“Priorities?” Maura offered.
“Sì, sì. Their priorities. But, in Italy, I think we already knew. We already put the art first, the food first, the passion first,” she explained, a sweep of her arm encompassing the entire shop. “And we already put the family first. We did not need the strings to tell us what is most important.”
Jack
The last of Javier’s duffels had been dragged to the front hall, ready to be loaded into his father’s van and begin the fourteen-hour drive to the army post in Alabama, where he was due to start his training in aviation. But Mr. and Mrs. García were still a half hour away, so Javi was sitting atop his suitcase, waiting.
He wasn’t supposed to be leaving this early. He and Jack were supposed to spend their last week together. But after their fight, Javi decided to spend his remaining time with his parents.
Of course Javi wanted to be with his family, Jack thought. He actually liked his family. As far as Jack knew, the only lie that Javi had ever told his parents was about his string. And he spared them that truth out of love.
Jack had never been that honest with his own family, at least not when it mattered most. After his wife left, Jack’s father became utterly devoted to his career, overseeing Department of Defense contracts. He dated a few well-heeled, well-bred women, at his sister Katherine’s request, but his work stole all his attention. Jack could sense that his father needed to succeed in order to maintain their status in the family, to erase the stain that his mother had inflicted—and needed Jack to succeed, too.
Grandpa Cal was perhaps the only one who might have understood Jack, who wouldn’t have mocked or berated him for speaking his mind. But there was just no way that Jack could have walked into his grandfather’s oak-paneled living room, where three of his ancestors’ nineteenth century muskets were mounted on the wall, alongside a framed Bronze Star, and confessed that he couldn’t do what so many Hunters had done.
He simply couldn’t admit that maybe there was another path for him, one that wouldn’t give him chills in the middle of the night or tension headaches when he thought of the future. And he certainly couldn’t say it without proposing an alternative, something respectable like law or politics. Yet as much as Jack knew that he wasn’t meant for the army, he didn’t know what he was meant for. He had no real passion, no sense of direction （outside of where his family had steered him）。 He wasn’t like everyone else—Grandpa Cal, Javier, the rest of the army, that doctor who died at the protest. Even Anthony and Katherine had a goal, albeit misguided. And now, after his “short string” had effectively demoted Jack to a low-level desk job in D.C., he felt more aimless than ever, his uniform merely an ill-fitting costume.
Jack had to remind himself that it wasn’t such a crime to feel lost—he was only twenty-two, after all. Wasn’t this the time in your life when you were allowed to feel adrift?
And hadn’t the arrival of the boxes sent so many people astray, a gust that blew them off course?
But the uncomfortable irony wasn’t lost on Jack that he had been given a long string, a long life, and yet he didn’t know how to spend it, while Javi was the one with purpose.
Jack already felt like a failure in so many ways—as a soldier, a son, a productive member of society. He didn’t want to fail as a friend, too.
Jack needed to show Javi how sorry he was and how grateful he felt for their friendship, from the very first day at the academy to the night that Javi agreed to his plan.
Their friendship was the only part of Jack’s life that he’d ever felt certain about.
When Jack stepped out of his room, Javier was still seated pensively on his luggage.
“I know I’m probably the last person you want to see right now, but I couldn’t let you leave without saying goodbye,” Jack said. “And apologizing.”
Javi just nodded quietly.
“I know I’ve been a shitty friend ever since the switch, and you don’t deserve to be punished for my issues,” Jack said. “I hope you know that I’m really proud of you, Javi. You’re twice the man I’ll ever be.”
Javier looked up at his friend, appearing touched by the tribute.
Jack’s eyes were swollen, his face shaded with ungroomed stubble, yet Javi still looked the same as their first day as roommates, when Jack had met Javi’s parents and noticed how nervous they seemed, hesitant to leave their son. Jack had given them his word, then, that he would look out for Javi. They were in it together.