Page 36 of Romance Languages

“I’ll keep you updated on party planning,” Julian said.

“I know spending all that time with your mother isn’t your favorite…” Grandma dipped her head, an unexpected silence taking over for a beat.

“It’s fine. She isn’t the best with filtering what she says, but I’m used to it.” Julian waved it off, but I detected a tightness in his voice.

“Thanks again, sweetheart. I’m going to go. You two are slowing down my pace. Seamus, a pleasure.”

Grandma Judy power walked forward, leaving us in her dust.

I wanted to recommend her to South Rock’s cross-country coach. With some hair dye, she could totally pass for a high schooler.

“Thanks for rolling with that,” Julian said. We turned around and walked to the park entrance where we came from.

“She’s awesome.” It made me wish I had a cool, saucy grandmother. “What’s the deal with you and your mom?”

“She likes to make comments about my weight. She means well; she just has a weird way of showing it.”

“I’m sorry.” For some reason, I’d thought Julian’s family was perfect. I didn’t have any hard evidence, but he seemed so well-adjusted. Showed how little I knew.

“It is what it is.” He laughed it off, but I could tell it stung.

We spent the rest of the walk talking about future video ideas and weird things other students did. I could’ve talked to Julian for hours more, but we reached our cars, and I had a data entry job to get to. The grind never stopped.

“Thanks for today,” I said. “What are you up to on Thursday? Did you want to get together for our next session?”

“I love how you call it a session.”

“What else should I call it?”

“That’s a good question.” Julian smiled down at his shoes. His smile was hypnotic, like ASMR for the eyes.

“Are you free?”

“Yeah, I can do Thursday.”

“Nice. Get ready. Because this time, it’s your turn.”

I got in my car and heaved out anoh shitbreath. In two days, I was going to jerk off a guy. And I was…looking forward to it?

11

JULIAN

The most important element of a party was the food. People never forgot a bad meal. Whenever I saw my cousin Molly, I remembered the undercooked chicken and watery vegetables I’d had at her wedding eight years ago. She wound up getting divorced less than three years after that night.

Coincidence? I think not.

I arranged a tasting session with a caterer for Grandma and Mom. I was still dreaming of their beef short ribs that I’d had at a faculty dinner last year.

We met at their headquarters nestled in an office park. They set a long table in the front room, making us feel like judges on a cooking show.

The bell on the door rang as Grandma and Mom entered.

“I’m ready to eat!” Grandma said.

“Judy, this is just a tasting.”

“They’re not going to give us crumbs, Elizabeth. They want to make sure we truly savor each dish,” Grandma said back to Mom.

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