Noah

Shrugging out of my jacket, I opened the door to the terrace and stepped outside. It wasn't the heat of Cali I'd gotten used to; it was perfect. Fresh air. I unbuttoned the top button of my shirt too, and I could finally breathe.

I kicked a football that was in my path, alerting Julian to my presence.

"Food's almost ready if you're hungry." I sat down next to him with a grunt, the old swing creaking with age.

"I'm not, but thanks." He stared out at nothing. I couldn’t see his features clearly, though his eyes shone from the light in the house.

I stared ahead too, enjoying the silence. I saw when Sophie and my uncle's wife came into the living room. Probably announcing that dinner was ready.

"You stayin' with Gerald and Trudy?" I asked.

He shrugged. "Yeah, for now."

And then what? We didn't know each other that well, but it didn't seem healthy for him to take off on his own. Even at twenty-three, he was very young. To go from having everything to nothing like that wasn’t easy.

"Do you need me around for lawyers and whatnot?" he wondered. "I'm not sure I can deal with that."

I shook my head. "Not much to settle. Aside from the house, I'm signing over everything into your name."

Maybe the house would be his one day too, but for now, I wanted it to stay my parents'. It was too soon to go through everything, and I wasn't hurting for money. I'd have the furniture covered and hire someone to clean until I was ready.

"Let me know if you need help with your dad's will."

"Our family lawyer's already contacted me," he responded. "Grandpa said he could fix it for me. I don't care. I don't want anything."

He'd find it useful one day, when he felt better.

"I know we're not close," I told him, "but you can always come out and visit me in LA."

It was what I had to give. I couldn’t stay in Pittsburgh much longer. The pain was too fucking much in this city, and I had no energy to go with him to Berlin—if that was where he wanted to stay.

Tennyson had not-so-subtly suggested I try therapy or grief counseling, and maybe it was a good idea. But I needed to be on my own turf, and only my loft felt like home.

Julian didn't acknowledge my offer, which was fine with me. I didn't know his thoughts or his needs.

"Did you mean what you said at the service?" he asked softly after a while. "About not knowing how to go on."

I nodded slowly, my mind already fuzzy. I remembered most of what I'd said, but since it hadn't been rehearsed, it wasn't all there. I knew I'd meant every word, though.

"Yeah."

He swallowed audibly. "I don't know, either."

As the adult, so to speak, I reckoned this was where I was supposed to have some golden advice, but I had absolute shit.

Part of me wanted to get buried in work, though there was no way I'd pull through. I wouldn’t be able to deliver and stay committed. There was no motivation or inspiration.

"Well, my offer stands, kid." I gave his leg a pat as I stood up. "Come out whenever you want. I probably won't be the best company, but I have plenty of room and LA is full of distractions."

I began walking back to the house; then I remembered something I wanted to tell him, so I stopped and turned.

"Julian, did you major in music?"

He lifted his head as if it weighed a ton. "And art. Why?"

"I could tell. You were great today."

"Oh. Thank you." He looked down again. "I wasn't sure I should do it. Dad wasn't stoked about me going with not one, but two directions where it's not easy to get a job."

My mouth twisted up, if only a little. Sure sounded like something James would say. "That’s what parents do. You think my folks were thrilled when I said I wanted to study film?" But much like mine, Julian's mom and dad were…had been…good people. "You know what my pop did when I landed my first big project, though? He took me out for a beer and was happy to admit he'd been wrong. James would have done the same thing."

He bobbed his head slowly. "Okay."

I watched him, wondering if there was a protocol I didn't know about. Was I supposed to press? What would I even say in that case? I was at a loss and figured it was probably best to give him space. Either he believed me or he didn't. Or he needed to digest, fuck if I knew.

He had my number, my address, and my email. If he wanted help or whatever, he could contact me whenever.

With that thought, I headed back inside to force some food into me. I'd rather go straight for the bottle, but that could wait until I was alone.