“He’s good,” she says, but the way her eyes shift down to the left tells me she’s a liar.
I stare at her, waiting for her to be honest.
“Fine. He’s... better than you’d expect. Honestly, he’s great in so many ways. He’s just...” The weird string of a sentence clues me in on the fact that he’s probably not any of those things, but no one can really put a finger on everything he is. Grief changes people. And though I know his relationship with Audrey was unusual, there was always genuine love and respect between them. “He misses you.”
The words cut through my line of thought.
“You mean her... you mean Audrey,” I correct but Emily slowly shakes her head. “Don’t... don’t...” Don’t what? I search for my reprimand but I don’t know what I don’t want her to do.Don’t insinuate? Don’t bring him up? Don’t put thoughts in my head? Don’t...
“I didn’t mean for Alyson to bring the book so I’m sorry that Ibrought him upby doing that,” she says, holding air quotes around the words and simultaneously reading my mind. I remain stoic, nodding at her apology and trying to compartmentalize how and why this rattles me so much. “Hey,” she coaxes. “He’s fine. Okay?’
“I’m happy for him,” I respond, but my jaw feels funny. It aches from tension, yet is slack with an impending tremble. I hate this. The mention of his name makes me come undone, even the hinge of my jaw doesn’t hinge properly.
“Julia.” A plea from my sister, really. Her eyes drift over my shoulder. Lena and Claire are standing behind me.
“You can say it in front of them, whatever it is.” I shrug.
She chews her lip, hesitating for only a moment. “You know, I just don’t get it. You two were hardly even together—never official. He never even met Mom like that. Neither of you had a drawer at the other’s place. How are you both so tied to each other? It’s weird.”
“I don’t know,” I breathe.
“I do.” Claire steps forward. “You didn’t see them together like we did. It was short and fast and never forever but, oh my God, when he called me when she was in the hospital, I got off the phone and called Lena and as soon as she answered we said the same thing: he’s going to marry her. And yeah, they flopped around and never were officially together but they mattered to each other. And they still do. No one loves two people the exact same. No one. I know Julia loves Donavan but I also know JP was so close to being her person.”
Emily’s eyes swell like Claire hit a nerve. She processes for a moment. “Maybe I just don’t get to see that side of my sister.”
“Maybe you just haven’t been paying attention,” Lena adds.
The sidewalk quakes with silence as Emily absorbs what my two best friends just told her. Just as she opens her mouth to speak, the glass doors twirl open, and my mother and niece emerge hand-in-hand.
“Good news. I took your measurements and the dress will be here in two weeks and went ahead and scheduled your final fitting for Wednesday the 25th. You’ll have lost some bloat by then, right?”
“Oh, Mom, fuck off,” Emily says without hesitation. “Come on, Julia. We’re going back to your place.”
I stand on the sidewalk, dumbfounded by all three lines of defense going to battle for me in different ways, then shrug at my mom and follow my little sister down the sidewalk.
I WARM MY COLD HANDSagainst the mug of chamomile tea.
“I’m sorry. I’ve just been so blinded by my own life—marriage, kids.” Emily shakes her head. “I mean, I knew you had a thing but it wasn’t like athingin my head.”
I rest a hand on her arm. “First of all, cut the dramatics. I didn’t tell you the extent of things so how would you know? And two, I didn’t tell you because I wasn’t about to call my sister and cry about a situationship.” I flash a deep grin and she almost mimics it, but her expression changes as if she’s realized something.
“You cry over him?”
I shrug. “Here and there.”
A chuckle escapes her chest. “Were you guys like... in love?”
I shift the mug between my hands as I contemplate. Being with JP was like being vividly conscious of each heartbeat of falling in love. We’re a love story measured in moments. In movie nights and card games. In fortune tellers and fast food. An infinity of almosts that sunk us deeper and never let us go.
“Almost,” I say, placing the word like a Band-Aid on the question.
The refrigerator hums between us, amplifying my sister’s silence before she finally asks, “Are you sure you want to marry Donavan?”
Before I can answer, the door to the apartment swings open and Donavan appears, dapper as ever. His tired face brightens at the sight of me and he drops his leather laptop bag and steps to me in one swift moment, taking my face in his hands and kissing me, making me forget every thought I’ve had up until this point.
“I missed you,” he hums against my lips and pulls back. Then he turns to my sister. “Hey, Emily.”
“Hi, Donavan.” She forces a smile at my fiancé.
