Page 64 of Alive At Night

He was right. I did. But what an odd thing to remember.

“My parents and I learned together at home. And then I continued in college. Did you know there are over half a million Spanish speakers in the Boston area?”

“I knew there were a lot, but I guess I didn’t know it wasthatmany. You learned in undergrad?” he asked.

I nodded.

“Did you take courses?”

“No, I did it on my own time.”

That seemed to stump him. “Would have made sense to get credit for that on your transcripts.”

“Not all of us had a full ride in undergrad, Julian,” I scoffed. “Those extra credits would have cost a pretty penny.”

“Good point,” he said.

“Good point?”

Had he just agreed with me?

“Yes, Rosie. Good point. I might not have had to pay for my own tuition, but I know how much college costs. I’m paying for Gianna’s degree.”

“I—you’re what?”

“We’re getting off topic.” He waved my confusion and disbelief away. “So why did you choose to learn Spanish in your free time?”

“My birth dad was Mexican American. I thought maybe I’d feel…closer to that part of myself if I learned the language and more about my heritage.”

Julian’s slow nod was an understanding one that put me a little bit at ease. His voice shifted slightly when he asked his next question.

“Have you met him?”

I shook my head. “He died while my birth mom was pregnant with me. They were newlyweds, and my mom…”

I struggled to finish the sentence because I didn’t really know what went at the end of it. I didn’t know what exactly happened, and while it was hard, I tried not to let myself think too much about it. Because I likely wouldn’t ever know, and the speculation helped no one. Besides, I had landed exactly where I was meant to be—with my parents in Whitebridge.

“Juni…” Julian’s expression shuttered. He leaned forward. One finger brushed over the top of my knee. “Have you met her? Your birth mom?”

“No.” I sighed. “I wonder…well, I don’t know.”

Julian waited patiently, clearly hoping I’d continue. So I did.

“It was an open adoption, but there hasn’t been much contact. All I really know is that Isabella has minimal health history concerns, and she’s a white woman with Western European ancestry—German, I think, a lot like my parents. They were the ones who wanted me to know about my background while still respecting Isabella’s privacy since she rarely reached out.”

Julian’s single finger made another soothing pass over my knee, and I had to steel myself beneath the intensity of his gaze.

“I know more about Sofia because we follow each other on social media,” I added because talking was easier than thinking about Julian. “She’s a couple years younger than me, born once Isabella remarried. I’m not sure what she does for a living, but considering how her wedding is at a five-star hotel in Manhattan, I’d say someone in that family is making good money.”

Julian didn’t ask about the wedding. I thought he might. I thought it might get us off this track of my family history. But instead, he asked, “And you haven’t met Sofia either?”

A phone rang in the office next to ours, the only interruption to the silence that lingered between Julian and me while I thought about how to best answer that question. I bit down on my lip, chewing on it. Julian’s attention dipped to my mouth before flicking back to my eyes.

“No,” I whispered finally. “I connected with her when I was living in New York for law school, thinking maybe I’d get the guts to ask if she wanted to meet. But I never did. And I know it’s probably ridiculous that I’m going to her wedding even though we’ve never met and that I’m trying to make such a good impression, but—”

“It’s not ridiculous. I wish I’d known all of this. I wouldn’t—” He stopped, rubbing a hand over his face.

“That’s what happens when you let my college boyfriend know more about me than you,” I teased, trying to lighten the dark look on Julian’s face, the one that frankly shocked me after his hand dropped. “Guess it’s a reminder to work harder on it from here on out.”

---