Chapter Seventeen Julian
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
JULIAN
By the time Saturday arrives, I’m an anxious mess. Nomi’s words have ricocheted around my brain nonstop for the last three days.
Because, Julian D’Angelo, I’ve always liked you, too.
It’s terrifying knowing I have something to lose. If you remain at rock bottom with people, there’s no way to disappoint them. But somehow, I’ve earned, or more likely been gifted, some of Nomi’s regard, and it’s mine now to destroy. It’s enough to drive me insane.
“This is Dr. Sampson.”
“Eric!” I bellow. “Quick, I need your advice. I’m going to my nephew’s birthday party today, and I’m bringing Nomi. How do I not fuck this up?”
“Nomi? The special stoner from your past? That’s great!”
“Yeah?” I ask breathlessly. “I feel like it’s not great.”
“Why?”
“Because I’m the worst possible version of myself around family?”
Eric whistles. “That’s… Okay. That’s saying something.”
“Help me, Eric!”
“Alright, have you bought a present yet?”
I blink, then eye the unwrapped box in the back. “Yes. A farm puzzle.”
“That’s not gonna work.”
“Why not? That’s the one thing I’ve accomplished!”
“Because you’re a doctor. They know you make bank. If you show up with a ten-dollar cow puzzle, you’re gonna be the cheap uncle. Don’t be the cheap uncle.”
“Fuck, okay. What else?”
“Can Nomi bring you some weed?”
“E-ric,” I groan.
“Okay, fine. Grab a beer as soon as you go in. You’ve got to alter this intense brain chemistry you’ve got going on.”
“Beer, check. Anything else?”
“If provoked, don’t say anything. Take a deep breath, deflect, pretend you didn’t hear if you have to, but whatever you do, do not engage in family drama in front of a woman you like. That’s major red-flag behavior.”
I blow out a long breath. “That’s gonna be hard.”
“You can do it, Julian. And if you can’t, hide in the bathroom until cake.”
“This is why I call you, Eric. Your advice is incredibly practical.”
“Yeah, yeah, I bet you say that to all the professionals whose boundaries you’ve crossed. Good luck, buddy.”
With that, the call disconnects, and I’m on my own. I hammer out a quick text before I second-guess myself.
JULIAN
Hi Nomi. This is Julian D’Angelo.
NOMI
Hello, Julian D’Angelo. How may I help you?
JULIAN
Can I pick you up an hour early?
NOMI
that’s… now?
JULIAN
Yes.
NOMI
You’re freaking out, aren’t you.
JULIAN
Yes.
NOMI
Sure. Come on over.
JULIAN
Great. I’m already here.
NOMI
lol, ok. Come on in.
I knock on her door, willing myself not to pace. As soon as it opens, I thrust the bouquet toward her, startling her back.
She blinks at the fulsome bunch of pale pink peonies, then reaches for them. “You’re getting better at this.”
“Do you like them?” I study her reaction. She leans reverently over the blooms, breathing them in.
“What do you think?” She gives me that half smile I associate with her teasing.
“I think so.” I take a small step forward. “I hope so.”
The half smile stretches into something genuine that temporarily interrupts the rhythm of my heart. “You’ve always been a quick study. Let me put these in water.”
I follow her to the kitchen but pause before her bedroom’s open door. I can’t believe that, a month ago, Nomi had me pinned beneath her on that bed, and the next day I declared war on her.
I may have been top of my class at Yale, but I’ve always been a dumbass when it comes to Nomi Wyeth.
“Okay.” Nomi joins me in the hallway. “What now?”
“How are you at buying presents?”
Nomi flutters her eyelashes. “Amazing.”
Twenty minutes later, we’re standing in the toy store’s dangerous vehicle aisle.
“Gisella says Nico wants a scooter, though.” Nomi rests her hand on the most tricked out scooter in the store. “Walk me through the problem again?”
“Do you know how many ER visits are children flung from ‘recreational vehicles’? I’m trying to give him a present, not a compound fracture.”
“Getting hurt is a part of life—you can’t protect a child by not allowing them to live. Besides, this scooter’s super stable—it has three wheels! We’re obviously buying him safety gear, too.”
“Any closing arguments?” I fold my arms.
She places one hand on her hip. “You want to be the cool uncle, don’t you?”
I buy the fucking scooter, as well as every protective pad, helmet, and shock absorber there is.
If the kid manages to break a bone in all that, well, he had it coming.
We cover everything in big red bows, and Nomi slaps on tags loudly proclaiming To Nico, From Uncle Julian on the sidewalk in front of Marco and Jessica’s house.
“We’ve got to lock this honor in for you,” she explains, then stretches to standing, pleased.
“Hmm. Something’s missing.” I take the Sharpie and add: & Nomi. We stare at our names together for a long second. Nomi clears her throat, then smiles.
“Come on.” She gestures toward the backyard. “It’s party-time, Uncle Julian.”
I shudder involuntarily. “Don’t ever call me that again.”
She laughs as if we’re not entering a minefield full of dangers.
But walking in with Nomi feels like safe passage within an armored car.
Everyone’s so happy to see her they barely notice me, which is a bliss I didn’t know existed.
I grab two beers before anyone manages to insult me, and judging by my stack of presents, Coolest Uncle is in the bag.
“Edna!” Nomi leans over my great aunt’s wheelchair to give her a long, sweet hug. “How are you feeling?”
“Absolutely terrible when I’m not stoned!” Aunt Edna laughs, though it sounds considerably weaker than the throaty, buoyant laugh I grew up hearing.
Nomi winks at her. “We can disappear behind the garage any second, just say the word.”
“If my ornery nephew doesn’t kiss me right now, I’ll need my own blunt.” Aunt Edna flaps her hand at me, and I lean over and brush my lips against her smooth cheek. She smells like blush and Elizabeth Taylor’s White Diamonds. “Julie,” she says as she draws me close. “How’s that butthole, kid?”
A flare of irritation sweeps through me, but everything I’ve learned these last few weeks does, too, and before I snap, I take a deep breath in and remember: I don’t always need to swing.
“It’s… okay,” I admit. “As far as buttholes go.”
“That’s what I like to hear! But where are your Uncle Joseph’s nut-huggers? These aren’t short enough. How will Nomi know what she’s missing if you don’t put ’em on display?”
“You told him to wear those short shorts?” Nomi intercedes, delighted. “When he apologized?”
God.
“Of course! Julie’s smart, but not that smart.” Aunt Edna winks. “And they worked, didn’t they, honey?”
Nomi shrugs, smiling impishly. “A muscular thigh never hurt nothing.”
“This one gets it. Julie, you should propose,” Aunt Edna announces. “She’s the one!”
I clap my hands together. “O-kay, Aunt Edna, can I get you anything? A filter, perhaps?”
“Such a tight butthole, this guy. You’ve gotta loosen him up, Nomi. Make him remember not to take life so seriously.”
“I’m trying.” This time, her smile’s for me.
“I invited someone very special today for you. Jackie Lombardi.” Aunt Edna waggles her eyebrows, as if we should know who that is.
“Holy shit, Jacqueline Lombardi?” Nomi’s eyes go big, and Aunt Edna nods.
She really does get it.
“Who’s that?” I look between the two women, fifty years apart but both just as shrewd.
“The zoning commissioner,” Nomi says. “Where is she, Edna?”
“Over by the pinata. She loves violence.” Aunt Edna thumbs over her shoulder. “Go and schmooze. Fix what you started, Julie, though I do wish you’d worn the short shorts.” She shakes her head. “You’ll learn one of these days.”
Nomi and I sidle up to a middle-aged woman plucking at a bowl of watermelon while watching the frenetic pinata attack. Standing beside her is Wilson Phillips, that weird guy from the city council meetings that complains about Sammy’s all the time.
“Ms. Lombardi!” Nomi holds out her hand. “I’m Nomi Wyeth, owner of the future Stranger Drugs dispensary downtown. I’m so glad to meet you.” When Ms. Lombardi just looks at her, Nomi drops her arm, recovering quickly by gesturing to me at her side. “This is Dr. Julian D’Angelo.”
Now that gets a reaction.
“So, you’re the new Wilson.” Ms. Lombardi’s eyebrows rise as she looks at me, then Nomi, then zeroes in on how closely we’re standing together.
I frown. What’s that supposed to mean?
“He’s not the new Wilson.” Wilson’s pitted cheeks pinken.
Lombardi rolls her eyes. “He filed the complaint, didn’t he?”
I clear my throat. “Are you aware I’ve withdrawn it, though? Neither Ms. Wyeth nor I have received a notice of dismissal yet.”
Lombardi’s mouth quirks into a sour lemon of a fake smile. “Thank you, but I’d rather not discuss zoning business at social gatherings.”
“Is this squirt bothering you, Jackie?” Uncle Gino walks up and delivers a thunderous clap on my back. Fuck. He’s my dad’s eldest brother and my number one family member to avoid. “Wouldn’t be anything new—Julian’s been bothering me for—how old are you again, squirt?”
“Gino!” Lombardi’s eyes light up, and if she likes my uncle, that’s a bad sign. “You ol’ troublemaker.”
“Sup, Gino!” Wilson goes in for a fist bump, but Gino ignores him.
Nomi’s eyes dart to mine, and I smile tightly back. I will not engage with the worst dregs of my family in front of her or the zoning commissioner.
I turn back to Lombardi, smiling graciously.
“My apologies. I’d love to get some time on your calendar next week if that works better.
I’m anxious to get this matter settled.” I straighten my shoulders, commanding my eyes to twinkle just so.
I’m well aware of my eyes’ effect on women, especially those who came of age during the Christopher Reeve era of Superman.
But Lombardi must be a Lex Luthor stan because she’s having none of it.
“I’m sure you are.” She pokes the watermelon around her Dixie paper bowl, pointedly side-eyeing Nomi’s sundress.