“Why are you guyssoweird?” She huffed, stomping off toward the couch like a pint-sized diva. Six years old, and she already had the sass level of a teenager.
Where did she get that temper?
Well, that was easy. Me. That was clearly young Jules’ attitude right there.
Liam, who’d been quietly reading at the kitchen table this whole time, finally chimed in without looking up from his book.
“Nova, I hate to break it to you, but it’s genetic. You’ll probably end up as weird as the rest of us.”
“Oh, definitely,” Carol said with a sly grin. “And we’re also very heat intolerant.”
True.
“Don’t forget all the tummy issues,” I added as I closed the lunchboxes.
“Sorry.” My sister and I said in unison. I was indeed sorry for the lousy genetics, but at least no one could say we weren’t good at having fun at our own expense. Silver lining, I guess.
Nova finally burst into giggles. That sound was one of my absolute favorites.
I was back into the morning chaos. I grabbed the school bags and handed them to the kids. Then I paused for a second, leaned against the counter, and watched as they bounced towards the door.
Despite the age difference, they looked so alike with their bronze curly hair and hazel eyes. But their personalities? Night and day. Nova was my little firecracker, always on the move, bold as hell, and completely unafraid to charm, or bulldoze, anyone in her path. Liam, on the other hand, was a classical overthinker. Quieter, more reserved, happiest when he could tuck himself away with one of his elaborate LEGO creations.
Yet, somehow, they were best friends. They were magic. Inseparable. They didn’t know it yet, but they had something rare they’d cherish for the rest of their lives. I would know. I had that with Carol.
They were halfway out the door while I dragged my body behind them like I needed a motivational speech to make it to the car. I glanced over at Carol with a defeated look. She looked back, snuffed at her kombucha, and raised an eyebrow. Her face twisted in a grimace so dramatic I thought she would drop the bottle.
“Maybe you weren’t being so dramatic…”
Yes, of course. Kombucha is revolting.
And I was out the door.
3
JULES
Maladaptive: not providing adequate or appropriate adjustment to the environment or situation. Adjective: Dysfunctional, nonadaptive, poorly adjusted.
“That’s fitting,” I muttered with a touch of bitterness. “Another name to add to my list of conditions… and for what?”
I stared at my phone’s Google search page for a beat before returning to the letter I had received in my email. The words“Maladaptive Daydreaming”looked back at me as if putting a name on it would make any of it feel better. I tried to read the entirety of the letter for a second time. No success.
A lot of words to say that, at least in this lifetime, I could never be just…normal.
With a long sigh, I slumped back in my chair. Sunlight poured through a large window on my right, flooding the room with a warm morning glow. It called my gaze to the Manhattan city skyline, a view I used to dream about having.Now that I did, it felt distant, like it belonged to someone else.
My office was bright and spacious, with the perfect combination of funky and modern decor. The walls were lined with awards, photos, and books. Evidence of the career I had fought hard to build.
The dream, right?
Funny how things worked out. It seems dissociating, creating worlds in my head, and having an obsessive need to keep everything in order was the perfect recipe for a successful advertising executive. Apparently, not everyone had both sides. People tended to fall into one camp or the other, either wildly creative but messy or painfully organized but uninspired. But that “crazy” mind of mine brought me here, and for that, I was proud.
Through the floor-to-ceiling glass doors, I could see the agency in full swing. Some were walking around, and some were sitting across their screens, conversations layered over each other. Yet, I was overjoyed to have reached the point where I had my own office.
Don’t get me wrong. I had amazing coworkers. But no matter how hard I tried, it always felt like I was not allowed to be part of some sort of inside joke the world was in. As I got older, I limited my interactions and saved myself from overstimulation at any cost. Lonely, yes. But comfortable, at least.
My gaze wandered to the main door when I saw her. My heart instantly softened.
