by Ashley Pullo
“I smell sex and gummy bears,” Theo hums, watching as Julia swipes a handful of gummy bears. He places his apartment key on the table and then wraps his arm around her shoulders.
“How did you get back in here?” she asks, her mouth full.
Theo palms a few bears and answers, “I put an umbrella in the door so it wouldn’t close.” He reaches for the Vitamin Water, and then motions toward the couch. “Come here, I need to show you something.”
Following him, she pauses by the coffee table and snorts. “It’s a suitcase.” Julia runs her hand over the tan pleather, lifts the flap to the luggage tag, and reads, “Theodore Barnes, Poughkeepsie Boys’ Home.”
Sitting on the arm of the sofa, wearing only his boxer briefs, Theo tightens his arms around her waist and kisses her shoulder.
“But I don’t understand,” she whispers.
“The reason I make jokes and act like a goofy kid, well, it’s because of this suitcase.” He rests his chin on her shoulder. “I’m an orphan, Jules.”
Her voice weak and emotional, she says, “Oh, my, God – so this is why you avoid questions about your past?”
“It’s embarrassing to talk about my childhood – and honestly, I’m still terrified I’ll be rejected by the people I care about.” Theo kicks the suitcase with his bare foot and chuckles. “This suitcase was a gift from the boys’ home when I left for my foster home placement. I was lucky though, some of the other kids only had black trash bags.”
“Was it awful?”
“Um, it was exactly what you’d think. Horrible people, hopeless kids . . . some abuse, a lot of neglect, mostly depressing.” He releases his grasp around Julia’s waist so she can turn to face him.
Caressing his cheek, she stares into his hazel eyes and asks, “Were you hurt?”
“Yes.” He swallows.
“I want to know everything, Theo.”
“No, you don’t.” He massages her shoulder, wanting to protect her from all the nasty things in the world. “I did things I’m not proud of.”
“Like what?”
He closes his eyes and huffs. “Jules, most days I wanted to die. I’d go to sleep at night cursing God for even giving me my first breath.” His voice begins to quiver as he lowers his head. “I stole credit cards, I sold drugs, and a few times, when I was desperate to feel something, I slept with strangers for money . . .”
“Oh, Theo, I’m so sorry.” She lowers her head.
He places his hands on her shoulders and gently shakes her. “Hey, look at me. I’m not that pathetic little orphan boy anymore.” Smiling, he pinches her waist. “But, Jules, that K-mart suitcase is literally the baggage I carry with me.”
“Don’t make me laugh, I’m too sad.” Julia shakes her head with defiance, even as a smile creeps across her face.
Chuckling, he replies, “It’s some sad shit, that’s for sure.”
“Then why are you laughing?”
“Because it feels good to laugh. And for the first time, I have someone that will enjoy life with me, and not treat me like a vile leper with a contagious disease.”
“Theo, I feel the same way about you. I was in a pretty shitty place when I moved in here, and you stepped right in when I needed a friend the most.” Taking his hand, she leads him back to the bedroom. “But I need to explain something.” Pushing him playfully onto the bed, she falls to her knees and retrieves a box from beneath her bed.
“Holy shit, you have a kink box!” he squeals.
“It’s just a black box – what’s the big deal?” she asks, her face contorting in confusion.
Theo lies back on the bed and exhales. “I’m ready, Jules. Hurt me good.”
Sitting on the bed next to him and kissing his chest, she gently bites his nipple. “Are you sure you’re ready to understand me?”
“Yes.” He groans.
Julia drops the contents of the box onto his stomach, causing him to jerk into a sitting position.
Palming a newspaper, Theo says, “Not what I had in mind, but okay.” He scans the pile of photos, picking up one of Julia in a wedding dress. “You were married?”
Julia opens the yellowing paper to the Style section of the Herald and points to an article. Focusing on the tiny print in the dimly lit room, Theo reads aloud, “Newsworthy Wedding, by Julia Pierce.” His eyes fall to the black and white photo box in the middle of the page. “Wait, is that you?”
She nods as she recites, “Julia Pierce, twenty-six, married Evan Bishop, twenty-nine, on June thirtieth, two thousand twelve. The bride wore a Vera Wang couture gown in a shimmering shade of blush, and the groom wore a traditional, black tuxedo. The intimate ceremony and reception were held at the Bowery Hotel. Following a romantic honeymoon in Hawaii, the couple will reside on the Lower East Side and continue to work side-by-side as journalists for the New York Herald.”
“And who is this smug motherfucker?” he asks, flicking the handsome face of Evan Bishop.
“Evan was my husband for eighteen hours.”
“What happened?”
“He moved to London to take a job in broadcasting.” Lying back on the bed and situating the pillow behind her head, she motions for Theo to join her. He rolls to his side, propping himself up with his arm.
Taking a deep breath, Julia recounts, “Evan and I met at the Herald – there was a time, pre-column-me, when I wrote a byline for the finance section. It was mostly Occupy Wall Street stuff with the occasional Bernie Madoff update, and Evan happened to be my superior.”
“I don’t like this story.” Theo places his hand on her stomach, watching it rise and fall as she breathes.
“It gets worse,” she groans. “We dated for two years, nothing exciting, but our relationship was solid. And then one night, we decided to get married while shopping for kitchen gadgets at IKEA. A hypothetical proposal over Swedish meatballs should have been my first clue.” Julia rolls her eyes and huffs. “Not only did the newspaper support our engagement, but my editor asked me to write my own feature when the time came. The fucking Herald? It would have to be grand and impressive. So, I planned everything with OCD-detail, I spent every penny of the guilt-money given to me by my estranged father, and I came really close to a mental breakdown.”
Theo locks his fingers with Julia’s hand and squeezes gently.
“And then, a month before the wedding, I was placed on the very short list for a broadcasting job in London. I wanted it so badly, I wanted so badly to believe that a fresh start as husband and wife would be my fairytale ending.”
“But you never moved to London, did you?”
“No. Evan wanted to stay in New York.” Julia shifts to her side to face Theo. “At the time, I remember thinking it was some sort of sign from the universe, a coincidence fated to be my ruin . . . Gertie Boyle, the beloved columnist of the Weddings and Celebrations page for thirty years retired a week before my wedding . . . and she chose me to replace her.” Pointing to the paper by Theo’s side, she says, “That was my first wedding feature article.”
“Your wedding?”
“Yep, the intimate gathering at the Bowery Hotel that never happened.”
Confused, he asks, “What?”
“You see, with Gertie’s sudden retirement, there was little time to transition. The article was submitted on a Friday, written in the past tense, to be published in the Sunday paper, the morning after the wedding.”
“I guess that makes sense.”
“It’s the way Gertie Boyle managed the column. And because of her way of doing things, nothing in that article was true.”
“Oh, shit. That bastard stole your job in London, didn’t he?”
“How did you guess?”
“I watched a lot of soap operas at the boys’ home.”
She shakes her head and smiles. “You always make me laugh.”
“Finish the story,” he demands.
“There’s not much left, really . . . we were waiting in our hotel room between the ceremony and the rec
eption when he got a phone call. After Evan ended the call, he changed out of his tux, got dressed, placed his wedding band on the table, kissed my cheek, and then took a cab to JFK. Meredith told all the guests that he’d been called away to London for a big story indefinitely, and then we got really drunk and ate three tiers of cake.”
“No fucking way!”
“By the time I got back from Hawaii, most of my friends and colleagues had forgotten or just ignored the fact that my husband was gone. Evan and I managed to publicly fade apart at a normal pace, even though the marriage was annulled within eighteen hours.” Closing her eyes, she snorts. “The only communication we’ve had since our wedding was me telling him that his Prius was impounded for unpaid parking tickets.”
“The prick bastard deserved it.”
Without warning, Julia erupts in laughter, grabbing her side as tears stream down her cheeks. “Oh, my, God! I fucking hate him so much, but I can’t stop laughing!”
“Jules, all I need is his email address, and I can make his life a virtual hell.”
“His penis is crooked,” she blurts. “And for a journalist, he can’t spell worth shit!”
“There ya go, let it all out.”
“Evan doesn’t know how to use an electric screwdriver, and he could barely last twenty minutes in bed.”
Flexing his biceps, he boasts, “Well, not every man can have brains and brawn.”
“God that felt good!” Julia catches her breath and smiles.
Sweeping a section of hair behind her ear, Theo remarks, “I think your black box of crap beats my empty suitcase.”
“We’re two sad fucks, aren’t we?” Julia places his hand over her heart.
“But I’m not sad anymore. Are you?”
“No.”
Chapter Twelve
On the day of Julia’s one hundredth wedding, she opens the door to the rooftop with a new sense of self. Mentally checking off all the things that are done, she grabs a bottle of water from an ice chest under the bar and watches Mallory examine the table settings. Faking a polite smile, she approaches the table and says, “Hey, Mallory.”
“Julia, I’ll admit, I never thought our unattractive rooftop could look so fabulous. We need to have more parties up here!” she exclaims, thumbing a delicate silk tablecloth. “And you did all this in a few days?”
Julia repositions a small vase of Persian buttercups in the center of the table and replies, “I had a lot of help.” She glances at Theo, taping down all the exposed electrical cords.
“Well, the board is thrilled to have a party planner at our disposal . . . meetings start promptly at seven p.m. on the fifth and twentieth of each month.” Mallory waves at Theo and then saunters toward him.
“So, what do you think?” asks Scott, skipping toward Julia.
“You’ve outdone yourself, truly. The arrangements are so beautiful, and that wedding arch . . . I’m speechless, Scott.”
“Isn’t that arch fun? The structure is made from rusted pipes, a design I used recently for an art gala. And when you told me about their trip to Morocco, I just knew the streamers and beads would work beautifully. Jose helped, of course.” Scott winks at an attractive man fastening buttercup clusters to the chairs. “It really gives the space a lot of movement and interest.”
“And I love the boxwood planters,” she adds.
“You can keep those! This dreary rooftop could use a little color, other than that horrible mural.”
“I agree – you’ve completely transformed it into something classy and inviting. Thank you so much for doing this so quickly.”
“Oh! The best part! Come with me.” Scott leads Julia to the corner and removes a white box from a crate. “May I present, the bridal bouquet.” Carefully lifting a gorgeous, crimson and purple spray, he says, “Just look at these crystals!” Scott twists the handle, allowing the orange beads to shimmy and shake.
“Wow. Just wow, Scott! Meredith is going to love it.”
“Jules?” Theo interrupts. “Hey, Scott! Great job, man.” He punches Scott’s shoulder and then says, “Jules, Milk Bar is downstairs. Do you want them to set up by the bar?”
“Oh, I love their Compost cookies.” Scott lowers the pitch of his voice to a shallow groan. “Orgasm in a bite, know what I mean?”
“I can’t wait to have one later, am I right?” Theo jokes, massaging Julia’s shoulders.
“Yeah, yeah. Go help the Milk Bar people set up at that long table by the bar.” Julia laughs.
As Theo hustles toward the stairs, Scott says, “I like him, Julia.”
“Me too,” she replies. “Do you need help getting the boxes back to your van?”
“Nope, Jose and I have a system.” Scott hands the bouquet to Julia and smiles. “It’s been a pleasure working with you, Julia. And who knows, maybe you’ll choose me for your wedding.” He winks.
Blushing, she replies, “Maybe so.” Julia glances at her neighbor, Mike, unloading the champagne glasses at the bar. “Scott, I need to check with the bartender.” She kisses his cheek and returns the bouquet back to the box.
“Hey, Mike. Do you have everything you need?” Julia admires the glasses and the vintage, sliver champagne buckets. “I love the turquoise goblets, and these champagne flutes are adorable.”
“Kristen got ’em at the flea market last year, but we’ve yet to find a place for them in our pub,” he says with an Irish brogue.
“Wow, you’re giving me the good stuff?”
“I have crates of the cheap ones in my apartment if things get too rowdy.”
“Good thinking. Where’s Kristen?”
“She’s taking Sean to the sitter and then she’ll be up. You asking us to bartend this wedding was a blessing, Julia. We never spend time together anymore.” Mike runs a hand through his shaggy, ginger hair and chuckles.
“How about I babysit next week and you two go out to dinner? My treat.”
“Deal.” He nods.
“But I have one more favor?” Julia flutters her eyes and laughs.
Pretending to be annoyed, Mike replies, “Sure.”
Julia reaches for an apothecary bottle from a nearby table, and asks, “Around six-thirty, can you stick the short tapers in all these bottles and light them? And all the tea lights by the arch?”
“Got it. Six-thirty. Light the candles.”
Glancing at her watch, she says, “Oh, crap. I need to get dressed and hide Meredith’s Nana – I’ll see you later.”
Mike shrugs his shoulders, and then opens a crate of prosecco. “Later.”
Passing Theo and the Milk Bar crew at the elevator, Julia instructs, “Wear a suit. Bradley thinks you’re taking him to a cigar bar. He’ll meet you in the lobby at six.”
“So, I guess I won’t see you until the wedding?” Theo separates from the cookie delivery and grabs her arm.
Taking a step closer, she plants her lips on his cheek as he squeezes her ass.
“I want you naked by midnight,” Theo hums in her ear.
She nudges his chest, pushing him back toward the delivery guys. “I’ll see you at seven.” She winks.
“Okay, boys, to the roof.” He leads the team through the exit door and points to the corner.
Hauling ass down three flights of stairs, Julia unlocks her apartment door and calls, “Nana?”
“I’m over here, sweetie,” Nana replies, waving from the couch.
“Can I get you anything? Water, coffee, tea?”
“No, I’m bloated as it is.” Nana pops in a peppermint candy and adds, “I like your little dog, Julia.”
“Fletch is the best,” she agrees, scratching his ear. “I need to take a quick shower and get dressed. I told Meredith to be here at five, so she should be arriving around six.”
“Just show me how to change the channel to Comedy Central and I’ll be fine.”
Laughing, Julia switches the channel on the remote, and then heads to the bathroom. After a warm shower with her hair tucked inside a plastic c
ap, she dries herself off while slathering moisturizer on her legs.
Meredith’s dress hangs from the bi-fold door, glowing in all its expensive glory, so she carefully opens the other door to find a dress – sexy enough for Theo, but dull in comparison to the bride. “Fuck!” she shrieks. “I forgot the shoes.” Knowing that Meredith will show up in hooch boots, expecting a bachelorette party of adulterated fun, she quickly sends her a text.
Jules: Can I borrow those heels with the floral pattern you wore to brunch last week?
Meredith: The Kate Spade Licorice heels?
Jules: Yes!
Meredith: They’re a size 5.
Jules: I’ll manage.
Meredith: Fine. Leaving now.
Jules: Can’t wait to see you!
Meredith: Where is Theo taking Bradley?
Jules: I have no idea.
Meredith: You’re the worst liar. Ever.
Removing her sexiest set of undergarments from the dresser, Julia fastens the front clasp to her bra and wiggles into the matching bikini briefs. She sits down at her small vanity and applies her makeup, keeping it soft and romantic with just a flash of teal eyeliner for fun.
Fastening a section of her hair into a clip, Julia steps into a black crepe, sheath dress. She holds the fabric around her chest as she walks back to the living room. “Nana?”
“Have you ever watched Broad City?” she asks. “I love Ilana – she’s spunky.”
“Yaas! Meredith and I love that show.”
“Being single in the City sure has changed since my days as an advertising secretary.”
Totally, Julia thinks. “Nana, could you help me with this zipper?”
Nana stands slowly from the couch, using Fletch’s head for balance, and motions for Julia to turn around. “Well, now I feel underdressed in my Macy’s pant suit.”
“You look beautiful, Nana. I think Meredith might cry when she sees you.”
“Aw, my little Mere Bear is my whole world. Thank you for doing this, Julia.”
Hearing her phone buzz from the bedroom, Julia takes Nana’s hand and says, “Speaking of Meredith, you should probably stay in my bedroom.”