“Dzien dobry,” I say to the woman behind the bar with green and blond pigtails. I try out the words I’ve picked up by listening to people on the street.
“Hey, mates,” she says with a husky voice. “Americans or Brits?” she asks with a hint of an accent.
“Guess,” Brady says with a smile.
She moves her lips to one side and gives us both a once over. “I’m going to say you’re Americans?”
“Why?” I ask.
“They always smile the biggest when they walk in. I don’t know if they are happy to find our place or just happy, but they usually have big goofy smiles like the two of you.”
Have we both been smiling? I guess we have.
“What can I get you?” she asks.
“What’s that?” I point to a large jar on the counter behind her filled with dark red liquid and pieces of fruit floating on top.
“That’s called kompot. We boil fresh cherries with the sugar and the water. Delicious. Refreshing. And since you are American, I can even pour it over ice. But little.” She pinches her fingers together. “And with vodka if you want, of course.”
“Sounds delicious,” Brady says. “Yes to ice, but no to vodka.”
I order the same and we find a table far enough away from the speakers and other people that it feels secluded and intimate. I take a sip and let the cold, fruity liquid linger in my mouth before I swallow.
Brady looks at me, puts his drink down. “I know money is a hard topic for us. But I want to be up front about the money from For Us.”
“What do you mean?” I ask. “Are they not paying us? I don’t get it.”
“They’re paying us.” Brady nods. “Well, to be more exact. They’re paying you. I gave you the entire fee. I told you we would split it, but that wasn’t true. I didn’t need the money. My parents are paying for law school and stuff. We’re earning every cent of this. It’s just that we aren’t splitting it fifty-fifty. I want to be honest about that.”
“You mean you aren’t getting paid anything at all?” My mind starts buzzing with ideas because I am thinking about the bonus and what he could do with it. But I have to figure out a few things before I get there. “Then why are you doing this at all?”
Brady takes a deep breath. He taps the side of his glass and then takes a sip. I’m very aware of how the red juice is staining his lips and making them look even more kissable. “I wanted to show my parents that I could actually do something with my life. I thought if I could do a good job with For Us that they would see I’m not a complete fuck-up.”
“You are not a fuck-up.” I hate when he talks this way about himself.
Brady wags his finger at me. “You are supposed to be honest.”
“I am being honest.” I push my palm on the table for emphasis. “Stop kidding. You are not a fuck-up.”
“Well, that’s not what they think.”
He’s not wrong about that. I flash back to what I overheard in Barcelona, but how could I tell him something that would hurt him so much? I want to protect him, not harm him. Maybe at this point that doesn’t matter. I know I’m lying to myself. But I don’t want this connection with Brady to stop, and I want to put the pieces together with what I’m thinking in the back of my mind. Our communication today has felt effortless and wonderful. The last thing I want to do is make him feel shittier about himself and confirm his suspicions.
“And the second reason I agreed is that…” Brady nervously pushes back his curls and looks away before turning back to me. He lets out a stream of breath before answering “I did it because I wanted to see you again and apologize for what happened in Chicago. Or at least I thought I’d be able to find the courage by the end of the summer.” He looks away. Maybe he isn’t ready yet. “I’m truly sorry about Chicago. I should have handled it differently.”
It doesn’t take more than a second to respond to him honestly. “First, I should say thank you for doing that. With the money. I’m glad you told me.” Brady nods slowly, relieved by my reaction. I look back over at the bar and glance at the vodka I passed up a few minutes ago, regretting my decision. It would have made it easier to say what I need to say. “And thank you for saying that about Chicago. I’ve thought about what happened there, too.” My throat tightens. “That fight and how angry I was with you. How angry I was with the world back then.” The words come out slowly at first.
“I knew you were angry with me, but what does the world have to do with it?”
The music at the bar changes to something slow that I don’t recognize. Two women get up and dance in each other’s arms as sunlight trickles in between the leaves. I remind myself that it’s safe here. I am safe with Brady.
“Being at Clarkson was amazing. You know I loved it. We made so many friends, going to class, hanging out, meeting you. Coming out as bi. All of that was really great.”
“I felt the same way.” Brady’s voice is careful now.
“But for me there was also this feeling that everyone knew I was a ‘scholarship kid.’” I focus on the glass in front of me and watch a cherry float to the top. “I had never been around people like you.”
“People like me?” Brady strikes an exaggerated fashion model pose, raising his arms from the table. “You mean gorgeous, sexy people?”
