The smile on Nick’s face said how much these memories meant to him. “Sounds like a good time.”
“The best. For the last two years, now that I have a job, my Father’s Day gift to Grandpa is a trip to Citi Field. I think he looks forward to it as much as I do. My grandmother still makes our lunch, and we still sneak in the peanuts.”
I wanted to make it so Nick could live in moments like this forever. He’d taken everything his shitty family threw at him anddidn’t let it change who he was at his core. “I might need to let you take me to a Met’s game if it makes you this happy.”
“Careful what you promise. You won’t be allowed to wear a Yankees hat if you want to sit with me.”
There was no question who I’d sit with. “Deal.”
Nick:
Frederick was a charming little town with a mixture of old and new buildings interspersed with green spaces and sidewalks. It wasn’t New York City, or even Washington, but it exceeded my admittedly low expectations.Although, visiting with Henry probably influenced my opinion more than a little.
The day was perfect for exploring a new place. Blue cloudless sky, little humidity, and temperatures in the mid-sixties; I couldn’t have ordered better weather.
Our first stop was a small café we’d seen on the way to the parking garage. It was a quaint brick building with outdoor seating shaded by an overhang. New York had some great bakeries, but the chocolate croissants were as good or better than any I’d had in college. The coffee was good and the atmosphere very relaxed.
The antique shops were an eclectic mix of junk, reproductions, and the real deal. Henry breezed through the knick-knack sellers, avoided the boutiques selling new stuff, and got excited entering the ones selling true antiques.
Name a high-end brand and Henry seemed to know it intimately. The way he talked, he sounded like he'd owned many of the things offered for sale. It was humbling that someone barely three years older than me, had crammed so much more living into his life.
We left the last shop without either of us buying anything. For someone who loved antiques, he didn't seem too serious about buying.
"Nothing interesting?" I asked when we made it to the sidewalk.
"Not really. I don't need anything, and most items weren't worth the price."
Another of my prejudices hit the skids. I always assumed rich people spent money because they could, not because they needed things. "How could you tell?"
"Other than the woman who owned the first shop we visited, the others don't really know what they're doing. Most of the things offered were mass produced in the first half of the last century. They’re old, so they're antiques, but they're not especially valuable."
That sounded like a con. "So, they're fake?"
"Not at all. They're exactly what they claim to be.”
If Henry meant to confuse me, he succeeded. “Can you break that down for me?”
“I didn’t mean to be cryptic.” He stopped by a bench and we sat. “There are two basic reasons to buy an antique; you like it, or it's valuable. For example, if you see a table you like, you’d ask is the price worth it to you, or should you look for a cheaper table.
“Some items, like a limited edition 1965 Maserati Quattroporte Series 1, are rare and inherently valuable. The asking price reflects their worth. That’s a huge oversimplification, because you could want the car so badly, you’ll way overpay, or you might like the table, but you don’t want to pay what it’s worth.
“Most of what we saw wasn’t inherently valuable, so the worth was determined by what someone would pay.”
To me, all we saw were thrift store items with outrageous price tags, but Henry saw much more. “What made you say the shop owners didn’t know their business?”
“The first shop, the owner clearly knew what she’d bought. The older, more valuable pieces were priced higher than similar mass-produced items. In the other three shops, I saw things worth more being priced the same as similar items with lower value. It felt like those owners saw every old table as old and worth the same. Again, I’m generalizing and have zero evidence to support my theory.”
Henry flashed me a grin that would’ve made my knees weak if I’d been standing. “What I do know for sure, is there was nothing in those shops I wanted or had inherent value worth collecting.”
Either I was completely whipped or Henry was a great storyteller because he’d made antiquing interesting to me, and I hated shopping. “I didn’t see anything either.”
“That’s good because I’d hate to embarrass the proprietor by pointing out why their merchandize wasn’t worth buying.”
I doubted Henry would do something that mean. Which could be another symptom of being really into him. “Is now a good time to suggest we get lunch?”
“Bored you that much did I?”
He said it with a laugh, but I wondered if I’d insulted him. “Not at all, I’m such a doofus when it comes to this stuff, I’d need a full-time tutor to keep me from making an expensive mistake.”
