“Over who got to walk your neighbor’s dog while they were at a concert,” she says, and I can hear the smile in her voice. It was a stupid fight, one that ended with me walking Husker down the street and Alex walking him back.
It’s not the actual fight that holds significance, though. “Remember afterward? On the swing set? We made friendship rings out of grass and swore that we’d always be friends no matter what. Even after stupid fights.”
“This isn’t a stupid fight, Jules.”
“No, it’s not.” Nothing about this is stupid. Still, all I can picture are the twisted blades of grass with the white clover wrapped around my finger. A ring that held promise and acceptance.
A ring that’s making me wonder if I’m settling when I should be flying.
The first week of April brings the first real warm day of spring. The sun shines in through the open windows, and I can hear the birdschirping outside the apartment. Flowers line Brian’s kitchen, spilling over into the living space, with a rather large bouquet at the center of the dining table. All sample centerpiece arrangements that Mrs. Prescott has sent over for my feedback.
For a wedding happeningmaybesometime in the near future. Date still to be determined.
My late-night conversation with Alex a little over a week ago seems to have shifted something. It feels as if I’m slowly waking from a deep and hazy sleep. Like I’m finally beginning to see the bigger picture a bit more clearly.
A picture that involves bursts of happiness that lately have felt completely out of reach.
Brian walks down the hall, fastening the cuff of his favorite dress shirt and looking slightly concerned. “Have you seen my watch?”
“Is it not on the dresser?” I ask, turning back to the papers scattered along the coffee table.
“If it was, I wouldn’t be asking.”
I pull my laptop closer, making sure the series of numbers I’m looking at from my notes matches the ones on the spreadsheet. “I’m not the keeper of your things, Brian.”
He doesn’t stop moving, going straight to the side table near the door. “I never said you were. I was just asking.” He steps beside the couch and slips on his gold watch.
I clench my jaw to keep myself from saying something unnecessary, like he’d be able to find his things more quickly if he’d put them where he was supposed to.
“Are you okay? You’ve been really quiet lately.”
Can’t imagine why. One of my childhood friends, who I thought of as a brother, just died, grad school is kicking my ass, and my part-time job just trusted me with a huge client. Not to mention the biggest thing of all: my best friend all but admitting she is in love with me but is going to watch me marry someone else rather than just fucking admit it.
All this while I’m supposed to be planning the happiest day of my life, which leads me to the current issue that is my future mother-in-law. “Just trying to wrap up this paperwork,” I mumble and stick my pen between my teeth.
He watches for a beat and shakes his head. “I don’t know howyou do it. Going over other people’s business mistakes would drive me crazy.” He grabs his jacket that he laid out across the back of the sofa early this morning and shrugs it on. “You’d make more money if you used that sexy brain of yours to invest in your own start-up.”
“It’s not about the money,” I remind him. “I like my job and the company I work for. I like helping people succeed.”
“It was just a suggestion.” When does it stop becoming a suggestion and start to become an insistence? He straightens his clothes and holds out his arms. “How do I look?”
I make sure I look at him when I say, “Very handsome.”
He smiles and does a spin so I can really get a look at his new suit jacket. “Do I look smart?”
“How does someone look smart?”
He sighs. “I don’t know, Julia, I was just trying to get a reaction from you. Something other than indifference.”
I bite my tongue and go back to my computer. I’m not in the mood to spar with him.
He drops a kiss on the top of my head. “I should be back in a couple of hours. Don’t forget we’re having dinner with my mother. She wants to go over the guest list, and she’s eager for your opinion on the centerpieces.”
“I haven’t forgotten,” I say dryly. How could I when I’m surrounded by a dozen vases of flowers I would never choose and when he reminds me every chance he gets? Not that he has an opinion one way or another.
These past few weeks have been rough, to say the least. Brian, who I don’t think has ever dealt with this level of grief, tried to help me through mine. He sat with me when I cried and gave me space when I shut myself away in the guest bedroom. He listened when I talked about Mason and held me when Alex ignored my calls.
He even helped me look for flights to London the week after. Flights Alex didn’t want me taking. But the novelty of being supportive must’ve worn off because eventually, he seemed exasperated by my sudden bursts of tears. He insisted that the best way to move on was to get back into our routine. To focus on happier things, like our wedding. The same wedding he has had no interest in planning.
