She could no longer relate to the version of herself who’d fallen in love with him. She wondered if many divorced women felt this way, if they no longer felt any connection with their twentysomething, naive, and optimistic selves.
Now, Juliet watched herself as she picked up the pen in her lawyer’s office and signed the divorce papers, slicing off any legally binding contract between herself and Alvin. Sunlight swelled in from the large window behind the lawyer’s desk, and the blue sky was too bright. “I feel like it should be raining or something,” she told her lawyer, rubbing her hands together nervously.
“It’s sunny, because you and your ex have come to an agreement! That should be celebrated.” Her lawyer smiled. “It doesn’t always happen so easily.”
“Was that really ‘easy’?” Juliet asked, miffed. It had been one of the most demoralizing situations of her life: squabbling about their daughter, about the apartment, and about money.
“You should hear some of the conversations in this office,” her lawyer said, clicking her tongue. “I should write a book one day! I’m always saying that!”
Juliet grimaced, got up, and shook her lawyer’s hand. She hoped she would never see her again. But now it was time to meet Danica outside her school and finally, finally tell her that her father was headed to Singapore in a week. that he basically didn’t want her in his life anymore.
As she went down the elevator and entered that staggering heat of the city, she removed her business jacket and felt the sunshine on her shoulders. Like a zombie, she walked all the way to Danica’s school, where she waited outside on the sidewalk until she heard the bell. Fourteen-year-olds streamed out, having a thousand nonsensical conversations. Danica came out with her best friend Mary, both of whom had taken to wearing black and pretending to be moody. When Danica spotted Juliet, she looked like she wanted to melt with shame.
“What are you doing here?” Danica demanded when she got closer.
Mary looked at Juliet with distrust.
“I thought we could get something to eat,” Juliet said. “I made a reservation at the Eiffel Tower.”
Danica tilted her head. The Eiffel Tower was a restaurant that slowly rotated, offering a grand view of the city on all sides. Danica had always said it was her favorite restaurant, although Juliet guessed that she no longer felt that way, not now that she was fourteen.
“Um. Okay? Random.” Danica looked at Mary. “See you later?”
Juliet breathed a sigh of relief. As she and Danica walked the four blocks to the rotating restaurant, she tried to analyze her daughter’s mood without asking any questions that would enrage her. She wanted to butter her daughter up a little before breaking her heart.
“How was the end of the school year?” she asked.
“It was okay.” Danica clutched her books. “Mary and I are going to start a book club, I think. For the summer. We want to read Wuthering Heights.”
“I never read that one,” Juliet said.
“Yeah, well. You’re more of a visual artist, I guess,” Danica said.
“What kind of artist are you?”
“I’m a writer.” Danica’s tone was slightly irritated, as though that should have been obvious.
“Yes,” Juliet said, stopping at a crosswalk and moving to look her daughter in the eye. “You are a writer.” She’d always known Danica to be scribbling in her notebook or typing furiously on her laptop. She’d always sensed that Danica was trying to make sense of the world around her. During those moments of creativity, Juliet had always known to give Danica a wide berth, if only to offer her daughter the privacy a fourteen-year-old desired.
Juliet knew she had had maybe too much privacy when she was Danica’s age. Ivy and Celia had tried to keep tabs on her. But they’d been kids themselves, leaving Juliet to make sense of her world alone.
Back then, she’d had Theo. She’d had Callie. They’d been her family, in a way.
“Mom?” Danica tugged on Juliet’s arm to tell her that the crosswalk was ready for them. They hurried to the other side, where they took an elevator to the restaurant.
Juliet couldn’t remember the last time she and Danica had been here, at their “favorite” table, reading a menu that hadn’t changed at all in probably fifty years. Danica peered around her quizzically, as though trying to make sense of a place where, when she’d been little, she’d said she wanted to get married or at least have her rehearsal dinner. “It’s the most romantic place in the world!” Danica had gushed back then. Juliet guessed that Danica didn’t like it at all anymore, and for good reason. It was mostly for little girls and tourists.
Juliet couldn’t believe how terribly she’d misjudged the situation. But right before she was going to suggest that they hit the road and grab burgers somewhere else, she heard her name.
“Juliet? Juliet Harper? Is it really you?”
Juliet turned to find a woman in her early forties, smiling down at her. With an apron around her waist and her hair tied back, it was clear she was a server here at the Eiffel Tower. Her name tag read “Shonda,” which jogged Juliet’s memory a little.
“Shonda! Wow!” Juliet got up to hug her old friend, a woman she was pretty sure she’d modeled with back in Paris. Back when money flowed easily and magazines published their photographs in one issue after another. “I can’t believe it’s you! You’re still in the city?”
“I’m still here.” Shonda’s smile wouldn’t quit. “I do a bit of acting here and there, so it’s good to be around all the theater, you know? And you! You look divine. Is this your daughter?”
“This is Danica,” Juliet said.
