Page 67 of The Comedown

Why are we still talking about this?

Just because I’m still outrunning my past, doesn’t mean I check the rearview mirror. I know what I’ll find in its reflection. I’ll always know.

“And he still tried to divorce you?”

“He tried to do a lot to me in that time.”

Julian stands to his full height. “What’d he do?”

“Something that cost him his wife, and almost his child, in the blink of an eye.” Or the swipe of a knife if we’re being precise, because I couldn’t afford to blink while I was clawing my way out of hell by fighting the man who was trying to drag me there—Bodee’s manager, who I call Jack. I refuse to use his real name. Scum of the earth don’t deserve that luxury. Bodee’s lucky I use his. If it weren’t for the son we share, I wouldn’t.

Framing his hands on the polished conference table, Julian leans forward to say, “The Collette I’ve gotten to know wouldn’t let anyone or anything tell her when she can or can’t do something. If you want more kids, you should have more kids. Whenever the fuck you want to.”

“Hmm. Maybe it’s for the best,” I say more to myself than anything. “I’m not doing too great with the one I currently have.”

“What do you mean? Holter’s awesome.”

“Mary probably has a lot more to do with that than me.”

“Mary loves Holter and he loves Mary, but you love Holter and he loves you. There’s a big difference.”

“No, there’s not. Love is love.” I haven’t given Holter everything I wish I could’ve, but at least I’ve given him love—mine along with Mary’s. Nannies get paid to take care of their charges, not love them, but I interviewed nannies until I found one that would do both. I questioned if my love would be enough and I knew Bodee was incapable of loving someone else, so I tried to give Holter the next best thing. That’s what I’ve been telling myself all along. Love is love, and at least Holter has that.

“There are different kinds of love like there are different kinds of rainstorms.”

“Rainstorms? They all result in the same thing though, getting wet. It’s the same with love.”

Julian shakes his head. “Some rain can be seen by anybody looking for it. Big, fat drops that splash against your clothes. Your brain tells you you’re wet as you’re getting wet. Some rain is so fine, like mist that penetrates silently, there is no need to look for it because you’re already drenched past your clothes and into your skin before your brain even gets the chance to tell you anything. Some love is seen and felt, but some doesn’t need to be seen to be felt at all.”

“What sets them apart?”

“Sacrifice.”

My eyes fill with tears for the second time, so I blink them back as fast as I can.

Even after my vision clears, Julian’s still focused intently on me, nodding like he’s got a song in his head only he can hear.

He probably does.

Julian’s always writing down lyrics, whether he can find paper or not. It’s actually kind of funny watching him scribble words on any available surface. Yesterday it was his pants. This morning it was mine. The entire left knee now has his handwriting etched on it…upside down. He had to sit on my stomach just to hold me down so he could get them out which at first annoyed me, but then when I saw the final result, I vowed to never wash the pants or get rid of them.

Julian’s like a waterfall of inspiration—it just pours out of him unchecked. One day he’ll figure out how to harness that rare talent, so it’s not quite so overpowering, and hopefully make some songs with them because the songs he puts out now, are nothing like the lyrics I see him write down.

“What does your love look like?” I ask him.

“Ever seen a thorny devil lizard?”

“I don’t even know what that is.”

“They’re these spiny lizards in Australia that draw water to their mouths from other parts of their body using grooves between their thorns. So, one can literally stand in a puddle and absorb every last drop of the water without ever opening its mouth. I drain other people’s love until there’s nothing fucking left.”

“I asked about your love, the kind you give, not take. What kind of rainstorm are you, Julian?”

“A megadrought.”

A drought that lasts for decades.

Damn it, Julian. What happened to you?