Tag, 1. Jules, 0.
I returned to my closet and grabbed the softest shirt I could find. My skin had yet to recover from the irritation, so I wasn’t going to push it. I got dressed so quickly that I had to check if I had fully hooked my bra on my way downstairs.
As I passed through the living room, my eyes caught on abouquet of roses sitting on the coffee table. I didn’t want to go near it. I didn’t have to. I already knew who it was from. But it was off-center. Enough to throw off the balance of my perfectly arranged room.
No, no, no.
I moved toward it, reaching out to nudge it back into place. My hands hovered, adjusting it slightly. One more tiny shift… there. Perfect. My fingers accidentally brushed against the card.
“From: George To: Jules.”
I took a deep breath. This was precisely why I didn’t want to look. Now, I had to deal with it. I had to call him. Again. And ask him,again, to stop sending me flowers every damn week.
“Mom! We’ll be late.” Liam’s voice sounded even more impatient this time.
I blinked, shaking my head as if to clear the fog, and hurried into the kitchen. I avoided looking directly at the countertops as they looked like a battlefield of half-made lunches and snacks. It was a sign the kids had tried, and failed, to pack their food, so I wasn’t going to say anything that would discourage them from keep trying. But the mess bothered me way too much.
I grabbed a microfiber cloth to clean the surface so I could finish packing.Apples for Liam and clementines for Nova. I moved quickly, almost automatically, like muscle memory kicking in. And then something stopped me.
A strong, unfamiliar scent hit my nose, breaking my streak. My brows furrowed as I sniffed the air.
“What’s that smell?” I muttered, mostly to myself, as I scanned the room.
My eyes found Carol stepping out from behind the refrigerator door. Long walnut-brown hair cascaded over her shoulders in that effortlessly messy way she alwaysmanaged to pull off. Her outfit was another work of art. It was a mix of vintage prints and colors that no sane person would ever think to combine, yet she made it look like she’d stepped out of a fashion magazine. And, of course, the tattoos. Her arms were like an open journal, with drawings telling stories of her life all inked there for the world to see.
God, she was so beautiful.
Carolwas the pretty sibling—the fashionable, edgy one. I didn’t envy her, but I genuinely looked up to her. I wished I could be that free, that bold.
Meanwhile, here I was, stuck in my safe zone of 100% cotton shirts, skirts (because fabric touching my knees felt like a slow and painful death), and blazers. My closet was a sea of neutrals and a haven of textures that wouldn’t stab me like tiny needles all day.
At least I could have fun with the prints. Today, I wore my all-time favorite:“May you have the confidence of a mediocre white man.”A quiet greeting to my younger self, the one who was always raging against the patriarchy and flipping people off. The spirit was still there… I was just so,sotired now.
My sister stood across the kitchen with her perfect hair and an open bottle in hand. “Kombucha!” she announced. “You can’t possibly smell it from over there. Don’t be dramatic.”
Disgusting.
I wrinkled my nose, trying to ignore the scent that made my stomach twist, and turned back to slicing apples. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Nova and her beautiful bronze curls bounce up the counter. My youngest. My, let’s say… spirited little girl. In her hands, a children’s book full of dog pictures. She held it up and looked at me with her huge, hopeful eyes.
“Can we adopt a dog?” She asked, pointing to a fluffy puppy with a pink bow.
I tried, and failed, to hold a laugh. She was too damn cute for her own good.
“We already adopted Aunt Carol,” I said with a smirk. “That should be enough, don’t you think?”
Nova frowned, unimpressed. “Aunt Carol isn’t cute.”
Carol responded, “Excuse me?” without missing a beat, and took another dramatic sip of her kombucha, “Rude.”
I gave my sister a playful once-over, then turned back to Nova.
“Well, she could brush her hair a little more often and maybe use a lighter perfume, but I think she’s cute enough.”
“Argh!” Nova let out a groan of frustration.
“What? Do you want her to bark too?” I teased, barely able to keep a straight face.
Always ready for a joke, Carol turned dramatically toward Nova, letting out a loud, hearty “Woof!” And that was it. We were all guffawing. Well, most of us, anyway. Nova stood her ground, arms crossed, glaring at us like we’d ruined her entire week.
