Josh

JOSH

I change my mind about looking forward to this about five seconds after Gabriel parks the car in front of his parents’ farmhouse. I mean, yeah, it was all fun and games in the car on the way here, but once Gabriel turns off the engine, the situation catches up to me, and I’m no longer as cocky as I was for the last few hours.

There’s a large wooden sign that welcomes everybody to García Berry farm. ‘Fruits and vegetables,’ the sign announces. And ‘All organic.’

“Here we go,” Gabriel says, staring at the house for a moment before he straightens his shoulders. He gets out of the car and goes to the trunk while I stay frozen in my seat, eyes moving around the property. Or, at least, as much as I see of it.

The house itself is a large two-story wooden building. It’s painted white and has a slate-gray roof. The numerous windows are all glowing in the dim early evening. The porch is decorated with Christmas lights, and there’s a dusting of snow on the ground and the trees that surround the house.

It all looks downright quaint and idyllic, like a Christmas card, and it makes my insides ache with some sort of weird longing.

I shake it off and get out of the car.

Gabriel has already taken our suitcases out of the trunk and slams it shut right around the time I close the door. As if on cue, the front door opens, and a tall woman steps outside.

Gabriel grabs both suitcases and starts to stride toward the house, which is when logic kicks in, and I rush after him.

Gabriel’s mother is a tall woman with dark brown hair she’s gathered into a ponytail. She’s wearing jeans and a green cable-knit sweater, and she absolutely lights up when her eyes land on me.

“Gabi!” she says and jogs down the stairs that lead to the porch.

Gabriel puts down the suitcases, and I manage to step on his foot just in time.

“You’re ,” I hiss before he gets the chance to hug his mother. He goes very still, but Julie doesn’t really notice since she’s too busy hugging me.

She wraps her arms around me and gives me a tight hug, and I can’t help but melt into it. After she’s done with the hug, she takes my face in her hands and smiles at me widely.

“All my babies finally at home again.”

I’m having a bit of trouble finding my footing, because she’s not at all what I expected. So warm and welcoming.

I shake it off and get into character.

“Hey, Mom. It’s good to be home,” I say.

I immediately figure out the flaw in my logic. I thought impersonating Gabriel would be easy because I’ve seen Gabriel a lot over the years. During High school and college I saw him every freaking day, so I naturally assumed I wouldn’t have too much trouble pretending to be him. But here’s the thing. I saw Gabriel as me. . A guy he, on a good day, just about seems to tolerate, and on a bad one, seems to actively dislike. I’m suddenly very aware that he’s probably a whole lot different when he’s around his family.

“Are you eating properly? You seem skinnier somehow.”

I can’t help but smile at this display of motherly affection. “Yes, I’m getting all the proper nutrients. I had spinach and eggs just this morning.”

She pinches my cheek gently with the kind of look on her face that I don’t know what to even call at first, but then it kind of hits me out of the blue. Pure, unfiltered love. I have to look away because this is way too much and feels undeserved, especially seeing that it’s not really intended for me.

Luckily, just then, the door opens again, and a man steps outside. He’s broad-shouldered and tall, just like Gabriel. He has the same dark brown eyes and the same hair color as Gabriel. His smile is equally as bright as his wife’s.

“The trip went okay?”

“Uh-huh,” is all I manage to get out before I find myself wrapped in another impossibly tight hug.

He claps my shoulder when he pulls away.

“Good to have you home, son.”

“Yeah. Good to be home,” I say, still kind of dazed about the enthusiastic greeting. The last time I went to my grandparents’ place, they stood me up. They had a good reason, sure, but still.

They turn their attention to Gabriel, then. Julie steps forward.

“You must be .”

Gabriel looks startled for a second before he clears his throat. “Yes. Nice to meet you… Mrs. García.”

“Oh, please. None of that. It’s Julie and Marco. No need for this Mr. and Mrs. nonsense.”

“Well, thank you for having me. Julie.” The name comes a bit hesitantly. I don’t know why, but it really hits me right at this moment how weird this must be for Gabriel. It’s weird for me too, but this has to be like the freaking twilight zone for him.

Julie waves him off. “Any friend of Gabriel’s is always welcome.”

She grabs one of the suitcases, and I follow suit and pick up the other one before we all head toward the house.

I stomp my feet clean on the porch before I follow Julie and Marco into the house. The inside of the house is just as welcoming as the outside.

The air smells like cinnamon and sugar, and I inhale deeply.

We enter a foyer where there’s a wide wooden staircase with more lights wrapped around the handrail. There’s a small table with a Christmas tree on it, and the large round mirror on the wall has fir branches around it that have been decorated with glittery white baubles.

I turn to Julie and Marco. “It’s beautiful,” I say with a sigh full of wonder.

They both look confused for a moment and glance around.

“Thank you, hon.” Julie still looks a bit puzzled. “They’re the same decorations we have every year.”

Oh. Oops.

“Well, it’s beautiful every year,” I say quickly.

She pats me on the cheek affectionately.

“Go and show where you’ll be sleeping and settle in.”

“Is everybody else already here?” I ask. I wonder if I can sneak a quick look at the family photo once more before I have to look like I know all the people.

“Leo’s plane should be landing soon. Ash went to pick up dinner, but he’ll be home in an hour or so after he’s picked up Leo from the airport, too. Erin went to the store to get the grocery order, and Jax just got off work, so he’s taking a shower. When did Ari say she was coming? She still wasn’t sure how much time off Devon could get from work when I called her this morning.”

If this was one of the exam questions, I’d immediately fail. I don’t think we talked about that when I saw Ari at the café.

I glance at Gabriel and suppress an eye roll. I really have to let him know I can’t read lips, because he’s mouthing things at me again. I give up trying to decipher what he’s trying to say and ignore him.

“She didn’t say,” I tell Julie.

“Ah, well. I guess she’ll let us know.” She squeezes my shoulder once more, then walks out of the foyer.

I blow out a big breath, and my shoulders slump with relief.

“Come on,” Gabriel says, keeping his voice low. I follow him up the stairs, where there’s a long hallway with doors on both sides. Gabriel walks to the third one on the left and pushes it open.

I follow him inside and look around. It’s a simple room with a double bed, a dresser, and another shelf filled with books.

We put down our suitcases and Gabriel looks around the room. Somewhere in the house, a door opens and footsteps ring out.

I turn around just in time to find myself pulled into a tight hug. The dude who hugs me is dressed in a pair of sweats and a T-shirt, hair still damp from the shower.

He claps me on the back while he’s still hugging me, then pulls back and sends me a wide smile.

“About time,” he says.

Jackson looks a lot like Gabriel. He’s shorter and a bit stockier, but they have the same hair color, and the same big chocolate-brown eyes.

“Glad to have you home again, big brother,” he says.

“Yeah. It’s always good to be home.” I’m not even lying. Not entirely, I don’t think. This house and the people in it… they make me feel welcome. And I know it sounds ridiculous because as far as they know, I’m their son, so of course they’d make me feel welcome, but I’m comparing it with how it usually goes at my grandparents’ house, where everything is always formal. My grandparents don’t really enjoy big displays of affection. They like formal dinners that feel sort of like interrogations where I have to tell them about my recent accomplishments and analyze and discuss them.

Jackson sends me another wide, affectionate smile before he turns and looks at Gabriel. He holds out his hand and pumps Gabriel’s enthusiastically a couple of times.

“Jackson,” he says, “but call me Jax. Everybody does.”

“,” Gabriel replies. He smiles at Jackson, wide and unguarded before he seems to remember himself and tones it down a bit, and I find myself with a strange urge to see Gabriel at his home as Gabriel.

“How are you doing, man? Good to have you with us.”

“Thanks for having me,” Gabriel says, still subdued, but overall, I’d say comes off as friendly and polite enough when performed by Gabriel.

“Jax,” somebody hollers from downstairs. “Erin just pulled in.”

Jax gives me another pat on the back.

“Come on. Mom ordered so much food for the holidays that we need an army to carry it all inside.”

Gabriel and I follow Jax down the stairs and back outside, where a beautiful blonde is climbing out of the car. She smiles widely when she sees us all approaching.

“Ooh, gentlemen to the rescue. A girl could get used to it,” she says in a teasing tone before Jax pulls her into a kiss. He bends her backward, and she lets out a trill of laughter before Jax puts her back on her feet.

Next thing I know, she’s thrown herself at me, and I catch her on instinct. Erin wraps her arms around my neck and smacks a kiss on my cheek.

“You live in New York, not on the other side of the moon. Why have I seen more eclipses this year than you?”

“There’s been one total eclipse this year,” I say. “I think.”

“Exactly,” she says pointedly. “The next one will be, like, twenty years from now. So why have I seen this very rare occurrence more often this year than I’ve seen you in person? Because FaceTime doesn’t count.”

“I solemnly swear to do better?” I say.

“Well, that was the right answer, at least, so I guess all that schooling is finally paying off.”

I like her. I mean, I usually like people anyway, but I really like her.

She’s short and petite, with blonde hair so light it almost looks white. When she smiles, both her cheeks get dimples in them.

“This is ,” I say when Gabriel steps up next to me, and his shoulder brushes against me, so I remember myself.

Erin sends him a wide smile. “I can’t believe I finally get to meet the famous .”

I blink at her, not sure what to say. Uh… Am I? Famous?

“I’ve heard so much about you,” she continues.

“Those were all lies,” I say quickly, because I do not want to know what she’s heard, and I’d like the body of to make a good impression.

Erin sends me a funny look, and I shrug. “I tend to exaggerate. I do that. So whatever I said, just… You know. Let’s all take it with a huge pinch of salt.”

“You’re being weird,” Erin says before she turns all her attention back to Gabriel. Me. Who is Gabriel.

“It’s really great to have you,” she tells Gabriel before she sends me a sly smile and waggles her brows.

I glance at Gabriel to try and figure out what’s happening, but the only thing I get from him is a pained look.

“Likewise,” Gabriel says. “I mean, it’s great to be here. We should probably help Jax now, right?”

Erin waves him off. “You’re our guest. He’ll do fine. Don’t worry about him. So? How did this happen?” She moves her forefinger between me and Gabriel.

“We share an office at work,” Gabriel says quickly, before he grabs a hold of my elbow and starts dragging me toward Erin’s car and its open trunk. “We really should help. I’d feel bad otherwise.”

We each grab a few bags and bring them inside, then make two more trips before all the groceries are in the kitchen, where Gabriel’s parents are putting them away in the fridge and pantry while chatting to Erin. Once everything’s sorted with the food, we all stay in the kitchen with everybody chatting about their day and making plans for the week ahead. I clamp my mouth shut and try to blend into the wall. Most of the conversation seems to revolve around Jax and Erin’s upcoming wedding, so luckily that doesn’t require any input from me.

The wedding is a small one, apparently, and it’s going to take place in town in January. I don’t have a lot of experience with weddings, and I fully realize this might be just an image created by the media about brides being high-strung, but Erin seems exceptionally calm about the whole thing. It’s Jax who rants about the flowers being all wrong because they’re not the right shade of white. Erin just smiles and rolls her eyes.

“We painted our bedroom last year,” she tells Gabriel. “It took us four months to pick the right color. I don’t know where Jax gets this, because nobody else in the family is so anal about color schemes, but here we are.”

“You love me,” Jax says, unperturbed.

“And lucky I do, otherwise that color fetish might’ve really made me reconsider,” Erin says.

It’s gotten completely dark outside by now, and after another few minutes, headlights bathe the front yard in light and a car parks in the driveway.

“Oh, good. Dinner’s here,” Julie says. “, I hope you like lamb casserole. We have an excellent restaurant that—” She blanches. “Oh. You’re not vegan, are you? I didn’t even think to ask. There’s salad, but I don’t?—”

“I love lamb casserole.” Gabriel nods eagerly. “It’s one of my favorites.”

“Gabriel’s too,” Julie says, sending yet another affectionate smile my way before she puts her hands on her hips and looks around. “So many lazy children around but nobody to set the table,” she says pointedly.

Everybody springs into action. Gabriel forgets himself again, so I rush to keep up with him and hide the fact that my new boyfriend who’s never been to this house before seems to know where all the utensils are.

“We’re home!” someone shouts from the foyer.

There are the sounds of people putting their things away, closet doors banging and shoes slamming against walls before two guys walk in. As promised, Leo has glasses on. He’s got light brown hair and gray eyes, and whoa, the dude is tall. He towers over everybody else in the room, including Gabriel. Or, well, me. Gabriel’s six four, which, believe me, I know, because he’s been rubbing it in my face for years, seeing that I’m only six pathetic feet tall myself, so Gabriel’s brother must be at least six foot seven.

His other brother, Ash, is a lanky teenager with a curly crew cut, torn jeans, and a T-shirt with the word ‘Relax’ written on his chest in big, block letters.

More greetings and hugs are exchanged before Leo goes upstairs to put his bag away. It takes another twenty minutes of people moving around, talking, and chatting before we all end up seated around a long dining table.

Passing the food around is a chaotic operation that somehow still works because plates get filled smoothly. It’s the kind of family dinner I’ve never had—loud and cheerful and just a bit disorganized.

I get asked a ton of questions about how I’m doing, and I answer them as best as I can.

I’m starving, so I pile my plate high with the casserole. I’m not sure what’s in there besides lamb, but it smells delicious.

Everybody digs in almost at the same time, and the conversation flows freely, with people somehow effortlessly taking part in multiple conversations at once. Like families do, I suppose.

It’s loud and chaotic, and I like it. A lot. I’m not a part of it, obviously. I don’t understand half the things that are being said here, but I try to keep up as well as possible.

Gabriel is quiet, which probably makes sense. I don’t think it’s easy to pretend to be a stranger to people you’ve known your whole life. He’s also picking at his food. He said he liked this casserole earlier, but it really doesn’t look like it. He has a pleasant smile on his face, sure, but every time he takes a bite, it looks like he needs to brace himself first.

The dinner runs long and well into the night, and by the end, I’m pretty sure we both deserve a break, so once dinner is done, I make a big production of yawning and announcing that we’re gonna turn in.

We head upstairs in silence, and once I close the door behind us, I slump against it. I like Gabriel’s family, but pretending to be him is exhausting. Mostly because I have to be on all the time. It takes a lot of concentration to not accidentally say or do something Gabriel wouldn’t say or do.

“You want the first shower?” Gabriel asks. He looks about as beat as I feel.

“It’s fine. You can go ahead.”

He doesn’t even argue, just grabs a towel and some clothes and heads out the door. I sit on the edge of the bed, not sure what to do with myself. Eventually, I settle for just scrolling on my phone and methodically deleting spam emails until Gabriel comes back in the room.

He’s dressed in a pair of sleep pants and a T-shirt and is scrubbing his hair dry with a towel.

“All yours,” he says through a yawn. It’s not that late yet, but honestly, I can’t wait to crawl into bed.

I nod and take my own stuff into the bathroom, where everything is in meticulous order. I usually leave everything dripping wet and drop my towel on the floor. Gabriel has dried the floor and wiped the mirror clean from the fog like a freaking psycho.

It’s a tiny bit endearing.

I’ll never tell him.

Because that’s clearly the insanity speaking.

Instead, I take off my clothes and get under the shower. I let the hot water beat down my back for a while until my fingers start to get pruney. Then I do the gentlemanly thing and stare at the ceiling while I wash myself.

I miss jerking off. Hello. Here’s a thought that should not enter my mind right now. I should definitely not be thinking about this. But honest to God, I fucking miss it, and I can’t do anything about it right now.

I keep staring at the ceiling while I dry myself and get dressed. Once I’m done, I push the bathroom door open and pad across the hallway on bare feet. I close the bedroom door behind me with a quiet click.

I expect Gabriel to be in bed and asleep by now, but he’s standing in front of the window, looking outside, and doing it very intently, arms crossed over his chest. I clear my throat, not sure what to do. He glances over his shoulder.

“All done?” he asks.

I nod. “You didn’t have to wait up for me.”

“I wasn’t.”

“Kind of looks like you are.”

He rolls his eyes, but for the first time today, he doesn’t look tense. In a bit of a weird twist, it seems like we’ve become each other’s… I don’t even know what to call it. Safe space? I mean, kind of? Let’s face it, out of all the billions of people in the world, Gabriel is quite literally the only one who understands exactly what I’m going through and vice versa. Nobody else. Unless body switching is a common problem and I just haven’t realized it yet.

“Come see.” He motions with his head.

I’m not sure what he’s about to show me, but I’m already moving. Once I’m standing next to Gabriel, I glance out the window. I blink. And let out a gasp before I snap my head toward Gabriel.

“It’s snowing!”

He quirks his brow at me. “I can see that.”

I pinch his side, right where I know for a fact that I’m ticklish, and he lets out a satisfying squeak and squirms to get away from me. I forget the tickling a moment later, though.

Wide, fat flakes are slowly floating toward the ground beyond the window. They’re so white that they seem to glow against the backdrop of the dark night sky, and the snowfall seems to get heavier right in front of our eyes.

“We’ll have more than a few inches come morning,” Gabriel says. I expect him to add something practical about having to shovel the driveway or something, but he doesn’t say anything like that at all. He just stands next to me and looks.

I’m not sure how long we stand there, but eventually, as if by some silent agreement, we both turn and head toward the bed. Gabriel takes the left side, and I get the one next to the window. Gabriel throws the covers off, and we climb in.

We’ve been sleeping next to each other for the past two nights, but I’ve either had too much on my mind or I’ve been too tired to focus on it. Tonight, neither of those distractions are at the forefront of my mind, so I’m suddenly very aware of just how close Gabriel is to me. I can feel the warmth of his skin next to me, and since the room is completely dark, I can’t see him, so it’s easy to ignore the fact that it’s my body lying next to me and just imagine that it’s actually just Gabriel there.

The sheets smell all fresh, and there’s a hint of something else. Something woodsy with a faint hint of something sweet. It’s a very nice smell. Kind of familiar. Something tickles my brain, insisting that I know this smell. I inhale again and again. What is this? Detergent?

It takes me a few minutes to realize it’s Gabriel.

I swallow hard. There’s a weird feeling skittering over my skin.

He’s making me smell like him.

I have no fucking clue what I feel. All I know is that the feeling is weird. Something undefined and foreign.

Fluttery.

Nervous.

It’s not exactly unpleasant.

I stay very still, suddenly unable to relax. I was tired a moment ago, but now I’m wide awake, staring into the darkness above me as the house settles around us. Doors open and close. Voices ring out in the hallway. Somewhere, somebody is laughing. One by one, bit by bit, the sounds die away.

Then there’s silence, except for the occasional creak or groan of the house. Otherwise, it’s completely silent. I’m a New Yorker, born and bred. I’m used to noise. Cars. Sirens. Neighbors through the walls.

Gabriel’s room is eerily quiet. I could probably hear a pin drop. Not even a pin. I’m starting to suspect I could hear a strand of hair hit the floor.

How do people deal with such deafening silence?

And I’m still awake.

It’s fine while I still think I’m going to eventually fall asleep, but eventually takes a long-ass time.

The silence is suddenly pierced by a loud rumbling. I turn my head to the side. Now that I think about it, Gabriel’s been suspiciously still, too.

“Was that you?” I whisper.

“No. It was the ghosts inside the walls.”

“Why would ghosts be inside the walls? They can float right through. You do know that’s how they function, right?”

“Please tell me you don’t believe in ghosts,” Gabriel says.

“You wouldn’t sound so skeptical if you’d witnessed what I’ve witnessed.” I bite back my smile.

“—” he starts, but I cut him off.

“I was alone at home.”

“Of course you were,” he mutters.

“I’d just gotten home from school, and I was making myself a sandwich when I heard a strange noise. Footsteps just outside the kitchen. But there was nobody in the house.”

“Except your grandparents?” he says dryly.

“Nobody,” I repeat in a stern voice. “So I went to investigate.”

“Smart,” he says, even more dryly.

“Brave,” I correct him. “I went through room after room, but nothing. Foyer, bedrooms, guest room, office, living room, basement, garage. One after another. Nothing, nothing, nothing.”

“So you imagined it.”

“That’s what I told myself, too. But then, when I got back to the kitchen…” I add a dramatic pause for the sake of tension. “My sandwich was gone.”

The sheets rustle as he turns his head toward me in the darkness.

“Seriously? Your sandwich was gone, so your one conclusion when you saw that was, ‘Oh! Must be the work of a ghost.’”

“It was the logical conclusion,” I say, deliberately ignoring his tone. “And I repeat: nobody was at home. If that’s not proof of an afterlife, I don’t know what is.”

He lets out a loud sigh, and I bite back a smile.

“Ghosts don’t eat,” he says.

“Don’t they?” I ask innocently.

“No.”

“How do you know?”

“I figured that was common knowledge.”

“But you just said they don’t exist. So how can there be common knowledge about something that doesn’t exist?”

“All right. I might’ve misspoken. Not common knowledge. Common lore surrounding ghosts.”

“Lore, by definition, is made up by humans though, isn’t it? And people are notorious for getting things wrong and making things up as they go.”

“But not you. Because you’ve had the real supernatural experience,” he says.

“I’m just recounting the facts. The plate was there, the sandwich was gone. And I didn’t eat it.”

“Then who did?” He sounds exasperated.

“A ghost!” My grin widens. I swear I can feel his blood pressure skyrocket. “Or that pigeon I found flying around in the kitchen,” I say thoughtfully. “But that seems unlikely.”

“So unlikely,” he says, voice dripping with sarcasm.

His stomach rumbles again.

“Another ghost?” I ask.

“I didn’t exactly get to eat dinner,” he says with a heavy sigh.

“Well, why didn’t you? You told your mom you liked the casserole.”

“I do. Usually.”

“Then what was the problem?”

“Turns out you don’t like cilantro,” he says.

My face screws into a grimace automatically. “Fuck no. Eww. No. Cilantro? Yuck. It’s like eating stink bugs. It’s disgust—” I stop my rant mid-word while my brain catches up. “Those green bits in the casserole were cilantro?”

“Yup,” he says grimly.

“But I hate cilantro.” I’m apparently not that bright and willing to demonstrate it.

“Yes. But you’re me ,” he says patiently. “You have my taste buds and my cilantro-loving genes, apparently.”

“Oh.” All the pieces finally slot into place. “Okay. Well that makes more sense.”

We’re both silent for a little while after that.

“You know, if you’re hungry, there’s an easy solution,” I say.

“Which is?”

“A midnight snack.”

“Again,” he says with pointed patience, “I’m you . So I can’t just wander around the kitchen at night, eating somebody else’s food, now can I?”

I throw the covers off and get out of bed. “You’re making this needlessly complicated. Just come on.”

“Where are you going?” he asks.

“To get you some food,” I say over my shoulder.

He must be really hungry, because he follows me without protesting. We sneak downstairs through the darkness, into the quiet, empty kitchen. Somebody’s left the Christmas lights on. Rows of them are wrapped around the exposed ceiling beams. Neither Gabriel nor I turn on the ceiling light, both preferring, by some wordless agreement, the soft, dim light coming from the tiny bulbs in the ceiling.

I take a seat at the counter and watch Gabriel move around. His— my —hair is a rumpled mess, and there’s a faint pillow crease on his cheek.

He takes out a loaf of bread and goes to the fridge.

“Yes! Chicken salad,” he says with clear satisfaction as he puts a large container on the counter next to the bread. He makes quick work of compiling the sandwiches and slides the full plate into the middle of the counter. Next, he pours two glasses of water and places one in front of me.

In another minute, we’re sitting at the counter, facing each other, eating the sandwiches. I’m not really hungry, but I eat one anyway while Gabriel polishes off the rest.

It’s still silent, but instead of the eerie silence from before, it’s more comfortable now. It’s as if Gabriel and I share this silence, so it becomes more familiar.

“Your family seems nice,” I say.

He takes a drink, swallows, and nods. “They’re pretty great.”

I look around the spacious kitchen, then back toward Gabriel. “So this is where you grew up? Before New York?”

“The house was much smaller and much older, but yes. I shared a room with Jax here, and later in New York, too.”

“And dreamed about your own space?”

“No, I actually didn’t mind. We’re all close. Not to say that if somebody had offered, I would’ve vehemently refused, but it wasn’t something I specifically dreamed about.”

“What was it like? Growing up around here?”

He looks at me thoughtfully. “I’d say idyllic, but I also think some of that might be nostalgia speaking?” He takes another bite of his chicken sandwich and chews for a bit. “If you’re dealing with a family business then everybody needs to pull their weight, so it was a lot of work. Especially in the summers. First you get strawberries, so you’re out on the field picking those. Then when those are done, raspberries follow immediately after, and once you’re done with raspberries, it’s time for blueberries, so that’s basically the whole summer vacation for you.”

He empties his water glass and twirls it between his fingers.

“But at the same time, compared to New York, you get a lot more freedom here as a kid. It’s a small town and a small community, so it’s safe, and you get to pretty much do whatever you want. Don’t have to rely on your parents to drive you because they wouldn’t anyway because you have your bike and so on. We got into a lot of trouble and Mom and Dad didn’t even find out the half of it.”

I smile as I look at him. I can almost imagine a little Gabriel running around this place, getting up to no good.

“You haven’t thought about moving back here?”

“Never seriously.”

“Don’t fancy becoming a berry farmer again?”

He shakes his head. “That’s not for me.” He goes and pours himself more water, refilling my glass too before he sits back down. “They do these U-pick things now, where people come and pick their own berries, so you have loads and loads of folks coming here, which means you have to be hospitable and friendly and smile at them and answer stupid questions.”

My lips twitch, and he sends me a look. He takes another sip then gets up again. I watch him go to the fridge. He pulls open one of the drawers in the freezer section and rummages around for a bit before he holds up two tubs of ice cream.

He puts one of them on the counter in front of me.

“Mint chocolate chip or…”

He picks the other one up and studies it.

“Chocolate cherry.” He looks up from the ice cream and squints at me. “Uh… this is probably a good time to mention that I’m allergic to cherries.”

“Really?”

“Not deathly allergic, but if you eat that, you’re almost guaranteed to get some very attractive hives around your mouth, and your ears will start to itch like crazy.”

“I’ll pass.”

“We’ll share.” He puts the mint chocolate chip in the middle of the counter between us before he goes and puts the other tub back into the freezer.

He hands me a spoon, and we both dig in.

“I can’t believe you eat ice cream,” I mumble through a big mouthful.

He flicks his eyes up and stares, spoon still above the ice cream tub. “You can’t believe I eat ice cream?” he repeats. “What does that even mean?”

“Ice cream is… It’s extravagance, isn’t it?”

He keeps staring, brows slowly knitting into a frown that’s part confusion, part indignance, and as the seconds tick by definitely more of the latter. Eventually he puts the spoon down and crosses his arms over his chest.

“Okay. I know I was the poor scholarship kid in that fucking super rich private school of yours—which, by the way, none of you fucking ever let me forget. And sure, technically the seven of us were living in a three-bedroom apartment instead of a penthouse in the Upper East Side, and my dad didn’t play golf with the governor, and I had to get a used uniform and had never played fucking polo or lacrosse or whatever and didn’t regularly vacation in Europe and had barely fucking left the state at that point, but even we could afford ice cream every now and then.”

My brows have hiked higher and higher with every word that leaves his lips.

“Okay,” I say slowly once it’s clear he’s done with his tirade. “I didn’t think you couldn’t afford ice cream? Although there’s nothing really wrong with that if you couldn’t? I meant… you don’t need ice cream for, I don’t know, nutrients or whatever?”

“Now you’re making me sound like I’m a robot.”

“Uh, excuse me, but you were the one who lectured me for an hour about proper eating habits once when I offered you a cookie during recess.”

He stares at me blankly.

“Tenth grade?” I prompt. “Right before lunch break? After AP English?”

“Who eats sweets right before lunch?”

“It was an oatmeal cookie. That’s practically breakfast.”

“In which universe?”

“Every universe. Come on. Most of the ingredients in oatmeal cookies are also ingredients for breakfast.”

“That sounds like the kind of bullshit kids tell their parents to get extra sweets.”

“You make oatmeal cookies out of oats. Most of it is oats.”

I sigh when he just gives me a bland look.

“Oats are healthy. You can’t argue with that.”

“This is like saying that if I put a carrot into a bowl of chocolate chips and call it a salad it’s healthy.”

“There’s also eggs. And nuts.”

“And butter and sugar.”

“Well, yeah. But just a bit.”

He snorts and shakes his head before he digs back into the ice cream. Guess he’s not going to dignify that with a response.

I look at him thoughtfully. He seems relaxed. At least for now.

“Doesn’t it get exhausting?” I blurt out.

“Doesn’t what get exhausting?”

I wave my spoon toward him. “This. This quest for perfection. With everything.”

He stares back at me before he very calmly puts the spoon down.

“Are you serious?”

“Would I ask if I weren’t?”

He just shakes his head, lips slightly parted, before he lets out disbelieving snort of laughter. Short and harsh.

“Come on, ua. This can’t be such a mystery.”

I give him a blank look because it kind of is?

“Okay,” he says, still in that harsh tone. “A lesson in life, I guess? So pay attention. Not everybody has the opportunities you have. Hell, most of the world doesn’t have the opportunities you have. I have to—and have always had to—fight tooth and nail for everything . Because where you just get opportunities handed to you, where circumstances are always in your favor, I have to fight for the opportunity to have the opportunity, and then I have to fight for the opportunity itself. If this were a race, your starting position would be twenty miles ahead of mine. Get it? So this quest for perfection, as you put it, is not voluntary.”

I look down at my hands. As far as dressings down go, this was swift and effective.

“That’s…” I don’t know what to say. A part of me wants to justify myself, but I really don’t have a leg to stand on here. “Okay.” I nod.

He seems to deflate a bit from his righteous indignation.

“Yeah.”

We’re both silent for a little while, the ice cream melting between us.

“I know you didn’t choose your family,” he finally says. “I know circumstances are never going to be fair for all people. Somebody will always have an advantage. It’s just that you’re basically this constant reminder that I’m always going to be ten steps behind. Once we’re done with our internship, you’re going to get that job, and I’m not even sure you want it that much, to be honest. But you’re going to get it anyway. That’s just how it goes.”

“You don’t know that.”

He lets out another mirthless laugh. “Your grandfather plays golf with Rasmussen, and your grandmother is a supreme court judge. Believe me, I know.”

He smashes the spoon into the ice cream almost viciously and leans back in his seat.

“Well,” I say. “Look at the bright side. If we never switch back, that job is totally yours.”

He looks startled for a moment, but then he barks out a loud laugh. And he just keeps on laughing.

“Silver lining. Finally.” He shakes his head and gets up. “Come on. Let’s get to bed. We’ve got a long day ahead of us tomorrow.”

He puts the remnants of the ice cream away, and I quickly wash the dishes before we head back upstairs.

Once in bed, he falls asleep in a matter of seconds, and I listen to him breathe while I try to swallow down the sour taste in the back of my throat.