16. Logan
Chapter sixteen
Logan
“Would you like to drive separately?” I offer.
She thinks this over before answering, almost definitively, “You can drive, I don’t mind,” and I feel like I’ve won a bit more trust.
“Let me clean this up,” I mumble, moving the passenger seat mess to the back and wiping the front seat so it’s good for her to sit.
She gives me a close-lipped smile bordering on a smirk as she gets in.
The drive is quick. Once I park, I look out toward the place and notice it already overflowing with crowds on the wrap-around outdoor patio that contains bar stools and high tables. The large window against the wall is open to the bar inside, and the bright neon lights cut through the otherwise dark night. I’m trying to gauge Julie’s reaction, but now that we’re here I’m second guessing if this was a good idea. Brave face forward, we step out of the car and walk inside.
The Alley Cat is tucked away a couple of miles from the studio, down a quieter street that caters more to the locals. There’s a DJ on tonight and loud crowds gathering around the bar, the tables, even the small makeshift dance floor.
“Oh,” she says. but it doesn’t sound like disappointment. The inflection in it, it sounds excited.
We grab a table in a corner, a little quieter and away from so much action. I notice Gavin quickly, and I walk over to say hey, letting him know I’ll be at another table. He waves to Julie and then turns to continue conversation with one of his new coworkers from the restaurant.
“What would you like?” I ask her.
“I guess I’ll just take a beer for now. Thanks.”
A server brings our drink orders, and we sit in slightly awkward silence.
“What are you thinking?” I want to know.
“I’m thinking the me from a month ago would be wondering if this was a good use of her time. I should be home working on cases.”
“But the Julie right now?”
“She’s … cautiously optimistic.” She laughs.
“And she laughs!”
“Sometimes.” She gives me a smile.
“This place is loosening you up already and it’s only been ten minutes.” I grin.
She sips her drink, smiling as she does. And then she scans the room, her eyes snagging on something and growing wide.
“Ah, shit. Gavin’s here with a bunch of coworkers, huh?” she nervously asks.
I look over my shoulder to see what she sees and find her cousin laughing with others, and Gavin not too far away.
“Fuck, sorry, I figured this would be a safe place to hang out,” I say, apologetically.
“God, it’s fine,” she huffs. “I’m being so ridiculous, I know.” She sets her head down on her hands, moving side to side in frustration.
“Julieta! What the fuck!” A loud voice cuts into our conversation.
I do a double take and find her cousin at the table gawking at us, holding a bottle of beer.
Julie lifts her head, smiling in a tired, exasperated sort of way. “Hey, T.”
“I see how it is,” she says, but she doesn’t sound upset. There’s a slight smirk as she looks between us again.
“It was a last-minute plan,” Julie says.
“A last-minute plan?” Her jaw falls open. “You don’t do last-minute plans.”
“I might have suggested the last-minute plan,” I add in, lifting my hand to intercept. Her eyebrows lift at this.
“Well, that just means I’m going to be texting you every night to come out with me, then,” T smiles. “Looks like you’re busy making friends now, though.”
She walks away, leaving a strained silence between us that I worry is about to feel suffocating except Julie just sighs and laughs. I smile at the sound of it, at the thought of her breathing a little easier.
“Give me a minute and we’ll join them,” she says. “I don’t want to keep you from hanging out with your brother.”
“Oh, don’t worry about that. He’s enjoying the company of everybody else just fine.”
She laughs quietly at that.
“So, tell me about your family then, Julieta .” If I found myself saying Julie too much, I can’t imagine how annoying I’m about to get knowing her full name.
She grins as she sips her drink. I might even see a blush bloom on her cheeks.
“That’s a beautiful name. Why call yourself Julie?”
“Easier,” she shrugs. “People take it for what it is. They don’t comment or inquire.”
“What was it like, moving here?” I ask, quickly adding, “If you don’t mind me asking.”
She sighs. “Hard.”
It’s all she says, and I take that as a cue to move on. But then, to my surprise, she takes a breath and keeps going. Elbows rest on the table, her hand loosely cups the glass as she twirls it back and forth slowly.
“Maybe not hard at the beginning. I didn’t really get it at the beginning. But soon enough I was asking to go home. I was wondering how long we were going to stay here. Except this was home now. It felt like I had been suddenly plucked out of my comfort zone and dropped into a new place, one where I didn’t know anyone or anything, and I didn’t speak the language. None of us got it at first, but we adapted as we went on. My cousins and I are all close in age, so we stuck together. I kind of fell into that role of caring for them. I was handed a lot of responsibility, and I was expected to follow it. We figured things out together. Watched a lot of MTV and American TV shows at friends’ houses.”
“And you never had a peanut butter and jelly sandwich.”
She laughs at that again, a sound I never thought I could care about so much. She’s letting her hair down a little bit, and I feel like I’m getting caught in the web of it.
“You know how they say it takes a village to raise a child? It really does. I remember my parents working so hard all the time. They would rely on neighbors to babysit, or friends they made at church to take care of us in a pinch. I mean, it was the vintage nineties so a different time, but they really did lean on that village, so to speak.
“But it was difficult. Everybody assumes you can just move to this country and get all the benefits and steal jobs and whatever else everybody wants to yell about, but there’s a lot of legal drama involved. There’s a lot of uncertainty, there’s a lot of paperwork. And money. So much money. There are so many hoops to jump through. It is a fight .”
Maybe it’s the change of scenery that has her opening up and sharing all of these stories, but I can’t help but listen closely as she draws me in.
“And I would be remiss to not mention all the other cases that weren’t like mine. That were harder because they were detained and waiting, hoping for an answer. For something. We had such a hard time, and yet we were some of the lucky ones.” She takes a sip then gets quiet, letting the conversation fall into silence.
“Sorry. This feels strange to be telling somebody about,” she says, sitting up straight, like she was in a trance before, and she’s snapped out of it. “But I guess it’s been so many years at this point, maybe I’m just removed from it enough.”
“Thank you for sharing it.”
“There’s a very tangible self-preservation that I think remains in me.” She furrows her brows. “My whole life was hesitation. My whole childhood was balancing what I could and could not do, unlike my friends who were free to do whatever they wanted. So, it’s easy for everybody to say, ‘Just go for it! Just do it!’ but the trauma doesn’t forget that for many years you couldn’t. You just couldn’t do any of it. The trauma doesn’t forget that.”
“What made you want to do this?”
“I don’t know. I think I wanted to channel some of the bravery from my family? Or create a life I can be proud of? Or try to find something to bring me joy? Take your pick.”
“All of the above,” I murmur. I feel like I could be the one saying those things.
She lets out a big breath, a forceful whoosh. “I need a shot.”
My eyebrows lift. “Well, okay then.”
T comes over then, balancing several shots in her hands. “Ask and you shall receive.”
“Seriously? Are you lurking in the shadows?” Julie asks incredulously.
“Of course, I am. I hear the word shot and it’s my cue to appear.”
Julie takes the glass warily, lifting it to her nose and sniffing it. “What the hell is this?”
“Chuck Norris. Cheers losers!”
I grab the glass and shoot it back in one quick gulp, the liquor burning all the way down. My eyes water slightly. I see Julie do the same, watching her throat as she swallows, glassy eyes mirroring mine. I try to savor the mess of flavors only to detect something which I think is …
“Jesus, is that hot sauce?” She slams the glass down on the table, making a grimace.
“Ugh, that was awful.” T winces, too. “So. Gavin’s brother. We meet again.”
“Agostina,” Julie says in exasperation.
“What? I’m being friendly,” she tells Julie defensively, then turns to me again. “Manny heard Gavin say you’re a dance instructor.”
“Yeah. I teach tango.”
Her jaw drops. She looks over to Julie, and I realize then I’ve probably put my foot right in my mouth.
“You’re a tango instructor? Oh shit!” T says. “Julie!” She’s talking loudly now, however many drinks and shots in at this point. “Julie loves tango.”
Julie's eyes widen, a silent plea that I can imagine means, Please, don’t say anything else.
The DJ plays a new song, something loud and poppy, and T excuses herself to go find Manny and dance.
“See you on the dance floor!” she calls out, and I just laugh politely in response. When I turn to Julie, I expect to her to laugh with me, or to catch her rolling her eyes once more, or perhaps even expelling one deep breath that we got over that hump.
But instead, I see that determination in her eyes again as she tells me, “I love this song.” And then she gets up and walks right onto that dance floor.