It wasn’t all kinds of people at her party. A few of Fiona’s social justice–type coworkers, whose earnest faces rang vaguely familiar from her wedding; some crunchy-looking white people who were probably Fi and Bobby’s neighbors （this was Silver Lake, after all）; the paunchy middle-aged Asian guys who formed Bobby’s college friend group and their milfy wives, who all looked significantly more fit than their husbands, and younger by years. I’d mentioned this phenomenon once to Fiona, and she asked if I thought of her and Bobby like that. I told her the truth. She put him on a low-carb diet and now they worked out with a personal trainer twice a week.
I started drinking. Midnight was still a couple hours off. I thought about waking up Gracie for an auntie hang, but Fi said Bobby’s parents were babysitting for the night. Then, in the middle of a kitchen conversation, in walked someone new. He looked no older than thirty, save for a head of graying hair that he wore brushed back on top, the sides and back cut short and neat. He was a beautiful man, dark gold skin and hawk’s eyes, black and darting. He had a melancholy mouth, with full sensuous lips.
I wasn’t the only one who noticed. “Who’s that?” Fiona’s coworker asked. I couldn’t remember her name. Sherrie, or Sheryl, I thought. She had on a cream-colored shift dress with rosebuds embroidered on the chest, the fit-and-flare skirt tight over her hips. A white mini-fascinator rested on one side of her head, a crazy thing with tulle netting and feather quills.
“He’s cute,” said Sheryl. “But too short for me.” Just a minute ago she was complaining about how the last two guys she dated, a Viet and a Korean before that, both broke up with her because they said they couldn’t get serious with a white girl.
“That’s Julian. Bobby’s boy from back in the day,” said Elena. Her ex-husband was also a part of Bobby’s old crew. Elena got full custody, the condo, and Bobby and Fi in the divorce. She was dressed like a normal person, in dark jeans and a navy blue sweater with bits of silver thread around the neck. “He just quit the Marines.” Elena lowered her voice. “I heard he’s screwed up in the head.”
I said I’ve never heard Fiona mention him at all.
“He was in Afghanistan,” Elena continued in a whisper. “What I heard was he got captured one time, some kind of raid—”
“I bet he’s got a hottie body,” Sheryl said. “Is he Mexican? Elena, you can tell.”
Elena raised an eyebrow. “Not everyone brown’s Mexican,” she said. “Julian’s Filipino,” she added.
“I don’t think that,” Sheryl said.
“You thought I was Mexican for the longest time,” Elena said.
Sheryl said that wasn’t true, and Elena just smiled. I liked that Elena enjoyed teasing her. Not all of Fi’s mommy-friends were funny like that.
Julian stood by the door, nudging his shoes off. He wore a plain white T-shirt and rumpled khaki pants that hung baggy around the ankles. I clocked him at about five-six, maybe five-seven, tops. His gaze seemed to fly around the room, looking for somewhere safe to land. One hand gripped the neck of a bottle wrapped in brown paper.
Bobby barreled over from the living room and swooped him up in a back-pounding bear hug. They stood back and grinned at each other, then performed an elaborate handshake, slapping palms, pounding fists. At the end of it, Bobby threw an arm around Julian’s neck and dragged him over to the kitchen to make introductions. Captain De Leon, Bobby called him, and Julian’s face flushed red.
Julian leaned over and gave Elena a kiss on the cheek. “Long time,” he said, then started to say something about the divorce. She waved it away. “How’s your brother doing out in Virginia?” she asked.
He shook hands with me and Fi’s coworker. Her name, it turned out, was Carol, not Sheryl.
Bobby tapped Julian’s chest with the back of his hand. “Look at this tough little shit. I’ve known this Ilocano muhfucka since before his balls dropped.” He made a move to grab Julian’s junk, which turned into a shoving match. Elena and I moved out of the way, but somehow Carol caught an elbow in the stomach. She stumbled back against the counter. The glass of red wine she was holding spilled down the front of her dress.
“Oh shit. I’m sorry,” said Julian. “It was an accident—”
“This is silk crepe,” Carol cried. Her face turned bright pink. “Bobby! It’s ruined! What am I supposed to—”