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It was an open-air café along the Seine, with about half the tables full. Clinging tightly to Charlie's hand, Nick looked around, suddenly worried that somehow he might not recognise his dad.
Then there he was, standing up, taking off his sunglasses, waving, and calling Nick's name.
It always felt odd seeing his dad for the first time in a while. He looked like a stranger. Like some fancy businessperson sitting down with him, instead of someone he loved, who was his family.
"Would you feel better if I waited here?" Charlie asked, and Nick turned to him, surprised, realising that Charlie thought his hesitation was to do with him.
"No." He wanted Charlie with him, wanted someone there who knew him. "No, please come with me."
Charlie smiled and nodded, and Nick set off through the café toward his father, secure in the knowledge that Charlie was behind him.
As they approached, Nick's dad laughed with pleasure at the sight of him. In French he said, "You've grown so much! What happened? Playing a lot of rugby?"
"Yeah, a bit," Nick agreed, also in French. Then, in English, he said to Charlie, "This is my dad, Stephane. This is my—" He wanted to say it, but somehow he couldn't bring his mouth to say the word 'boyfriend' in front of his father.
"I'm Charlie."
"Nice to meet you, Charlie. Coffee? Coffee?" He pointed at both of them. Without waiting for a response, he signaled the waiter.
They all sat. Nick thought his father's smile seemed forced. Maybe he wasn't the only one who was nervous about seeing each other again. That would be nice. It had never occurred to him that his father could be nervous.
To Charlie, his dad said, "So, you meet Nick in school?"
"Yeah."
"Ah. Great." Smiling at Nick, he reached across the table and squeezed his arm. "So good to see you in Paris! You never visit."
"Oh, uh …" Honestly, he couldn't remember the last time he was invited.
"When he was younger, he would visit every summer," his dad explained to Charlie. Then, to Nick, "When do you graduate? Must be soon now."
"Uh … I've still got two more years left." That was the kind of thing that always got him. How hard was it to remember how old he was?
"Ah." At least his dad had the grace to look embarrassed. He said, "I would have invited you this summer, but Martine is having this new kitchen fitted. The apartment is a mess."
"That's okay. Um … you know, I'd still like to meet her sometime, if you wanted me to." He'd never even seen a picture. Every time he'd brought her up since she and his dad got married, the idea of them meeting was put off. David had met her, and talked about her like they were best friends, but he had never actually told Nick anything about her.
His dad nodded. "Yeah. Yeah. Yeah. Perhaps someday soon, mm?" But the implication was clear. Not now, at least. "Now, tell me about this school trip. Have you been seeing the sights of Paris?"
"Yeah, most of them. We went to the Eiffel Tower, uh … Sacre Coeur … uh …"
"The Louvre this morning," Charlie added.
"Yeah. It's been really fun."
His dad's phone rang, and he excused himself to take the call.
Nick sat back and crossed his arms. This had been so much what he had expected, no real connection.
"You doing okay?" Charlie asked him.
"I think so."
His dad came back. "I'm sorry, boys. Something has come up and I just can't get out of it."
"Oh. Uh …" Nick wasn't sure what to do with that.
"But I haven't told you my news. I'm coming to England next week. Small business trip."
"Oh, um …" Getting to his feet, Nick heard himself say, "You should come to dinner. I'm sure Mum would be okay with it, and David will want to see you." He was far from sure his mum would be okay with it. She would be a good sport, but he really should have asked her first. He could have kicked himself.
"Ah, I miss that boy," his father agreed. Nick wondered if he ever said that about him. "Ha! We'll see. I'll talk to your mother." He put down some money and looked up at Nick, saying in French, "Keep up with the rugby. Girls love rugby players." He chuckled. "David always had lots of girlfriends when he was your age."
Nick wanted to tell him, but it wasn't even a real conversation. It was an afterthought. He didn't want this to be an afterthought. He wanted it to matter.
"Was good to meet you, Charlie," his dad said in English. "Wonderful to meet one of Nick's friends."
"Yeah. You, too."
In French, he said, "I'll call you later. Huh?"
And then he was gone, walking away from them down the river. Nick sat, disappointment filling him.
Charlie sat, too, his eyes on Nick's face. "Wow. That was … fast."
"I really thought I could talk to him about you."
"It's okay. There'll be other chances."
Nick looked down the river, his father nearly disappeared among the other people out and about. "He just doesn't … He doesn't know me. I mean, he knows I like rugby, and … that's it." He had wondered about that—cried about it, not a few times—all his life. Was it something that he had done, something that he was? David and his dad were closer, they bonded over things, David spent time in Paris, but Nick … somehow they never connected.
Charlie reached for his hand. "Let's walk back to the coach. You can rant about him the whole way there."
"Okay. But—I think I don't want to talk about him anymore, if that's all right." He needed some space from the whole thing.
"Of course. As long as you know you can talk to me, if you want to."
"I do. Thank you, Charlie."