by Becky Monson
Relationship. Major change. Heartbreak.
Crap.
CHAPTER 17
“Julia, darling, you look beautiful,” my mom says rather loudly as I exit the dressing room wearing my maid of honor dress. It’s the final fitting. Just over three weeks until the big day.
I’m so over weddings right now. And relationships. And cupcakes. And life. I’m just over it all.
I step on the large round stand, with mirrors at nearly every angle, and stare at myself. The dusty rose dress actually does look good and complements my skin well. I will not admit that to Anna, though. She will love it that she was right. Unlike the dress I wore in Brown’s wedding, I might wear this dress again, if I had somewhere to wear it. A bakery owner does not need glamorous clothing.
“Oh, Anna,” my mom says, her voice suddenly thick with emotion. I spin around to see Anna coming out of her dressing room wearing her dress and veil. It’s the first time we’ve seen her in both. She really is stunning. Her dress is gorgeous, and her curly dark hair under the white of the netting on the veil makes a beautiful combination. I even start tearing up, which goes against my policy of crying in public. I’ve been doing that more than I like these days.
“Move it.” Anna taps my side and jerks her thumb back, signaling for me to get off the stand so she can see herself. “Go try on the shoes you’re wearing. Mom has them,” she says as she steps onto the stand and adjusts her dress so the large train flows down the back and onto the floor.
My mom gives me a shoe box and I open it.
“Not deathtrap shoes again!” I say loudly when I see the shoes. What is the deal with all of these ridiculous shoes people are wearing these days? I pledge right now that if I ever get married, my bridesmaids can wear whatever the hell they want, even hiking sandals. And I hate hiking sandals.
“Julia, those are Tori Burch!” Anna exclaims as if I’ve said something sacrilegious against the style gods.
I take them out of the box and step into them. They are the most uncomfortable shoes I have ever worn, I don’t care who Tori Burch is.
“Tori Burch, you bi—”
“Julia!” my mom cuts me off. We were never allowed to swear when we were growing up, which is why I still rarely do. Except for my attempt right now. I’ll throw out the odd “hell” and “damn” just because I was so deprived of cussing when I was a kid. I don’t know if my mom has ever uttered a swear word in her life. I think one time she said “Oh, crumb.”
“Just suck it up, Julia. It’s one day of your life. Then you can donate them to charity,” Anna says, turning and checking herself out from different angles.
That would be an insult to charities.
I slip the shoes off and my feet thank me immediately. At least I’ll have Jared to escort me around at Anna’s wedding. She’s not having a head table. Three of the tables in the front will be reserved for the bridal party and we get to sit next to our dates this time.
Just thinking Jared’s name makes my stomach sink.
“Hey, so Anna, I have a question for you,” I say as I put the shoes back in the box they came in. Anna is still primping. “What is your opinion on long-distance relationships?”
“They’re dumb,” is all she says, which is super helpful.
“Yes, but why are they dumb?” I ask.
“Because they never work, Julia. I mean, maybe a few months or so. But any more than that, the odds are against you. It’s just a known fact. Why are you asking anyway?” She squints at me in the mirror.
“No reason. I was just talking about it with the girls at work.” I slouch down in a seat across the room and start examining my nail beds, avoiding eye contact.
“Anyway, is this about Jared? Because it’s not like you have a real long-distance relationship. I mean, this is still his home.” She adjusts the comb of the veil so it sits more on top of her head. The new positioning must be satisfactory because she gives herself a little nod in the mirror.
Little does she know, this is no longer Jared’s home. His home is now in New York.
I stand up and go to the dressing room because I can feel tears threatening to spill, and I don’t want any questions from Anna and my mom. Besides, Anna is so caught up in her wedding, she wouldn’t fully listen to me anyway.
With Brown on her honeymoon and Anna in bridezilla mode, I’m feeling totally on my own right now. I guess I’ll just have to go with what my gut says. Only right now my gut is craving cheesy fries, so it’s not very helpful either.
~*~
Later that night, I found myself doing what any girl would do if her most-trusted confidants are off being all wedding-y and lovey-dovey. I turned to another source. I Googled.
Let me just say that I found a lot of interesting information when I Googled “Do long-distance relationships work?” and by interesting, I mean horribly depressing and awful.
The very first listing on the page, the very first listing, was an article entitled “10 Reasons Why Long-Distance Relationships Don’t Work,” and they were a very valid ten reasons, all backed up with statistics and crap. It was like the article was written for me, especially the part where it said “one person in the relationship didn't have any say in the decision and feels powerless to affect how the relationship is evolving.” Which, you know, is only exactly what happened.
I need some chocolate.
I believe it was while reading number nine, which was called “A Foggy Future” that I started to get super jealous of a completely fictional, made-up-in-my-head woman that I envisioned Jared becoming quite cozy with in a New York coffee shop. I hate that coffee-drinking tramp.
The worst one by far was the last reason, titled “Life Goes On.” It said something about how couples in long-distance relationships might not even notice that they are being pulled apart emotionally since their interests and friends may cause them to drift apart slowly and subtly. Or, depending on how different the living environments are, it may occur quickly and noticeably.
Quickly and noticeably.
Anyway, the article was relatively unsettling, and so I did what any normal girl in my situation would do. I saved it to my favorites to read and obsess about repeatedly.
There were others, though—articles with terrible, doomsday information that made me want to throw things and eat my weight in baked goods. In fact, it was rare to find a positive one. There were a few scattered throughout, which I read. But even those said things like “If you’re a couple lucky enough to make it through the long-distance thing, you are one of the few.” You know, happy stuff like that.
I think what I need to do now is stop all of this — stop asking advice and Googling. I need to decide that I’m going to make this work, and Jared and I will be the exception to the rule. I’ve got my mind on board with that, I think. Now if I could just get my heart to believe. And also that damned little voice in the back of my mind that keeps telling me “this won’t work.” I’ve got to get her on board as well.
CHAPTER 18
On Friday nights, normal people in normal relationships go on dates. That’s how things had been working for Jared and me, for the most part, at least.
Tonight, though, we are spending the evening packing up his apartment, with his mom, no less. I like packing about as much as I enjoy getting a root canal, and I especially hate it this time because of what it all means.
Jared. Moving. To New York City.
My dang heart still wrenches when I think about it. The odds are stacked against us, this I know. The universe made that perfectly clear. There is no end in sight for this long-distance thing. But what I do know is that I at least have to try my hardest. If I have to resort to sending Jared a sexy text every now and then to keep his heart from “wandering,” then I will. I’ll just quadruple check that this time it will go to Jared and not my father.
“Jared, honestly, all of your stuff isn’t going to fit in one of those tiny New York apartments. What do you plan to do with all of this?” Bobby says as s
he comes out of Jared’s bedroom, carrying a box.
“I’m putting some of it in storage,” he says with a quick shrug. He takes the box from her and stacks it by the door.
She makes a tsk sound with her mouth, which she’s been doing a lot. It dawned on me after several thousand tsks (only a slight exaggeration) that Bobby is probably having a hard time with Jared leaving as well. He’s never lived this far away from her before. At least she and I can bond over him leaving, although that hasn’t actually happened yet since I just recently realized that we had that in common. How very selfish of me.
Bobby has been packing up the bathroom while Jared and I work on the kitchen. She’s come fully ready to pack up his apartment in jeans and, surprise, a white button-up shirt (my suspicions were correct—she wears the same outfit in the summer as well). I’m looking extra-specially lovely in an old torn up college sweatshirt and ratty worn out jeans. If I had some warning that Bobby was going to be here, then maybe I’d have tried a little harder. But I was not warned ahead of time. I’m only a little bitter about it.
“Where do you want me to put this?” I say, holding a box of cleaning items that I pulled from under the sink. I question why Jared had them in the first place since he had someone else clean his apartment, but then again, he has an entire kitchen full of cookware, and Jared doesn’t cook.
“Over there,” he points to a growing pile of boxes by the door.
The moving truck comes tomorrow and he flies out Sunday night. The first time he will come back to Denver is nearly three weeks after that for Anna’s wedding, since he needs to get settled in his new apartment and job. It’s not like we haven’t been apart for that long before. With his last job, he had spurts where he couldn’t come back every weekend. But for some reason this feels too long.
I guess I could go out there to see him, but with all of the wedding stuff for Anna and the fact that she freaked out that I was leaving to do Cupcake Battles a month before her wedding . . . well, she would probably lose her crap over me taking off anytime between now and then. So I’ll stay put and go out there after everything has settled down here. A small part of me is looking forward to visiting Jared in Manhattan. I love many things about New York City, but I mainly love the food. So many bakeries to try.
“What’s this?” I say to Jared, as I spy a shoe box sitting atop one of the moving boxes by the door.
“Just some old pictures. You can look at them, if you want,” he says, as he starts to work cleaning out his desk.
I walk over to the couch as I open the box and take a seat. The first item I notice in the box is a picture of a young boy that is obviously Jared and his younger brother, Mark. I’ve only met Mark a couple of times. He lives in Boulder and works crazy hours doing something at a hospital. He doesn’t seem to be as close to Bobby as Jared is. I think he’s just very career-driven. But then again, so is Jared.
“Aw, look at you,” I sing-song as I wave a picture of a baby Jared, naked in the bathtub.
“Give me that,” Jared says, grabbing it from me, traces of embarrassment on his face. He doesn’t get embarrassed all that often. I think I might enjoy it a little too much when he does.
“What are you looking at?” Bobby says as she carries another medium-sized box out of the bathroom.
“Old pictures,” Jared says as he sits down next to me and starts perusing through the contents. Bobby comes and sits on the other side.
I watch and listen as Bobby and Jared reminisce over pictures. Every once in a while a picture of Jared’s dad pops up and they tell the story behind the picture, which is usually followed by laughter or bouts of melancholy. Not as much sadness as I think I’d have if it were my dad, but I’m sure time does do some healing. Jared’s dad seems like someone I would have liked.
Jared took me to his dad’s graveside once a few months back. I remember the headstone was large and ornate and there were fresh flowers lying in front of it. I was pretty sure they were from Bobby, since she goes there regularly. James was his name. James Nathan Moody. He and Jared share the same middle name, which I think I’d like to do, if Jared and I ever have kids, that is. Kind of hard to get married and procreate when we’ll live on pretty much opposite sides of the country.
In with the positive thoughts, out with the negative, my-life-sucks thoughts. I’m getting on my own nerves.
After the packing is pretty much done, Bobby heads home and Jared and I lay on the couch. His arms are wrapped around me and I’m resting my head on his chest, listening to his heartbeat. This is my favorite place to be, snuggled up in his arms.
I’m going to miss this.
~*~
“Julia, are you even listening to me?” Anna says somewhat loudly.
It’s Sunday morning, the morning before Jared leaves. I wanted to spend all day with him, but he has some last minute things he needs to take care of this morning and Anna claimed she “desperately” needed my help.
“Huh?” I say, trying to bring my mind back from wandering. It’s been doing a lot of that lately. Currently, Anna and I are sitting in my parents’ overly decorated formal dining room.
“Seriously? If you can’t help me sort out this seating chart, then just say you can’t.” She squints her eyes at me.
“No, no, I can help. Sorry, I just have a lot on my mind,” I say through a yawn.
“Yes, so do I. Like this stupid disaster,” Anna glances down at the chart we’ve been working on. She’s not being dramatic. It really is a mess.
“Now where were we?” I try to remember what we were talking about before my mind wandered. I think we were trying to decide if my dad’s sisters Brenda and Melanie can sit at the same table as some distant cousin whom they’ve both had a falling out with at some point. Seriously, can’t we all just get along?
“This seating chart is going to be the death of me,” Anna says, sinking back into the high-back leather dining chair.
“I think you’re getting a little too worried about it,” I say in a kind (albeit forced) voice. If I said it sarcastically like I wanted to, I’d start another discussion about how I have “no idea” what she’s going through right now. And I know I don’t, but why does she feel the need to rub it in?
She sighs. Here we go.
“You’re probably right,” she says, leaning her head back against the dark leather.
Holy crap, did she just agree with me?
“Holy crap, did you just agree with me?” I say out loud, because I’m so shocked I couldn’t help myself.
She opens her eyes and peers over at me, scowling. “Yes, I’m getting really tired of thinking about it.” Her head goes back to lying against the chair and her eyes close.
“What’s with you lately, anyway?” she asks, not turning her head in my direction.
“What do you mean?” I say, knowing exactly what she means.
“You’re just distant and you seem, I don’t know, not happy.” She still doesn’t turn toward me, her eyes still closed.
I’m honestly surprised she noticed. “It’s just something with Jared,” I say.
“What’s going on?” she asks. She seems concerned, but in an overly tired way.
I pause to look over at her. She keeps her eyes closed, her head back. Butterflies of excitement suddenly fill my chest. Finally, someone to talk to! And it’s even the one person I’ve wanted to talk to all along. Anna is who I trust the most when it comes to relationship talk. She can help me make sense of it all. She’s been my sounding board when I feel insecure, which has been more than I care to admit.
“Well,” I say, not sure where to start. “He’s had some problems with his company and . . .”
Anna’s head droops to the side, lazily. Her eyes are still closed.
She’s asleep.
“Anna?” I say, touching her lightly.
She doesn’t budge.
Well, I guess I’m on my own for this one, at least until this wedding is over and I get my sister back.
That can’t come soon enough.
CHAPTER 19
“Whatcha wearing?” Jared asks, in soothing, seductive tones.
“Oh, just some old sweats and a ratty T-shirt.” Yeah, I’m not playing along. I’m too tired. Plus, it’s the truth.
We are on the phone — Jared in his new apartment in Manhattan, me in my condo in Denver. Day two of our new, long-distance relationship.
Putting him on the plane was difficult, even knowing that he would be coming back in just a few weeks. I’m not going to sugarcoat this—I blubbered, like, snot-nose, hiccuping, blubbered. In front of him, even. I tried to hold it in, at least until I got to the car. But something about hugging him in the airport with everything so permanent, well, it’s a wonder I didn’t hyperventilate (I do that sometimes when I cry too hard . . . quite embarrassing).
So far so good, though. We are totally kicking this long-distance thing’s butt. We’ve talked both nights, FaceTimed one of them, sent multiple texts during the day. And one was even a sexy text from yours truly. Successfully this time, I might add.
Okay, it wasn’t sexy so much as a picture of my foot. But I had just gotten a pedicure and my feet looked gorgeous. Some guys get into that whole foot thing. Not Jared, but I figured I’d start small anyway. What’s there to build up to if I start sending him pictures of my bra strap right away? It was a little awkward with a “thinking of you” text and a picture of my foot, because that doesn’t make much sense now that I think about it. What does my foot have to do with missing him? Oh well, it was something different. He must, at least, appreciate that.
I’ll do better next time.
“How are the bright lights of Broadway?” I ask as I lay on my couch, feeling exhausted. It’s nearly my bedtime - 8 p.m. I truly live a glamorous life.