Up in the Air

Chapter 29

I bit back my own answering grin – admittedly, it was funny –when Mr. Pitt shot his son a warning look. "So, Sara, why don't you tell us about this project that you and Julian are," he paused, as if he still hadn't accepted our explanation, "working on?"

"A photo-essay. I work on the essay bit and Julian takes the pictures." I smiled at Julian. "And he's very talented. His photos are," I searched for the right word. "Unexpected."

His father groaned. "Please don't tell us he takes pictures of people in the nude –"

Julian swore under his breath, so quietly only I heard.

"Of course not," I quickly replied. "His photographs ... Let's just say they catch you off guard in their subtlety."

Next to me, Julian scoffed. "You thought the picture of a bruised and bloody hand was subtle?"

"Not at first glance," I admitted. "When you first looked at it, it was bold and very in-your-face. You took a picture of your hand after you punched someone in the face –"

"It was actually in the gut," Julian answered with gritted teeth.

His parents gestured for me to continue.

"There's a biting kind of intelligence hiding behind it – in all of Julian's pictures, in fact," I explained. "Julian's pictures are beautiful in a way that's smart and understated – very left-of-center based on what I know about him."

"Or you could just be reading too much into a bunch of stupid pictures," Julian mumbled.

"Or she may be reading the truth," his father corrected with a small smile. "People imprint a lot of themselves – their personality, their desires – in the things they create."

I nodded. "Miss Lyle says we reveal a lot about ourselves in our writing –"

"And that's the difference," Julian cut me off. "I take pictures – I don't write."

I smirked. "A lesser person would bring up an old cliché about picture being worth a thousand words."

"Of course you're above that, aren't you, Preston?" Julian mocked.

I grinned as a waiter arrived with a tray of appetizers.

Julian's mother stopped our small argument from growing bigger with a question about her son's photography.

The meal passed by in a breeze with both of his parents asking him a barage of questions. Julian looked uncomfortable at the beginning. But the pride he had for his work overcame his discomfort soon enough and I no longer had to put a conscious effort in making sure there weren't any awkward silences.

When the four of us stood up to leave, Mrs. Pitt gave me another hug – this time I was a lot more prepared and politely returned it – while Mr. Pitt gave me a fatherly pat on the shoulder.

"I have to drive Preston back home," Julian told his parents.

"Dinner is at seven," his mother reminded him, holding her arms out for a hug.

As Julian rolled his eyes and obliged his mother, I excused myself and walked a few steps away to give them some privacy.

His mother gave him a kiss on the cheek and whispered something in his ear. He pulled away, blinked three times and chuckled grimly. "I am not doing that."

She gave me a sly look then smiled again at her son. "Tu devrais tenter ta chance, qu'est-ce que tu as à perdre?"