but…I told them about the jacket, the one Maya was wearing. It was your mom’s, right?”
I nod slowly, stomach clenching at the memory. The confirmation makes Julian stall, like we’re giving a moment of silence out of respect.
“They want to apologize to her,” he says, “but I can understand if she doesn’t want anything to do with us.”
The idea of not just one, but two Seo-Cookes apologizing to us should be laughable. If this were any other year, I’d claim to see right through them and laugh in Julian’s face. I’d brush it off as a decoy for yet another prank, a trick to get us to lower our guard. But because this is the weirdest month of my life, I smile.
“Thanks for taking a bullet for me,” Julian adds. “Or balloon.”
A little more physical contact won’t kill me, so I knock my ankle against his. “That’s what fake boyfriends are for.”
The lamp flickers to full brightness, bathing our corner of the diner in harsh fluorescent lighting. Everything grows smaller, more intimate, like there’s no one else in the world but us.
“Can I ask you something personal?”
“Sure.” He goes to take a sip of coffee but pauses with the mug halfway to his lips. “Unless it’s my social security number. Only my fake husbands get access to that.”
“There goes that plan,” I tease, taking a second to calm my racing heart before asking the question that’s nagged me since the night of the chowder incident. “Liam said he broke up with you?”
It shouldn’t matter, and it doesn’t. Not really. The semantics of Liam and Julian’s relationship aren’t any of my business, and I don’t have any interest in knowing more about Liam than I need to. And yet…I haven’t been able to shake off what Liam said since he hissed it at me. Julian—frustrating, confusing, and strangely wonderful—has trusted me with a lot worse than the details of a breakup. It’s what sets him apart from his siblings, and the boy I knew all those years ago. This Julian’s never acted like he has something to hide from me.
He runs one hand along his arm as he lets out a long, slow sigh.
“I’m sorry, you don’t have to answer that. Too personal,” I say in one swift breath before downing enough milkshake to give me brain freeze.
“No, it’s fine,” he replies, eyes on his place mat. “He did. Break up with me.”
There’s a bitterness in him that I’ve never seen before. Beyond sadness or anger. Disappointment, maybe?
The thought of a selfish blowhard like Liam dumping someone like Julian seems impossible. People like Liam are meant to be dumped once the glitter of their bank account wears off. They’re not supposed to dump kind, gentle, sweet boys who make your heart flutter with a single latte.
“Apparently, he doesn’t ‘do’ relationships. Or, not with guys like me, I guess,” he mutters. “He was always complaining that I held his hand too tight, or I picked the wrong movie to watch, or I wouldn’t remember to keep his favorite snacks in the house…. I told Dad it was my idea, though. I thought if he knew…he’d find some way to blame me for screwing up things for him with Liam’s dad.” His frown ticks into a bitter smirk. “Like he didn’t ruin that all on his own.”
I nod slowly. “So, why’s Liam still lurking around if he dumped you? Why not go be a bachelor on a yacht in Ibiza, or something?”
Julian laughs, but it’s not enough to keep the tension from washing over him again. “He wanted someone to have ‘fun’ with while he was in town, no strings attached.” He stares at the dark, desolate highway beyond the window. “People like him aren’t used to not getting what they want.”
And here I thought it wasn’t possible to dislike Liam more than I already do. I’m not a violent person, but I hope he stubs his toe every night for the next year. No, next decade.
“Liam’s an idiot,” I say, because I can’t let the silence linger. Not when there are so many things I want to say sitting on the tip of my tongue. “I mention something once and you always remember it.” I gesture to my milkshake. “And you’re not even my real boyfriend.”
The corners of his lips tug upward as he starts to fold the edges of his place mat. I can just make out the pink dusting the apples of his cheeks. His hand is so close to mine it aches not to reach out and close the distance.
“Some things are worth remembering.”
Okay, that was pretty swoon-worthy.
We’re not touching, but we still recoil when Judy returns with our fries, tucking our hands under our thighs and keeping our legs to our respective sides of the table. This far away from the lake we don’t have to pretend to be something we aren’t. Judy winks at Julian as she sets the plate down, pinching his cheek before returning to work. The red mark stands out on his already flushed cheeks.
When I tear my eyes away from my milkshake, Julian’s already done the honor of spearing a fry from the center of the plate, dripping with gravy and coated in cheese, holding it up to my mouth. “Get ready, your life’s never going to be the same after this bite.”
“You have a thing for French fries, don’t you?” I tease with a raised brow.
“Why wouldn’t I? They’re the best food.”
Now’s not the time to get into why I’m a mozzarella stick man myself. But if anyone has the power to convert me to the fry side, it’s him. I open my mouth wide and accept the forkful. The heavens don’t open up, and my life is still as confusing as ever, but it’s a damn good first bite. Gooey cheesy goodness and the salty tang of gravy.
“Pretty good,” I reply.
“Pretty good? That’s it?” Julian shakes his head in outrage, pulling the plate closer to his side of the table and spearing an extra cheesy fry for himself.
Right before he can bite down, I snatch the fry off his fork for myself. “I’ve had better.”
Julian reaches forward, wiping gravy off my lower lip. “Oh really?”
The touch makes me freeze, my mind going into overdrive as I struggle to decide whether I want to lick the pad of his thumb, kiss him, or stab him with my fork. “Mmm-hmm,” I manage to croak out, the sound a garbled mess.
Before I can retaliate, Julian leans back in his seat with a satisfied smirk. I snatch up my milkshake, taking a long sip and letting the brain freeze dull my frazzled nerves.
“I happen to know a very talented chef,” I say once I’ve composed myself again. “He makes these kimchi fries…” I let out a low whistle. “Once you have them, no other cheesy potato compares.”
Julian smiles around his fork, trying and failing to hide his rosy cheeks behind his hands. “He sounds like a prick.”
“Oh, he definitely is.” The light flickers again, a momentary darkness. We lean in, knees touching under the table, hanging on to the edge of our seats. “But he’s all right sometimes.”
I’ve never pulled an all-nighter before. I’d rather not make a habit out of doing something that involves this much caffeine, but if all-nighters mean nights like this one, I can make some unhealthy exceptions.
Julian talks me into my first cup of coffee. The second one is all me. The third one is a mistake, but my eyes are starting to droop, and I don’t want to fall asleep. Reenergized by greasy carbs and to-go iced lattes, Julian and I finally leave Al’s at a quarter to four with full bellies and jittery hands. We drive aimlessly and sing along to an embarrassingly sappy playlist Julian made for an ex until our throats are hoarse, moving onto air guitar solos and slapping our hands against the dashboard when our voices refuse to keep up.
Winding roads and dimly lit streets lead us to the north side of the lake, only a few miles away from Allegheny Park. A behemoth of a waterslide towers over the tops of the trees, lit up by a spotlight even though the park is closed for the night. If I’d spotted it weeks ago, it would’ve made me drool, and Maya and I would’ve found a way to sneak in without tickets. Getting to know Liam may have soured all things Allegheny Park, but the thought of going doesn’t interest me much anymore. I loved Lake Andreas when I was five, when it was bursting with new faces and the possibility of adventure. And I think I might love it even more now with its frayed, yellowed edges.
We settle down on the grass, leaning against mighty oak trees. The adrenaline that had been thrumming through our veins has run its course, so we sip our iced lattes slowly, stretching the caffeine as far as it’ll take us. Julian is opposite me, closing his eyes and playing music off his phone because we’re too exhausted to make conversation.
Bringing my sketchbook had seemed like a silly decision at the time, but I’d brought it just in case. You never know when you might need something to occupy your hands. I balance it on my lap, straining my eyes until the page comes into view. Having Julian in front of me as a reference is helpful. Even better with his eyes closed. There are lots of things I’d missed while working off memory—the scar on his upper lip, the one strand of hair above his left ear that never seems to behave.
“Wow. What a handsome young man,” Julian says, voice weighed down by sleepiness and warm against my cheek.
The pencil flies out of my hand when I realize how close he is. I’d been so focused on the sketch that I hadn’t noticed him waking up or coming over to sit beside me. The ache in my eyes eases as the glow of the rising sun slowly stretches toward us.
“It’s the latest installment in my ‘obnoxious hot guys with huge egos’ series.”
I don’t need the sun to tell that he’s smirking; I can hear it in his voice. “So you do think I’m hot.”
I press myself farther back against the tree with a sigh. “I think you have a serious case of selective hearing. You should get that checked out.”
He laughs, quiet and adorable, crawling back to the tree opposite me.
I could tell him to stay, but I don’t. I could say something else, but I don’t do that either.
“You should use the portrait of your mom,” he says once he’s settled back down against his tree. “For the mentorship.”
It takes a second for me to ground myself and shake off the jitters that bubble up whenever Julian gets too close. “You think?”
“Yeah.” There’s a hint of a smile playing at the corners of his lips, his eyes focused over my shoulder, his mind somewhere else. “When I saw that portrait, I just…got it. All these intense feelings…like I was there and knew her—like, really knew her.” He holds up his index finger. “And I never ‘get’ art.”
The undignified snort I let out makes him laugh again and me blush down to my toes. It’s a welcome distraction as I sit with what he’s said, smiling to myself as I consider the drawing of him, wondering if it had the same effect on him.
“Did it scare you?” he asks when I don’t respond, knees pulled up to his chest. “Art school? Moving to California?”
“Shitless,” I reply, one of the few times I don’t have to overthink a reply to him. “Beyond shitless. And it still does, every day.” A moment of pause as I set down my pencil. “Does it scare you?”
He nods, picking at blades of grass until they pull free. “Sometimes it doesn’t feel worth it. I could probably work in business management or consulting, if I studied hard enough. Not at Princeton.” He yanks the blade between his fingers, earth coming up with it. “But somewhere else. Play it safe, be miserable, probably. But safe. Stable.”
“Yeah, I get that.”
It’s an argument I’ve had with myself dozens, if not hundreds, of times over this past semester. Late at night and during class and every time I found myself panicking over the stack of unfinished assignments on my desk.
Dad and Mami didn’t give themselves the luxury of options because they knew it meant they could pass them down to us instead. Medicine. Engineering. Stable work, stable money. The kind of money that could help get you out of the pit you dug to get the job in the first place. It didn’t matter that Mami liked literature more than biology or that Dad wanted to design comics instead of buildings. They gave up passion for practicality so that I wouldn’t have to.
And I’m barely staying above water.
There’ll never be enough words in either of our languages for me to thank them for putting our lives ahead of theirs before they even knew us. But even luxuries come with fine print. Nightmares in the form of Dad’s voice. A question I’m terrified he’ll ask me someday.
Are you sure you made the right choice?
What if I’m not good enough? What if I fail at the one thing I thought was meant for me? What if we sank all this money into a dream I can’t deliver on? Maya gave up on her dream when she saw the price tag—why did I think I could still have mine? I can’t even come up with a subject for a piece that’s supposed to be about me. How can I expect to compete with people who’ve known they were going to be artists since they could hold a pencil?
What if my parents gave up their possibilities for me to pick the wrong one?
“It’s weird,” Julian says, pulling me back to the present. “I thought I’d feel better about giving up on the whole Princeton thing. But I think I’m just as scared of not knowing what I want to do as I was of doing something I’d regret.”
“Whatever you decide to do, you’re going to be amazing at it,” I say, because at least that’s something I’m sure of. “Since you’re good at everything.”
He chuckles, slow and soft like he’s half asleep. “And you’re going to be a great artist.” He leans down onto the grass, stretching himself out until his head is resting beside my knee. His eyes twinkle in the darkness. “You already are.”
I set my sketchbook beside him, Portrait Julian looking over his shoulder at his living, breathing counterpart. There’s a sadness in Portrait Julian’s eyes, as if he knows he’ll never live up to the real thing.
Without thinking, I grip the corner of the page and rip it free. The sound cuts through my heart, makes me wince, but not as much as I thought it would. It was a good idea, but something like this, a piece that was closer to my heart than I ever intended for it to be, isn’t right for the mentorship either. I’d rather let it live with him than let a stranger—albeit an impressive stranger—analyze it. Wonder who he was and what he meant to me when I’m not even sure myself.
He marvels at the drawing now that I’ve given it to him, blinking up at me with wide eyes.
Looking down at Julian, the real one, as the sun finally reaches us, his skin dewy and golden, I find the courage to say one of the hundreds of things I wanted to but couldn’t.
“I made this list last year.” I dig my phone out of my pocket, pulling open my Notes app. “Things I wanted to do in LA.” Julian rolls over to watch me scroll up through all the restaurants Andy added, back up to the title of the list: DEVIN’S GREAT CALIFORNIA ADVENTURE.
“I haven’t had a chance to cross anything off yet,” I say as I scroll through the most touristy section: see the Hollywood sign, find Shrek’s star on the Walk of Fame, look at the stores on Rodeo Drive (but don’t go in, they’ll know you’re a broke college student). “Turns out art school is way harder and time-consuming than people think.”
He gives me that smile. The one that makes every thought that isn’t about him feel enormously insignificant.
If I were a stronger person, I’d lean down and kiss him until the sun finishes rising. Then kiss him again and again until we’re back to where we began: alone in the middle of the night with the only person who matters.
But I’m not that person, so instead I say, “I thought maybe we could check some of them out. Before the concert. Or after. If you want.”
I’m worried I’ll break when he doesn’t reply, reminding myself that he still doesn’t owe me kindness after this afternoon. He takes my phone, sitting up and typing something before handing it back. He updated the title of the list.
He smiles, knocking his knee against mine when my lips part. “I’d like that.”
And, somehow, those three words make me feel more than any kiss ever has.