Page 449 - A Little Life: A Novel

They had decided to tell just a few people about their relationship. First
they told Harold and Julia, which was the most rewarding and enjoyable
reveal, although Jude had been very nervous for some reason. This had

been just a couple of weeks ago, at Thanksgiving, and they had both been
so happy, so excited, and they had both hugged him and Harold had cried, a
little, while Jude sat on the sofa and watched the three of them, a small
smile on his face.
Then they told Richard, who hadn’t been as surprised as they’d
anticipated. “I think this is a fantastic idea,” he’d said, firmly, as if they’d
announced they were investing in a piece of property together. He hugged

them both. “Good job,” he said. “Good job, Willem,” and he knew what
Richard was trying to communicate to him: the same thing he had tried to
communicate to Richard when he told him, years ago, that Jude needed
somewhere safe to live, when really, he was asking Richard to look over
Jude when he could not.
Then they told Malcolm and JB, separately. First, Malcolm, who they

thought would either be shocked or sanguine, and who had turned out to be
the latter. “I’m so happy for you guys,” he said, beaming at them both.
“This is so great. I love the idea of you two together.” He asked them how it
had happened, and how long ago, and, teasingly, what they’d discovered
about the other that they hadn’t known before. (The two of them had
glanced at each other then—if only Malcolm knew!—and had said nothing,
which Malcolm had smiled at, as if it was evidence of a rich cache of sordid

secrets that he would someday unearth.) And then he’d sighed. “I’m just
sad about one thing, though,” he’d said, and they had asked him what it
was. “Your apartment, Willem,” he said. “It’s so beautiful. It must be so
lonely by itself.” Somehow, they had managed not to laugh, and he had
reassured Malcolm that he was actually renting it to a friend of his, an actor
from Spain who had been shooting a project in Manhattan and had decided

to stay on for another year or so.
JB was trickier, as they’d known he would be: they knew he would feel
betrayed, and neglected, and possessive, and that all of these feelings would
be exacerbated by the fact that he and Oliver had recently split up after
more than four years. They took him out to dinner, where there was less of a
chance (though, as Jude pointed out, no guarantee) that he would make a
scene, and Jude—around whom JB was still slightly careful and to whom

JB was less likely to say something inappropriate—delivered the news.