“That’s fair.” He unleashes his perfect smile. “I’m holding the fact that you think placentas arecuteagainst you.”
A real laugh bubbles out of me. “Pink blobfish,” I correct.
“Hey, you said it.”
I shake my head, smiling as I meet his eyes. “It was good to meet you, JP.”
“You too, Julia.”
Our stare holds for a beat. His teeth sink into his bottom lip, and I can tell he’s contemplating something. But instead of speaking it, he unlatches his seatbelt and stands, pulling his carry-on out of the overhead compartment.
“Is yours the green one?” he asks.
“I can get it,” I say, half-standing and slinging my purse over my shoulder.
“Never said you couldn’t.” He pulls the suitcase down and slides up the handle.
I nod a thank you as the plane fills with sounds of chatter on phone calls and stressed-out parents trying to calm their restless children.
JP takes a step back, allowing me to exit the row and head down the aisle to the terminal before him.
“Where are you staying?” he asks, as we walk together down the terminal.
I give him some side-eye and twist my lips. “Stranger danger.”
He laughs and scrubs a hand down his face. “All right. Well, then, I’ll see you at the gender reveal party.”
It’s not a question. He’s not pushing the subject. He’s taking the hint. But as he walks away, I realize I don’t want him to.
And this is the moment. I can let him walk away and see him tomorrow at the party. Or I can...
“Hey,” I call, and he turns around slowly. “Want to grab dinner later?”
He twists his lips. “Stranger danger,” he shoots my words back at me.
My mouth drops, not hiding an ounce of my rejection.
His smile morphs into a laugh. “I’m kidding,” he says, stepping closer to me. His gaze falls to the blush on my cheeks.
“I’m not looking for anything serious but I wouldn’t mind the company.”
He nods, grinning down at me. “Name the time and place.”
“The Pink Door. Eight o’clock,” I answer.
“See you there.”
two
AFTER CALLING MY SISTERto let her know I arrived safely, I head to my hotel for the night to shower and get ready quickly before heading to the restaurant. I contemplate texting my mother to let her know I’m in town but think better of it. We only communicate when necessary and operate around each other instead of with each other, in order to keep the peace.
Hence, why I got a hotel in downtown Seattle instead of staying with her. Plus, downtown Bellevue is a simulation, and I’d much rather take a twenty-minute rideshare to my mother’s house than stay there.
Some people have tight-knit, pinky-swear relationships with their parents, and I’m not one of them. I had the fight-with-mom-and-call-Gramma-to-fix-it relationship. Gramma Elle was purebred cinnamon rolls and warm hugs. She was often the bridge between my mom and me when we were at each other’s throats growing up. Gramma Elle said Mom and I didn’t get along because she’s a Taurus and I’m a Leo—both stubborn according to astrology. But I don’t care what her sign is; it’s not an excuse to treat her daughter like the last pick of the litter.
It all started when I was eight years old, and my father died in a car accident. Grief hits people in different ways, and my mother took all her grief out on me. I lived in a world where it was better to be quiet than to say the right things the wrong way.
My mother writes compassion so magically in her novels—at least, she used to before she tapped out—and yet, she hasn’t shown a drop of it to me. That’s a funny thing I’ve learnedabout writers: they are never exactly who you think they are when you read their books. That’s why they can write killers and psychopaths so easily—they’re all deranged to some extent. Even the romance writers—the pretty smiles and happily-ever-afters are all smoke and mirrors distracting us from who they actually are.
