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Joe saw his worst mistake standing in the fruits and vegetable aisle.
There was something dreamlike about it, looking up from perusing the garlic to spy his biggest regret picking through the oranges like his very presence wasn't shaking the earth beneath Joe's feet.
In Joe's memory, Nicky di Genova was an awkward, skinny teenager yet to grow into his eyes, his nose, or his hands. Like a puppy tripping over paws three sizes too big that you just knew would be huge one day, Nicky had loped around the academy catching his hips and his elbows and his knees on everything. He'd always been bruised around the edges, Joe remembered. Spots of purple and blue peeking out from clothes that always seemed a touch too-small for him, even when they were so clearly brand new and expensive.
And puppy-like also in Joe's memory was the way Nicky had followed him around, those too-big eyes fixed on him like if he just stared enough, Nicky would get a different reaction from Joe. A kinder reaction than Joe ever gave him.
Ten feet down the aisle, Nicky lifted an orange to his nose (still big, Joe had to admit, but it suited him now. The strong features of his face balanced it out much better) and smiled as he sniffed it. He held it carefully in his last two fingers as he picked up another. Those too-big hands were graceful now, all his past clumsiness seemed gone from him.
For years, Joe had replayed their final conversation over and over in his mind. He wants to say he regretted it as soon as those hateful words came out of his mouth, but he knows himself too well and he's done too much work for that. He had felt guilty that Nicky was so obviously hurt, but true regret hadn't come till later; later when Nicky wouldn't even so much as look at him.
It had just been so much. So much to have the one person who seemed to have everything Joe didn't follow him around, pushing and pushing at him.
Joe had talent, yes, talent enough that learning came easier, but Nicky had been a child savant. Joe's family had been supportive, but kind in it. If Joe had changed his mind and dropped out of the academy before getting anywhere near Julliard, his family would have welcomed him back home with open arms.
Nicky's family pushed him. Had him in piano lessons almost as soon as he could sit upright; refused to accept less than his best because they knew he could do better. Had bought him the best of everything, paid for additional private tuition on top of the already high fees, pushed and pushed and pushed him and Nicky had excelled beyond anyone's wild dreams.
Joe had been so seethingly envious, so wild with jealousy that he feels sick now to remember it.
He met other child savants as he moved through first his education, then his career. Other people pushed hard by parents more interested in accolades than their children's happiness.
He never met another one like Nicky. Nicky's attempts at friendship had been clumsy; rough around the edges and (in hindsight) clearly informed by his childhood of endless pushing, but Nicky had been kind. And funny. And tried so very, very hard.
Down the aisle, oblivious to his transfixed audience, Nicky wandered away from the oranges towards the tomatoes. Joe watched him pick through them with the same dreamy expression on his face and swallowed hard.
Fifteen years of regrets didn't go down particularly easily.
In an ideal world Joe would say something clever. Would have a witty opening line that would make Nicky look at him and smile at him and make everything between okay again, all by virtue of one quip and a wink.
In the real world, all Joe had was:
'Nicky? Nicky di Genova? Is that you?'