“Oh, yes, we switched spots, and I drove the rest of the way. Paul was confident in all things, but behind the wheel, he just didn’t have a warrior’s heart.”
“Did he write plays, too?”
“Oh, no. He was focused on classic literature and writing short stories. Those...those were extraordinary. And he was always so calm about writing. Whenever inspiration came to me, I was like a madwoman, scribbling away through the night and barricaded in my studio. He could sit anywhere—at a pub or at a crowded party—and just put pen to paper like it was the most natural, nourishing environment in the world. Any surface was a cozy desk to him.”
“So, what happened?” I ask hesitantly.
“What always happens in love stories,” Juliette answers. “It ended.”
“Not all love stories end.”
“The real ones do. One way or another.”
Her words hit home, and I guess she’s not wrong, but I also know that she’s not entirely right either.
“Did you guys keep in touch at all?”
Juliette adjusts her stance again, straightening out her shirt and seeming to separate herself from the memories she just allowed herself. “We didn’t part on good terms, so there were no friendly interactions after that. And it’s not like today, where you could just shoot someone a drunken text whenever you feel nostalgic.”
“Would you like to? Send a drunken text, that is?”
“I don’t know,” Juliette says softly. “Strange as it is to realize, this is the first time I’m even saying his name out loud in years.”
“Do you regret not staying in touch?”
She doesn’t answer right away, but I know her well enough that she doesn’t need to. “I do,” she confirms. “I do regret it, but it’s pointless to dwell on the past.”
I consider probing the situation further when we’re both snapped out of our tête-à-tête as the rehearsal door slams shut. Looking around, I find that nearly everyone is back from break. We didn’t even notice. Juliette groans and gazes back at me, clapping her hands against her thighs.
“Well, thanks for that fun trip down memory lane. Reminiscing about my biggest heartbreak definitely makes me super excited to dive back into this hopeful romance we’re currently staging.”
“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to upset you.”
“I’m not upset. I just wish I...” She trails off with a stricken look in her eyes, and it somehow prompts me to jump in to help cover up her hurt.
“In other news, I may have met the son of an old friend of yours today. His name is Phillip, and he said he moved into his mom’s old apartment on the fourth floor.”
“Phillip?” she muses, slowly but surely recovering. “Oh, that must be Tessa’s son. God, I haven’t spoken to her in ages. How was he?”
“He seemed nice.”
“Why did you say it like that?” she asks.
“Like what?”
“I don’t know, I just sensed a tone.”
“There was no tone. Maybe we should adjust your hearing aids.”
“As if I wear hearing aids, you villainous child.”
I’m ready to answer her sarcasm with an equal dose of snark when Ellie gets everyone’s attention once again. “Alright, let’s take it from where we left off at the top of the scene. Juliette, can I have a word?”
“And the hits just keep on coming,” my boss mumbles, standing up with a smile.
I feel like I should say something, but nothing comes as Juliette crosses the space to Ellie, leaving me alone to replay our conversation in my mind.
She spoke about Paul like a woman in love, or at the very least, the way she would talk about a dear friend. Whatever animosity she carries towards Paul, it’s obviously inlaid with fondness and respect and definite deep twinges of regret.
