I could see the pain on every line of JP’s face. Pain that more or less stemmed from difficulty being there and saying thank you every time someone offered their condolences.
By the time I place the last vase of white roses in the back of Audrey’s parent’s car and tell them goodbye, I realize I don’t know where JP is. Donavan left at least an hour ago to be with his son. Austin and Emily soon after that because the girls were restless and in need of naps. JP’s mother hugged me for a solid ten seconds before she left with George and the rest of JP’s family. I stayed well beyond my welcome, helping clear the tables of flowers and stack chairs for the groundskeeper, Errold.
I wander the dim and vacant halls of the church, peeking in each classroom to see if I can find JP. I’m almost certain heslipped out without a goodbye until I reach the last classroom. Based on the coloring pages hanging on the wall, the building blocks in the corner, and the size of the miniature tables and chairs, I assume it’s for kindergarteners.
The lights are off and light slicing through the miniblinds reveals every single dust particle in the air. JP is sitting on a table, his shoulders slouched and his hands gripping the edge of the table. He doesn’t stir or turn around when I enter the room and take a seat next to him.
I open my mouth to say something but I don’t have the right words, so I curl my arm around his shoulder and pull him against me, resting my chin on my shoulder.
“I love you, JP,” I whisper.
He sniffs and his eyes are glassy, but his perfect face is tear-free. “I don’t know what to do.”
I don’t have an answer so I stay quiet, contemplating.
“I think...” I begin, swallowing against my dry throat, willing myself not to cry. “I think it’s like you knew the plane was going to crash and you’ve been bracing for impact for the last year and a half. Now that it’s crashed, your body can’t decide what emotion to allow to take over. Sadness. Pain. Fear. Relief. There’s a lot to process all at once.”
I glance over at him and tears are falling now, drifting past his chin and soaking his suit like rain drops.
“I did love her, Jules. It just—” he lets out a quick noise of frustration and drags a hand down his face.
“You two were complicated. But I know you loved her and I know she was so grateful for you. You saved her—”
“I didn’t!” He raises his voice and it echoes in the quiet room. “I didn’t save her. And now I’m wondering what it was all for.”
I grab his hand and hold it close to my chest. “Stop,” I whisper, then kiss his knuckles. “If she were here, she would be so pissed at you for wallowing in your own pity.”
A rough laugh tumbles out of him, and I take his face in my hands, wiping the tears running down his face with my thumbs.
“You know what?” I clear my throat as he meets my eyes. “Healthy coping mechanisms are bullshit right now. Let’s go get drunk.”
“AUDREY WOULD BE SOproud,” I remark as we sit in the second bar of the night. This one is mustier than the first, but the bartender is nicer. Though, that might be because I drank a second whiskey sour at the first bar and turned into a blubbery mess as we reminisced about Audrey and all her shenanigans.
By the time we wound up here at this old bar with sticky floors and a jukebox, my tears morphed into laughter, and the weight on JP’s shoulders seemed to disappear.
“Do you remember when you first met Audrey?” he asks, rotating his beer bottle between two fingers, laughter humming around the edges of the question.
“Yes,” I laugh out the answer. “The memory of seeing how stunning yourfiancéewas when I was still in love with you is forever ingrained in my mind.”
His laughter ceases, and his smile drops into a frown. “What?”
I chase the cotton lining my mouth with beer as I realize what I just said. I quickly change the subject. “You will have many great loves...” my voice trails as the memory between us ignites.
His eyes sparkle in the dim light of the bar, and something consuming takes hold of his expression as he finishes the sentence, “But most of them will be me.”
We stare at each other for what feels like the longest moment. He swallows. My fingers tap the condensation on my beer bottle. George Michael plays in the background. “CarelessWhisper” cuts through my chest like a thousand knives with each word he sings.
“Dance with me,” he says, and I shake my head, less to say no and more to hide the tide of emotion flooding my eyes. “Come on,” he coaxes me softly.
“Someone might roofie us,” I argue because the need to touch him floods my senses. The ache I feel for him scares me because I can’t want him anymore and I’m afraid friendship won’t do.
He shrugs then says, “We’ve had enough to drink anyway,” as he holds his hand out to me.
With a dramatic roll of my eyes, I take his hand and slip off the bar stool and into his arms.
“Don’t make it weird,” I whisper, feeling the rough scrape of his stubble against my temple.
“That’s your job,” he bites back, spinning me out and curling me back into his arms. We makeshift tango across the bar even though the tempo of the perfect 80s breakup song doesn’t warrant it. We bump into empty stools and laugh at the top of our lungs as he spins me until I’m dizzy. We’re drunk enough to think we look good, but not so drunk that we don’t know we are borderline obnoxious. As the song nears its end, my laughter turns breathless as I curl my arms around his neck. “I Can’t Make You Love Me” by Bonnie Raitt starts to play.
