“Okay, so I’m a bitch?—”
“No, I still shouldn’t have been late,” I say, holding a hand up to stop her when she protests. “Or I could have texted you. You’re right—this thing with Russell has kind of swallowed up my life recently.”
“And youquit your job,” Sienna breathes, “holyshit, Jules, I never thought I’d see the day.”
“You know, nobody has expressed disappointment in me quitting,” I joke, then jerk my head toward my open laptop on the counter. One side of the screen is filled with PR associate job searches. The other is open to a document I’ve titledmy PR firm.
I’m torn between the instinct to find security again in a salaried position, and the urge to start my own firm, like Russell said. Without him there beside me, helping me and cheering me on, it feels like it might be impossible.
“Yeah, well we all knew that job sucked,” Sienna says, shaking her head. She pauses, then seems to backtrack, “Russell didn’t talk to youat allin the waiting room?”
“I mean, he didn’t give me the silent treatment,” I say, stomach swooping when I think about it, “but he left instead of answering the question. And again, when Gus asked him. So, I guess that’s my answer.”
“And he hasn’t tried to contact you?”
I dip my head guiltily, my phone weighing heavy in my pocket. Hedidcall me last night, and when I saw his name flash over the screen, my heart had skipped a beat, then I instantlyrationalized it—it was a mistake. Or he found something of mine at his condo and wanted to return it.
For the full minute the phone rang, I just stared at it, heart in my throat.
“What?” Sienna prompts, eyes roaming over my face like she’ll be able to read my thoughts that way. “Did he text you? What did he say?”
I swallow, “He called last night. And after, texted me, asking me to pick up.”
“I take it from the way you’re saying that youdidn’tcall him back?”
“Uh, no,” I admit, rubbing my eyes. “He probably just wants to return something I left at his place, or…something else like that. And I don’t think I can stomach going through the logistics of not being in his life anymore.”
“Oh,” Sienna says, setting her coffee on the counter, a look of realization settling over her face. “Oh.You’re in love with him.”
“What?” the word jumps out of me, startled, and I cross my arms over my chest like Sienna’s just walked in on me in the shower. “No—that’s not—I didn’t say that?—”
“You don’t have to,” Sienna says, getting up from the chair and stepping closer to me, wrapping her arms around my shoulders in a surprising move. She’s not usually the touchy type, but maybe our fight changed something. “People don’t say stuff like that without being in love. I would know—I read enough romance novels.”
I let out a breath, hugging her back for long enough that tears spring to my eyes. The wholeSienna reading romance novelsis a surprise, but I’m too tied up in the hug to think about it. With Gus feeling so fragile and Russell suddenly out of my life, I can’t remember the last time I really, really hugged someone.
“Sorry,” I mutter, slightly choked, when Sienna eventually disentangles herself, brushing her hands down the front of her dress.
“Don’t be,” she says, shooting me a crooked grin. “I’m trying this wholephysical touchthing. My therapist says I’m too closed off, and it’s part of the reason I suspected the worst of you the other day. It’s a coping mechanism—pushing people away is easier, and less painful, than letting them in.”
“Holy shit,” I say, raising my eyebrows at her. “You reallyareworking on yourself.”
She does a little curtsy and returns to her stool, shifting until she’s comfortable and grabbing her coffee again. “I am. And I think—hear me out, as the girl with all the therapy talk rolling around in her head—that you should face Russell head on. Talk to him. You can’t just assume what you think he’s going to say and avoid him forever.”
“Ha,” I say in a breath, “right.”
Luckily, the moment—and Sienna’s next round of life coaching—is interrupted by the sound of little feet in the hallway. We both turn to find Gus standing just outside his room, rubbing at his eyes.
“Mommy,” he says, yawning. “Can I have waffles?”
“I’ll make them,” Sienna says, once again surprising me when she slides off her stool. In all the time we’ve been friends, she’s always felt awkward about me having Gus, since she doesn’t have any of her own. Other than the occasional fraught babysitting favor, she mostly avoids coming around the apartment.
Gus climbs up into my lap, and I wrap my arms around him, settling my face in his hair. Sometimes, when I get my nose just in the right spot, I can catch a whiff of what he smelled like as a tiny baby, nestled on my chest in the hospital, or fresh out of a bath.
As Sienna slides the frozen waffles into the toaster, Gus shifts against my chest and asks into my sweater, “Mommy, is Russell coming to my play?”
His Christmas play—which will be televised across North America—is in two days. Without the routine of school and work, there’s been a lot more time for him to be nervous, and a lot more time for practicing lines and focusing on the performance as he heals from the surgery.
This is the third time he’s asked me about Russell coming. I don’t know if he doesn’t remember Russell at his bedside, or if this is just him trying to cope with the sudden loss of a solid presence in our lives, but either way, it makes my chest tight to the point of pain.
