Reaching for two mugs and the box of peppermint tea bags out the cupboard, I set them down on the counter. She watches on in silence, clutching her handbag.
“You can sit down if you’d like,” I say, gesturing to the kitchen table. “Or on the sofa if you’d prefer.”
“Here’s fine,” she replies, pulling out the chair and perching on the edge.
Even the way we sit is completely different. Juliet looks regal, sitting up straight, shoulders back, chest out, chin up.
The kettle signals that it’s boiled, and I pour the water intothe mugs. I don’t really want a peppermint tea right now, but I’m going to need something to distract my hands with, and it might as well be a mug.
“Do you leave the teabag in?” I ask.
“Yes, thank you.”
“Me too,” I say, although I’m not sure why she’d be interested.
I set the two mugs down and sit at the opposite side of the table. She thanks me and then falls silent again, her eyes darting about nervously.
“Juliet,” I begin, too inquisitive to remain polite any longer, “what exactly are you doing here?”
She nods as though she’s been waiting for me to ask and needed the prompt.
“I wanted to check you were okay after what happened last week. And… I wanted to apologize, too,” she says, looking me right in the eye.
I raise my eyebrows. “Really?”
“Yes. I need to apologize for a few things, actually. But mostly, I’m sorry for not standing up for you. Mum and Dad… they shouldn’t say the things they do. I feel terrible about how they speak to you, and I wanted you to know that.”
I stare at her. Completely taken aback by the apology, I’m suspicious that this is some kind of trick somehow. That she’s going to reach into her handbag and bring out a custard pie to throw in my face before roaring with laughter and shrieking, “AS IF!”
She looks as though she means it, though. And there’s no sign of a custard pie anywhere. But it’s still too sudden and random for me to be convinced.
“I know it’s too little too late,” she continues, recognizing the confusion in my expression. “But I wanted to say it anyway. It’s important to say it, according to my therapist.”
“You’re seeing a therapist?”
“For a few months now. The best thing I ever did.” Looking down at the table, she taps the handle of the mug. “I speak about you a lot. And Mum and Dad. But a lot about you.”
“Really? I’m surprised I feature at all,” I say, unable to mask the bitterness.
“You do. Heavily.” She lifts the mug to her lips to blow on it and I notice she’s shaking.
“So, you came here to apologize,” I check.
“Not just that,” she says hurriedly, putting the tea back down. “I also wanted to let you know that I thought what you did at the dinner last week was extremely brave. Brave and inspirational. It inspired me.”
I narrow my eyes at her. “Did you come here to take the piss out of me?”
“No!” she insists, panicked. “I’m being serious. I swear.”
“What I said at the dinnerinspiredyou?”
“Yes,” she says, nodding vigorously. “It inspired me to tell Mum and Dad the truth, which is what I did after you left. I told them that I quit my job five months ago.”
My jaw drops to the floor. “Youwhat?”
“I know.” She gives me a faint smile, as though she can’t quite believe it herself. “Right after they offered me partner at the firm. I’ve been unemployed and lying to everyone this whole time.”
“You quit your job? Why?”
