“I was thinking maybe you and Victoria could stay in for the night?” I said, adding a little pleading for good measure. “The kids won’t even bother you. I swear.”
“This is really weird, Jules. What if he’s like… a serial killer or something?”
“I think he’s too famous to be a serial killer. I get the impression those guys are really into anonymity.” I paused, then added, “But just in case he is, please add to my headstone: ‘Killed by award-winning actor Chris Jones.’ Thank you!”
I was extra sarcastic. Maybe I shouldn’t have been, since I was already asking a lot. I didn’t know what to expect next. For her to get into the joke or slap me. With Carol, it could easily be either. Or both.
“He’s like… from Hollywood…” Surprisingly, she did neither. Her tone shifted to a serious one, knowingly touching on a sore subject.
“I know…” My voice and chest dropped with the weight of it.
“Are you sure you want to get involved with that?”
I could see her expression of concern from the corner of my eye, and it hit me in the gut. I loved her passion, but I wasthe older sister. I was supposed to worry about her, not the other way around. So, I tried to lighten the mood.
“It’s just a date. He’s not putting me in a bag and dragging me to L.A.” I forced a smile. “Unless he is, in fact, a serial killer and wants to bury my body parts in his backyard or something.”
It worked. Carol cracked a smile.
“You’resucha creep.”
She sighed dramatically, tilting her head to the side like she was really weighing her options. As if! Carol and Victoria were the queens of turning a big night out into a Netflix binge marathon with no regrets. Finally, she let out an exaggerated groan and grinned.
“I feel like I should fight this harder, but let’s be real… There’s no way I’m standing in the way of you going out with Chris Fucking Jones.”
“Can you please stop calling him ‘Chris Fucking Jones’?” I shot her a look, trying to sound annoyed, but the grin tugging at my lips gave me away.
Carol laughed.
“Fine. But only because I’m pretty sure I locked in the ‘Sister of the Year’ award for this.”
Finally home,I sank into the sweet, sweet sanctuary of my bedroom. It felt like taking off an uncomfortable bra after a long day. I moved around the room on autopilot, letting the simple act of tidying up calm my nerves—straining the comforter, tackling the clutter on my dresser, and laying out a dress for tonight.
As I approached the vanity, my phone buzzed. I looked to see a text from Chris:
“Don’t forget to text me your address!”
A smile tugged at the corners of my mouth. I still wasn’t entirely sure this wasn’t some elaborate daydream, but I wasn’t about to overthink it. If I got to live in delusion for a day, I’d lean in. I’d earned it.
Before I could set the phone down, it buzzed again. This time, a call. George’s name lit up the screen in bold letters. A video call request. Shit! I hesitated for a second, then hit accept and tried to sound casual.
“Hey!”
“Hey! Just getting home?” George asked.
We’ve been separated for almost a year, but he didn’t stop being a constant, steady presence in the kids’ lives. No matter how messy things got between us, of one thing I was certain: I’d picked a great father for my kids.
George wasthatdad. The one who read the parenting books cover to cover. He knew every name on every school committee and had every doctor and teacher on speed dial. If I’m being totally honest, he’d probably changed more diapers than I had.
“Yeah, got back a few minutes ago,” I replied.
“How was it?” He knew Liam and me too well for this to be a casual question. He wanted to know how many meltdowns we had to endure during the experience.
“It was…crazy!” I admitted because talking to George still felt natural and familiar. He had been my friend long before anything else, and I was so glad our friendshipmostlysurvived our failed marriage.
With him, it felt safe to share some of my quirks, my rhythms, and the way I thought. In small doses, of course, but still. For as far as I could remember, I’d been the girl with the walls up, keeping people at a safe distance. Years of feeling like an alien forced to live among humans had trained me toguard my true feelings to myself. But George had caught glimpses of what lay on the other side of the wall. And I missed that.I missed him. I hated that even though we were still, technically, friends, I had to measure every word and navigate our conversations through a minefield. Never knowing what was acceptable in our new setting.
I set my phone against the mirror, freeing my hands, and took off my accessories—earrings, bracelets, necklaces— each item back in its designated spot, like a little robot in a production line.
