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“I’ve made you listen to every thought that leaks out of my mouth. At least this is something we can both miss. My grandparents used to be great, too. Until they weren’t.”
With a heavy sigh, he links his arm through mine and gives it a squeeze. “Pa was … blindingly rich. Head of our family, adored Gran even though I couldn’t picture two people who could be more wrong for each other. She liked that, I think. That he was so besotted with her that he was happy for her to take unofficial control of the family, while he played with his toys, and she took advantage of his absentmindedness. He hardly ever said no.”
“What kind of toys?” I ask, before he can go off on a rant. “Though just a heads-up, if we’re talking dildos and fleshlights, I’m out.”
He leans into his hold on my arm. “Model trains. He was a collector. A trainspotter, or a, ah …train buff. When I’d have a few days away from campus, I’d jump on the Eurostar and send him photos of different trains, different stations. He’s been all over Europe himself plenty of times, but he used to get so excited by the photos. He’d call me while I was on board to listen tothe familiar hums and rattles. The train horns.” Émile laughs, this one soft and private, for him and his memories. “He got diagnosed with Alzheimer’s during my last year at Cambridge. Passed away a little over a month ago.”
“Favorite thing about him?”
“He used to dress like a hobo whenever I visited him at home and when he got drunk, his French accent got so thick no one could understand him.”
“I’ve got the dressing like a hobo thing down pat. No wonder you couldn’t stay away from me.”
“You do remind me of him in some ways, and before things get creepy, I’ll preface by sayingallthose ways are fully clothed and PG.” He hooks an eyebrow upward in my direction, and hey, even I know joking about dead grandpas is bad manners.
“Okay, then, what ways?”
“You’re both good people.”
I point at my face. “Trashed my cousin’s wedding, try again.”
“Not on purpose.”
“Do I need to remind you that we met because I wanted to lie to my whole family?”
“Yes, but it wasn’t for a vindictive reason. It wasn’t to make yourself appear better than them. It was because you’re dying for their support and respect, when quite frankly, with maybe the exception of your cousin, none of them deserve a second of your time.”
I shoot him a cheeky look. “And you do?”
“That remains to be seen, but I sure fucking hope so.”
I squeeze his arm, feeling smug, wishing I was as good with words as he is so I could tell him I think he’s a great goddamn human himself. It goes beyond beinggood.He’s like a light. Shines brightest on the people around him until he burns out. Everything he’s told me he does so far, he does for other people.
“I’m having a charity night soon. To raise money for Alzheimer’s. I hope you’ll come.”
See? Exactly like that. “Of course I will.”
I might have only made up all that shit for the wedding to get their respect or whatever, but it was stillfor me. My fingers absentmindedly find the engagement ring and I turn it around and around, curious if Émile ever does stuff just forhim.
“So your Pa was a good person?” I find myself asking.
“I’m not sure. To me, he was, and I want to say yes, but then I remember the letter, and I start questioning. All his life he had all that money and did nothing with it. It wasn’t until he got sick, and it was too late, that he regretted things. I don’t know who he was as a father, but my mom didn’t turn out great, and I have no idea who he was at work. With employees …”
Émile’s right that his Pa’s letter was too little, too late. He’s definitely guilty of a whole bunch, even if it’s stemmed in negligence, or naivety. But what the hell does it matter now? Before I came out, if one of my grandparents had passed away, the last thing I would have wanted to know is that their love for me was conditional. That they were flawed. So I push down my doubt and say, “Since there’s no way you can ever ask him those things, there’s no point fucking up your good memories by worrying. He sounded great. You’re allowed to love him for that. Without guilt.”
“Thank you.” The relief on Émile’s face is worth the lie. This once.
“I’m not going to see you much after Monday,” I remind him. As soon as the show starts, my days will be absolutely full. I’ll be tired and grumpy a lot of the time, and excited and running high the rest. My time will be limited. We’ve talked a lot about the next three weeks and pausing wedding planning because at the end of the day, my show, mycareeris real, the marriage is not.
I need to remember that.
Chapter 17
Émile
Christian:
Fuck, did you see this?
