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A full-blown Halloween Event at the school for eight-year-olds seemed to be a little overkill to Joe, but it got him out of wandering through the apartment building knocking on doors. Not that he had a problem with trick-or-treating - but this year was special, with final preparations just wrapping up on one of the highest profile cases he’s ever had. A school gym would let him keep better tabs on the case. Plus, he could guarantee they weren’t going to go home with bags of candy, and that alone was worth it.
He’d managed to arrange the night off by promising to stay in touch over the phone - Joe had already coached the plaintiff as much as he would be able to. Now that they were in dry runs, all he could do was offer notes (easier to do after the fact, when tempers and minds had cooled).
The car pulls around while him and Daniyal are putting on the finishing touches of their costumes, Joe having agreed to a red-painted nose and some iconic reindeer antlers secured to a headband. The furry jacket looks like someone decided brown shag carpet was the newest fast fashion, but he wears it with normal jeans and some nice sneakers. It doesn't actually look half bad when he catches himself in the mirror, the jacket hitting nostalgia hard.
Daniyal is much better off in a handmade Kristoff costume (courtesy of his nanny, Annabella) with silk and poofs and sparkles that were getting all over the apartment. Joe had been uncertain about spending so much on a costume they had to make themselves, but Daniyal had taken an interest in sewing and Joe figured he’d take advantage of that while they had a ready teacher.
They get to the party right on time, and Joe pulls Daniyal aside before they go in. “We will have fun tonight - but I might have to step out to take a call.”
“And Sherri will be texting you - I know, Dad, it’s fine. I’m just happy you’re here.”
Daniyal wanders away as soon as they get in, and thankfully Joe’s made peace with his new role in Daniyal’s life as distant moral support. He sets himself up by the punch bowl, where he can serve drinks and have two-minute conversations with whoever happens to be passing by. Engaged, uncommitted, and in the perfect place to keep one eye on Daniyal, and the other on his phone.
-
The man’s been on his phone the entire evening, and Nicky feels a hot coil of indignation in his chest. Whatever poor child belongs to that man shouldn’t have such a neglectful guardian, and he makes his way through the crowd with the intention of showing the man just how unfortunate a decision he’s made.
He’s surprised when the man glances up at him before he gets there, and further surprised when the man smiles at him with a warmth that makes him wonder if they already know each other.
“Hello,” the man says and Nicky nods curtly,
“Hello.”
There’s a pause where normal small chat would go, but Nicky’s thrown off guard.
“She yours?” the man asks, and he’s looking over to the table where there’s quite a vicious game of tag going on - Alessia dives under a table to escape a little boy in a beautiful Kristoff costume, and Nicky wonders if this man knows the boy.
“Yes,” he says suspiciously, and the man laughs,
“My Daniyal has been chasing her all night. Kristoff to her Anna - it seems that they are fast friends. What is your name?”
“Nicky,”
“I’m Yusuf, but you can call me Joe,” Joe says, and he reaches out a hand and has it before Nicky realizes that this man is charismatic and was perhaps not being as neglectful as he initially thought, and they’re done shaking hands now, Joe neatly returning Nicky’s hand to him as he holds out a cup- “Fruit punch?” Joe offers smoothly, and when did he have time to get that?
“Thank you,” Nicky accepts, but he’s feeling a little unsettled - hadn’t he come over here to scold the man? Instead he asks, “Are you new to the school?”
“Relatively,” Joe says, sipping at his own drink, “We were on the West Coast until this summer when we moved here.”
“It must be much colder here,” Nicky says, and Joe laughs,
“That’s what everyone says. I’m no stranger to snow, but it is true that the cold brings a different kind of inconvenience.”
“Why did you move?” Nicky asks, well aware that he’s prying, and Joe doesn’t skip a beat as he answers,
“Promotion at work. And a change of pace.”
“What is it you do?”
“I’m an attorney for... a relatively well-known company.” The modesty is put upon.
“A lawyer.”
Joe nods, takes a sip of his drink.
Nicky wonders what kind of lawyer he is; he’s managed to put together a presentable costume that both says ‘I support my child and their love of costumes’ while insisting ‘I insist on looking stylish while doing it’. Just as he’s about to ask what kind of cases Joe works on, Lola, from the PTA, swoops in.
“Oh my god!” she wheedles and Joe straightens up instantly, shooting a look of vague alarm to Nicky. Nicky offers no assistance as Lola latches onto Joe’s arm - to Joe’s credit, he takes it in stride and covers her hand with his - Nicky sees that Joe has no wedding ring.
Lola does not keep them waiting. “You must be Joe,” she draws out the name like she’s playing marco polo in the pool with the children. She snaps her head to Nicky and gasps, “And here Nicolo was, hogging you all to yourself.”
“Nicolo,” Joe says with interest, and Nicky finds himself endlessly frustrated by socialites like Lola who threw around his Italian name around to make themselves seem more worldly.
“We’ve adopted Nicky to the PTA,” Lola continues, but Joe’s eyes linger on Nicky’s. “You know, single fathers, they try their best,” - the ‘but’ and the vaguely insulting remarks are incoming, and Nicky reminds himself that the fallout from snapping at Lola won’t be worth the satisfaction.
“I’m a single father,” Joe cuts Lola off firmly, but he does it with a smile and a laugh, and he has her off his arm and angled towards the buffet table with an efficient little movement. “It’s amazing how much unsolicited help suddenly comes flying your way. People are so kind,” he says sweetly, too sweetly to be genuine, and Lola’s blinking at him, still trying to catch up with the conversation. “But I find what they really want is to pry, and that’s just unnecessary, wouldn’t you agree?”
Lola is nodding, because that’s what Joe’s tone is telling her she should do. “Certainly.”
“We really are lucky to have the best kids, aren’t we Nicky?” Joe asks, and Nicky’s not sure why he’s getting pulled into the conversation, but he nods because he can’t object with a statement like that.
“Angels,” Lola agrees, looking eager to be on a topic she’s a little more savvy with. “So precious.”
“It looks like the popcorn’s running low. Those precious angels will need their filler to stave off the sugar. There should still be some bags left, if you want to refill it.” Joe pushes her gently away with a hand at the back and his fingers curled against her shoulder. “Such a pleasure, Lola,” he calls after her as she drifts away, looking like she’s replaying the conversation in her head and trying to figure out what happened.
Nicky watches Joe, who sighs deeply before he catches Nicky’s look. “Oh, did you want her to stay?” Joe asks with dry humour, and Nicky shakes his head,
“I only ever manage to offend them when I try that.”
Joe laughs at him with his eyes, and Nicky finds himself just as charmed and confused as Lola had been. “Nicolo,” Joe repeats again, so quiet that Nicky can barely hear him from their scat distance of three feet apart.
“We immigrated three years ago. Nicky sounds much less pretentious in these circles.”
“You don’t need to explain,” Joe tells him lightly; but then why would Joe be rolling Nicky’s name around in his mouth like? Like he was experimenting with it, testing it, lavashing in it.
Nicky feels himself starting to get warm, and he finishes his lukewarm punch.
Time to find something else to drink.
“Yusuf,” he acknowledges, and he tries for detached and humorous, but Joe’s name tumbles out from his lips like he’s painting a picture with it, and Joe presses his lips together as he smiles, and when Nicky leaves him, Joe’s back on his phone, though now Nicky can see the way he tracks Daniyal around the room, how he’s always looking up and smiling when Daniyal glances over.
A man who can multitask well, and Nicky is sure that Joe is looking at him as well, every now and then.
Nicky is content to leave the night there with Joe, but when him and Alessia are leaving, he realizes that one of two things has happened:
He has forgotten where he locked up his second-hand beater bicycle, or
His bicycle has been stolen.
“Papa, our bike is missing.”
“It seems that it is,” Nicky agrees, and he finds that every once in a while, life conspires to throw these obstacles in his way, and he reminds himself that he is holding his daughter's hand, and any violence towards inanimate objects like the lamppost that is right next to him would be frightening for her.
“Where did it go?” Alessia asks, and Nicky is about to answer when a car stops next to him, and the window rolls down to reveal Joe.
“Need a lift?” Joe asks in that mysterious accent of his, and Nicky looks at the line of parents and children waiting for taxis, and thinks about the trek to the subway station from here.
“I couldn’t impose,” he says, though he’s seriously considering it.
“Papa, it’s Sven!” Alessia tells him insistently, and Joe is still wearing those distracting antlers, and Daniyal’s head pokes out from the other side of the window,
“Hi Ale!”
“And Daniyal!”
Alessia saves them any further niceties as she detaches herself from Nicky and opens the car door. “Ciao Mr. Joe Sven,” she says as she crawls into the car, and Nicky would be worried that his daughter is apparently willing to crawl into cars with strangers, but she’d been playing with Daniyal all night and they have no bicycle so…
Plus, Joe looks so willing and charming that it’s impossible to decline.
“I have a spare bicycle, if you need it,” Joe offers once Nicky’s in the car and it starts to drive, Alessia and Daniyal sitting across from them engaged in a very serious match of rock-paper-scissors.
Nicky imagines that Joe has a lot of spare things if he’s being driven around in a car this fancy, a driver with a dark glass partition and everything.
“Where to?”
“Lower east side,” Nicky says, and he gives the address, wondering if the driver is listening in on them. “Which office did you say you worked for?” Nicky asks, still taken aback by the car, and Joe crinkles his face, tilts it as he debates an answer.
“Technically it’s confidential. But I’m working on a high profile case that’s set to start trial next week. It’s lucky I was able to make it tonight, likely due to being strictly a consultant - I argued a PR angle, and supporting community festivities never hurts when you’re fighting against discrimination.”
“The case with Lonie Rice.”
Joe hesitates, though he seems amused. “You’re well read.”
“Dad’s gonna save this woman so he can protect all the other woman that come after,” Daniyal explains, and Joe can’t help but smile,
“That’s true. But we don’t talk about Dad’s case in public, right?”
“But it’s Ale and Mr. Ale’s dad. That’s not public. And we’re in the car too, which is private.”
“Well argued,” Joe concedes, “But private here means privileged, and those aren’t the same.” Except Daniyal’s already back to his game with Alessia, moved on from private verse public sphere logistics, and Joe sighs and looks at Nicky,
“The papers already know anyway.”
“Does that make a difference?”
“Yes. Whether good or bad still stands to be determined.”
“How involved are you?” Nicky asks, and Joe’s phone dings, and he looks sheepish,
“Sorry.”
There’s silence for a minute as Joe taps out his answer, fingers well versed in the slip and slap of his smartphone. The newest model, of course, and Nicky is hyperly conciousetious of the fact that his own still flips open.
The answer seems to be that Joe is quite involved with the case, and he flips the phone over on his thigh when he finishes, looks right at Nicky. “That was rude, but unavoidable. I apologize. Where were we?”
Joe’s eyes watch him attentively, and Nicky isn’t sure what he’s supposed to say. “The case?” he tries, and Joe nods, but he dismisses it instantly,
“Only time will tell. What do you do?”
“I work at a floral shop.”
“Do you enjoy it?” Joe asks, and it doesn’t hold the same condescension that most people typically have when they ask that question.
Nicky has the defensive answer all tee’d up, but he takes a pause to think it out. “Yes,” he finally says, “I do. I like the people. I enjoy making arrangements, though there are others that are more proficient at it. I enjoy being able to provide something beyond words. Supporting and heightening emotion. Being able to teach my daughter to put forth something good in this world.”
“There is no greater good, I think,” Joe says, and they pull up in front of Nicky’s apartment block and Joe doesn’t have an ounce of judgement when he looks out and says, “Seems we’re here. Alas, the end always comes too fast.”
“Is that from a poem?” Daniyal asks, and Alessia does not look like she wants to get out of the car, but she follows Nicky dutifully and waves a somber goodbye.
“See you tomorrow,” she tells Daniyal, and Daniyal waves,
“Not if I see you first!”
“Nicolo,” Joe grins, and Nicky watches them pull away.
“I like Daniyal,” Alessia says, “Can we have ice cream?”
Nicky lets Alessia practise opening the door with the key while he stands back, and he tests out the name ‘Yusuf’ against his tongue again, trying to figure out what makes it slip around in his chest like that.
-
The following day, a man rings the buzzer for their apartment before the sun comes up, and Nicky regrets his harsh ‘what’ when he hears that it is someone Joe has sent.
The bicycle that the delivery man (Greg) brings up is likely worth at least a thousand dollars, and comes with saddles and an attachment near the front that allows Alessia to sit on it more comfortably than the old wooden makeshift footrests and seat.
“People are definitely going to steal that,” Alessia says when she comes out of her bedroom, but there are two different ‘unbreakable’ locks that come with the bike, as well as a steel cord wrapped in plastic with loops on either end.
There is no question they need to return the bicycle.
It is too expensive, entirely too much, even for someone of Joe’s considerable means. What was he thinking, giving Nicky a bike like this? Even if it was just lying around, Nicky was not about to accept charity, and besides, Alessia was correct - a bike like this was a target in the city, and would definitely be more trouble than it would be worth.
When he goes to call Joe though, he realizes that he doesn’t have a number for the man.
Joe had spent so much time on the phone over the course of the night, Nicky hadn’t realized they didn’t exchange numbers.
“You go to class with Daniyal?” Nicky asks his daughter, and Alessia shrugs,
“For like, drama and stuff. Why?”
If he is not able to phone, then he will write a letter.
The letter is a page long, strongly worded, requesting that Joe come himself (or send someone) to pick up the bicycle immediately. A gesture that is appreciated, but unnecessary, given Nicky already has a few appointments lined up to view new bicycle (a lie), and that it would likely be stolen faster than his old bicycle had been. He adds his phone number at the bottom, so they have a more convenient way of communicating, and signs it ‘Nicolo’.
“It is sealed and signed,” he tells Alessia, and he trusts her not to open it, and he trusts Daniyal to have an understanding of how official sounding those words are. “Meant for Mr. ... “
“Mr. Joe,” Alessia provides helpful with a smile that suggests she doesn’t quite appreciate the gravity of the situation.
“- meant for Mr. Joe. So please don’t open it. I’m trusting you.”
“Okay Papa,” Alessia says, and she stuffs the envelope into her backpack next to the water bottle that will likely pop open in transit between here and the school.
“I gave Daniyal the envelope,” Alessia tells him when she comes back from school. “He said he will respect the…” she frowns, reciting a phrase that was clearly not practised enough, “- intent and responsibility bestowed’d upon him to the greatest of his abilities.”
Nicky kisses her head, says, “Thank you, my love,” but the bicycle remains in the living room into the evening, and the entirety of the next day while he is at work. There is no beautiful black car to take it away when he comes back from work either.
“Mr. Joe wrote you a letter back,” Alessia tells him as she drops the envelope (even the man’s stationary is thick and expensive and heavy), “Daniyal says that we should invent a stamp system and be paid for our labour.”
“Daniyal sounds like he’s speaking of things he has only a superficial knowledge of.”
“What does that mean?” Alessia asks, and Nicky sets her up with a dictionary and their computer so she look into it herself, and then opens the letter at the table.
Dearest Nicolo,
I would be most delighted if you would keep the bicycle in question. If you think it unnecessary for any number of reasons, I hereby declare it solely in your possession, to do with what you please, including but not limited to: using it; selling it; throwing it off the balcony; leaving it in an alleyway to be stolen; or trading it for something less conspicuous. I sense that you view this as charity, and are allowing that viewpoint to sway your opinion. In fact, I am the one who is accepting charity from you.
You have no bicycle, and I have no need of one. In fact, I have two more that are equally unused.
Should you insist on returning the bicycle, I will be forced to retrieve it, and as you know, I am currently very busy. Therefore, the outcome of this legal battle I will be soon engaged with may very well rest on your shoulders. You do me a great service by allowing me respite from this contraption of wheels and gears.
I would also like to propose that you and Alessia come to dinner this weekend. 4:00pm on Saturday, the address is enclosed. I’ll send a car if you and your daughter are amicable.
Yours,
Yusuf
ps. The children are already growing weary of postal service, and I urge you to answer before they mutiny.
Was this… a joke? There’s nothing on the second side of the paper, and Nicky flips it around twice just to be sure.
The heavy-set paper doesn’t fold between his fingers as he does so, and he looks to Alessia, who is frowning at the dictionary.
“Daniyal knows what stamps are for,” she tells him, matter-of-factly, and then she starts looking something up on the computer.
There’s no phone number written anywhere on the page. Is he supposed to send something back?
“Would you like to go to Daniyal’s for dinner on Saturday?” he asks Alessia, who nods,
“Yes, Papa, I would. Iceland is no longer making stamps, did you know that?”
“Fascinating,” Nicky says, but he is distracted, and he writes:
Yusuf,
I will think about the bicycle.
Thank you for the invitation to dinner, we will be happy to come. What can we bring?
Nicky.
When he folds his own note into an envelope, Alessia eyes him wearily. “Stamps are pre-payment for delivery,” she tells him, and he puts the letter into her backpack,
“Perhaps this one can be paid for by the receiver.”
-
The car will be there at 3:40pm on Saturday.
Followed by,
No need to bring anything.
The timestamp indicates an hour passed before the next message comes through:
Daniyal requests the sweet buns you made for Alessia yesterday, and informs me Alessia has ordered a centrepiece of cacti.
Nicky taps out ‘will bring them both’ laboriously through his phone, and remembers why he dislikes text messaging. Cycling through segmented batches of three letters each was not an efficient use of time.
He’s still on the fence about the bicycle, which leans up against the wall and gleams whenever the morning light comes through the wide window over the sink.
Nicky spends Saturday baking sweet buns while Alessia plays in the courtyard with her friends from the building. He calls her in at three so they can start preparing, insisting that she take a bath and change out of her dirty overalls.
His own clothing situation is dire, but he doesn’t think it’s meant to be a formal occasion. He has an urge to send a text message asking about it, but the urge fades when he remembers how long that would take him.
He settles for a sweater that’s been recently pilled, and doesn’t have any pulled knitting. At least Alessia looks charming in trousers and a cardigan.
The car arrives at 3:40pm precisely, and Nicky locks the door behind him and holds a basket of buns while Alessia holds her cacti arrangement (there was no such thing at his shop, but he made it for her and got enough comments that he may start stocking them).
“Good afternoon,” he tells the man who’s driving (Greg?), and maybe-Greg nods,
“Good afternoon, sir,” as he pulls out into traffic.
“Good day?” Nicky asks, and maybe-Greg glances at him in the rearview,
“So far, so good. Yourself?”
“I baked,” Nicky tells him, and he doesn’t know what else to say, so he offers, “Would you like a bun?”
“No thank you,” maybe-Greg graciously declines, but he seems to be aware that Nicky needs something to take his mind off the uncertainty of what’s happening, because he offers, “Did you catch the football game last night?”
“Italy?” Nicky asks, and maybe-Greg grins,
“You’re team?”
“Yes, and fortunate enough this year.”
They chat easily about football until they get to the building. maybe-Greg walks them to the elevator, and keycard’s the penthouse floor. “Enjoy your evening,” maybe-Greg says pleasantly, and Alessia smiling winningly at him and says,
“Thank you ever so much, sir.”
At least he’s raised a polite child so far.
The elevator goes up.
And up.
And up.
“Papa, why are there so many floors?”
“I don’t know, love.”
The door finally opens, right into a lobby with just two doors and the emergency exit. A fountain wouldn’t look out of place in this receiving area, and Nicky has the urge to close the door and head back down to maybe-Greg.
“Nicolo,” Joe’s voice comes from the door on the left before the elevator can close, and Nicky puts a hand on Alessia’s shoulder. He finds himself infinitely relieved when the interior of Joe’s penthouse isn’t trimmed in gold. It’s still pretentious, but in an understated way - art on the walls, odd knick knacks on the shelves. Empty spaces that emphasizes just how large the space is. A massive wall of books that have leatherbound spines mixed into mass produced paperback.
“Alessia, dear, you can put the cacti on the table, there’s a place just for it.”
The table is much more intimate than Nicky had been anticipating, and Alessia can reach the middle of it with minor assistance from the chair.
“Beautiful,” Joe smiles, and he points her towards the stairs, “Daniyal is up there, drafting up a labour strike. I think he would love your help.”
Alessia disappears without a backward glance, and Joe turns his smile to Nicky, and Nicky finds himself wondering if this was a playdate with dinner, or a dinner that happened to have a playdate involved.
“Wine?” Joe asks, “Beer? Or maybe you abstain from both? I can offer a cocktail, but only if you have nothing to compare it to, my skills are left wanting in that department. Other beverages, also. Come into the kitchen.”
Nicky is expecting there to be a cook working in the kitchen, but there are just massive appliances and an army of pots and pans occupying five burners.
“I cook,” Joe tells him wryly, as if reading his expression. “I enjoy it when I have the time. Someone prepares meals for the week to help, but this meal I’ve made myself.”
Nicky can’t help but glance at the cellphone that gleams on the countertop. “Got away from work?”
“We’re as prepared as we’re going to be at this point. It’s often when you take a step away from a project, that you find the clarity you need to finish it. Tonight is my clarity, and we will arm ourselves tomorrow, for battle on Monday.”
“You wouldn’t rather spend the time with your son before you get busy?” Nicky asks, and after he realizes that it might sound judgemental, remembers that Joe had proven to be quite observant at the Halloween party even though he’d seemed to be on his phone the whole time.
Joe takes it in stride though, doesn’t have a flicker of resentment pass his face. “My son was begging me to leave him alone. I make sure we have our time every evening, talk about the day. He seems to want most of his weekends to himself these days, it’s a mystery.”
“One moment they’re crawling into bed with you because a nightmare has scared them, the next they’re asking to take the subway alone.”
“It’s a fascinating age, isn’t it?” Joe’s smile is filled with love. “Daniyal came into my life when he was almost two. His father left shortly after that, but we’ve managed well, I think.”
Joe sips at some sauce from a pan, turns off the heat, and shifts the pan so it’s only half on the burner.
Nicky isn’t sure what to do with that intimate knowledge, and he feels like this is something that Lola from the PTA would positively murder to know. She’d been hounding him since Aliessa started at the school about his own situation, and he hadn’t managed to be nearly as charming as Joe in his refusal of her advances.
Now though, he reciprocates without much thought: “Alessia’s mother was a close friend of mine in Italy - she died, tragically, so I adopted Alessia and we came here together. Alessia chose New York - thought it looked ‘continental’. She heard the term in an old movie she was watching while we were practising her English. I am glad we’re here.”
“I’m glad as well, that you’re both here.”
Joe smiles at him before he turns around to open the oven. The smell of roasted vegetables punctuates the atmosphere, and Joe shakes the sheet, turns off the oven, and sets them on the counter.
“No allergies, I presume? Daniyal asked Alessia, but I’d rather be sure.”
“None on our side,” Nicky smiles, and Joe begins shifting food things into serving bowls, and Nicky starts ferrying them to the table, calling up (out? over? into? the space was ridiculously large) to the children to come down.
That cactus centerpiece looks charming, and Joe serves the kids juice in champagne flutes with water on the side. He has a glass of red wine and pours Nicky’s beer into a stein, and they cheers before digging in.
“What have you two been up to?” Joe asks Alessia and Daniyal, who exchange weary looks.
“Organizing,” Alessia finally says, and Joe asks,
“As in corroborating?”
Daniyal frowns at him, “What does that mean?”
“Conspiring, getting your stories straight. Otherwise it sounds like you’re mobilizing, which means you’re getting ready to launch some sort of military action against us.”
“You did warn me of mutiny,” Nicky throws in, and Alessia rolls her eyes and Daniyal shakes his head at his Dad and pouts quietly into his plate as he shoves around the carrots,
“Be cool, Dad.”
“Okay,” Joe relents, “As you wish. I withdraw my comments. Would you care to throw out a topic of conversation?”
The children begin to talk about a movie that will be coming out soon, and Nicky watches as Joe engages each of them equally, following the conversation with care and asking genuine questions when he doesn’t understand their interest or hope behind something.
“Let’s go watch the first one!” Daniyal declares, in preparation for the movie they’ve made plans to see next month. They run off to have dessert in some other room, and Nicky begins to bring the dinnerware back to the kitchen with the intention of washing the dishes at the very least.
Joe, however, has gotten to it already, loading the dishwasher and taking up decidedly too much space near the sink for Nicky to be able to slip in.
“Sit,” Joe tells him, as if reading his mind, “You’re my guest. Drink and enjoy yourself.”
Nicky wants to ask why Joe is doing all of this for him, but instead he sits and watches Joe, who says after a minute, “It’s nice to have people in the house again.”
“Someone lived here before?” Nicky asks, because it’s a statement that begs follow-up, and Joe sighs, conveniently distracted with his scrubbing,
“My brother. He had some difficulties. He decided to move to France. It was for the best, but it is quiet.”
“I had no siblings - only a friend that was like a sister. Alessia’s mother.”
“You grew up with her?”
“Yes. We went to school together, drifted apart in high school but reconnected while she was in college.”
“How did she die?” Joe asks, looking up. The running water between them fills the air, until Joe reaches over and shuts it off, his hands wet and full of suds, looking apologetic, “You don’t have to answer, if-”
“She had cancer. She went slowly. Quickly, in the grand scheme of things, but it seems slower when you watch them suffer like that.”
“I’m so sorry,” Joe says softly, and he leans against the counter, getting the midriff of his sweater wet from the water that splashed out of the sink. “That’s terrible.”
Nicky nods, then shakes his head, then stands, unwilling to dwell on it. “I loved her. And I love Alessia.”
“Of course.” Joe gives him a minute before turning the water back on and saying, “There’re leftover containers in the cupboard.” Nicky moves where Joe’s hand pointed, halfway there before he realizes he hadn’t had a destination when he stood up, and Joe had provided him with one.
Once the kitchen is clean, they move back to the living room, sitting on opposite ends of a large L-shaped couch and face each other.
“What interests you about your work?” Nicky asks, and he’s sipping ice cold bubbling water now, his head leaning against his hand. They have another hour before the movie ends and Alessia will come home without complaint.
Joe leans back against the cushions, looking up at the high ceiling and putting his hands behind his head. “Much,” he says vaguely, and then he laughs at himself when he realizes how useless that answer is. “Organizations and movements empower change, but the only way to really enact change is to challenge the laws that already exist. Rewrite them, and make them better. I was never good at inspiring people, but I am good at showing a jury what the right thing is, or should be, if it’s not. It takes time to do it this way, but it is worth it.”
They talk about some of the cases Joe has worked on, political hot topics and some of Joe’s views that sometimes don’t align entirely with Nicky’s - but they discuss civilly, and by the end, they understand the nuances of a few of the opinions, even if it hasn’t completely swayed their minds.
Nicky stands up, adjusts the clothes that have shifted from so long spent getting too comfortable on a couch. “We must be going, it’s getting late.”
“Greg will take you home - perhaps again some time?” Joe offers, courteously not drawing out the welcome.
“Certainly,” Nicky agrees, grateful for confirmation of Greg’s name, and for the lovely evening. Joe and Daniyal show them to the door, and on the endless elevator ride down to the garage, Alessia says,
“I like them. Mr. Joe is really awesome.”
“I like them too,” Nicky agrees, and Alessia gives him a look. The number of looks that are becoming increasingly difficult to interpret is rising, and Nicky is forced to ask, “What?”
Alessia looks at him for another moment, then shrugs in a slightly exaggerated way that implies he’s being thick about something. “Nothing,” she confirms, and she refuses to speak another word about it, instead relegating him with the entirety of the plot of the movie she’d just watched.
-
The trial is widely publicised, and Nicky tries to shy away from it as much as he can, since it feels too much like gossip with Joe involved. Not that he’s involved with Joe, but Joe had been private about the case, and the details that were coming out seem like a violation of that privacy, and Nicky prefers to just… stay away from it.
Besides, Joe will text every now and then, typically late at night after Alessia is fast asleep.
restore my faith in humanity. please .
Nicky writes back slowly:
the bad highlights the good. cannot have one without the other.
Or sometimes something like:
Italy or Netherlands?
To which Nicky will glance at the TV, and remember there is a football game on.
guess.
Not often, Joe will send a string of words (or in this particular case, a string of numbers) that is entirely too much effort to respond to, and Nicky will just call him.
“Are those coordinates, or a cipher of some sort?” Nicky asks, and he can hear Joe laughing from a distance, before putting the phone up to his face properly:
“I was just sending a formatted version - copy/paste failed to preserve the movie listing time format. There’s one on Saturday the kids can see, Annabella said she could go with them. We can go to dinner down the street at the Vietnamese place while we wait.”
“Dinner?” Nicky asks, and the word catches him off guard, but he’s not sure why. They’d been spending time together every weekend, having dinner at Joe’s apartment with the kids disappearing upstairs each time (though Nicky did insist on cooking once). The idea of dinner in a restaurant seemed foreign after so many meals in residence.
“If you’d like,” Joe clarifies after a pause, “Otherwise-”
“No, dinner will be good. We will see you at the movie theatre on Saturday.”
It was about that time that Nicky begins to get the idea that Joe may be courting him.
The idea made sense. The gifted bicycle he rode to work every day; the candor and intimate details Joe easily shared; the late night text messages and phone calls; the way they were getting closer and closer to each other each time they sat on that couch in Joe’s living room.
Could Joe be interested in him? It wasn’t outside the realm of possibility that Joe simply didn’t have any other friends - the man seemed to be lonely, despite his well-humored face, but they had been spending a lot of time together…
They’re at the back of the restaurant while Alessia and Daniyal are in the movie when Nicky realizes why Joe hadn’t suggested this earlier.
Someone recognizes Joe from the newspaper, the sort of person who lived in an entitled world vastly different from any reality. They see Joe there with Nicky, smiling at Nicky, leaning towards Nicky, tipping his head and watching Nicky, and they start hurling derogatory terms and insults, commenting on things they had no business speaking of, loudly and obtusely.
Joe holds onto his temper until they start talking about Nicky, and he stands so suddenly that the table rattles with its cutlery.
Nicky puts a hand on Joe’s shoulder, next to him in a heartbeat. “Please,” he tells Joe softly, and he squeezes Joe’s shoulder. “This man is not worth your time.” He turns to the man in question, hears Joe gathering their things behind him.
Nicky doesn't have an image to think about, and he says evenly: “Soon you will realize the error of your ways and be filled with shame and guilt for it - or you won’t, and you’ll continue to live this sad life of ignorance. Either way, I feel sorry for you. He is a better man than you can ever dream of being.”
The man laughs awkwardly at Nicky, glancing around the quieted restaurant. It doesn’t matter - Nicky is honest, and this man lives in crisis about his self-worth and value if he resorts to such behaviour in public.
“I had it,” Joe grumbles outside, and he’s visibly distressed and annoyed.
Nicky takes Joe’s hand; he might’ve been surprised before, but now he feels comfort when Joe pushes his fingers through Nicky’s, holding on harder for his frustrations. “There could’ve been people filming.”
“I was going to give him a piece of my mind,” Joe huffs, and Nicky also knows that.
“You’re not going to be able to change anything if you’re seen as a hothead.”
“It’s not about change-!”
“It is,” Nicky insists. “It’s about right and wrong, but that’s all for naught if there is no change.”
They arrive at the corner of the block where the theatre is, and Nicky tucks them up against an alcove. The proximity of their faces changes Joe’s mood substantially, the frustration and anger turning into realization turning into confusion, turning into realization again, and the ends of Joe’s lips curl up until he’s grinning widely.
“Are you finally going to kiss me?” Joe teases Nicky with a false tip forward, brushing their noses together.
Nicky laughs at him, “You said the right thing was worth the wait.”
“I’ve been waiting, very patiently, haven’t I?” Joe asks, impatiently, his whole body seemingly moving with the urge to close the distance between them.
“Very patiently,” Nicky concedes, and he leans forward and kisses Joe; Joe’s lips are warm and wet, herbs from the bread still lingering on his tongue, and Joe kisses gently but firmly, insistently, pushing against Nicky until they’re pressing against each other - Nicky’s hand slips into Joe’s open jacket, and he hears a melodramatic sigh that’s awkwardly familiar, and he pulls away from Joe to see Alessia standing a few feet away, looking up at the sky as she says,
“Fine-a-lly.”
Daniyal blinks at them with put-upon exhaustion, eerily reminiscent of Joe. “I thought it was never going to happen. It’s been like, ages.”
And that’s how the night of halloween got Joe and Nicky together, to the utter bafflement and despair of Lola, who’d had her eye on both.