by Sj Hooks
Julia could come home, but I discarded that possibility immediately. This opportunity was much too important for her.
I can go to her.
Of course, I had considered this before Julia left, if I could somehow go with her. But I had quickly come to the sad conclusion it was impossible unless I resigned from my job at the university. I had classes this semester and it had been much too late to cancel them by the time I found out about Julia's scholarship. I didn't have a lot of money and couldn’t risk losing my steady paycheck. Therefore, I had stayed behind, even though I wanted to follow her.
I need my job. I can't just quit.
Unfortunately, this was still true. I wasn't independently wealthy and I couldn't survive without employment.
What am I going to do?
I found myself wishing that I could act young and irresponsibly, leave my job and hope that something else would fall into my lap. But the sensible adult part of me knew that this was not realistic at all. The recession meant that fewer students chose literature as their major and instead opted for ones that would lead to financially sound careers. There was hardly a demand for lit professors and I should consider myself lucky to have a great job to begin with. I would hate to jeopardize that, and yet deep inside I knew that given the choice I would quit in a heartbeat if I had to choose between teaching and being with Julia. I couldn't lose her. Not for anything.
"Hey. Are you OK?"
I looked up and saw that she had returned to her seat in front of the webcam, once again wearing her headset and also a much too large beige sweater, which looked awfully familiar.
"Is that mine?" I asked, after I had turned off my phone off and switched to Skype.
"Yeah, I sort of stole it,” she told me, hugging herself. "It reminds me of that night I had dinner at your place. You were wearing it."
"Our first date," I said softly. "Even if I didn't want to admit it to myself at the time."
"I didn't either," she whispered. "But it was more than just sex even then, wasn't it?"
I nodded. "It was never just sex. I was crazy about you from the very first moment I met you. I was just too stupid to see it," I admitted. "I couldn't stop talking about you—complaining about you, actually. Matt tried to get me to see the truth, but I was too stubborn. I was determined to believe that you were all wrong for me."
I drew a breath. "But you're not. You're everything I want, that I could ever want, sweetheart. You are my whole world."
"Thank you," she said. "I really needed to hear that tonight. I'm sorry I had a meltdown."
"Don't apologize. It's hard for me as well. I understand completely." I could see that our separation had affected her just as much as it did me. She looked pale and worn. I didn't like it one bit.
"Drink your tea," I encouraged. "Have you eaten dinner?"
"Yeah." She nodded and took a sip. "Vindaloo. They have great Indian food here."
"I'll learn how to cook it for you," I promised. "Then you can have it all the time when you come home."
She smiled a little wider and it made my heart flutter. I needed to make her smile more.
"Um, knock knock!" I blurted.
She raised an eyebrow. "Seriously?" she asked with a small grin.
Yes, seriously? A knock-knock joke? Is that the best you can come up with?
I searched my mind for something more sophisticated yet humorous to tell her but quickly realized that I had nothing. I wasn’t much of a comedian.
"Who's there?" she asked indulgently.
"To."
"To who?" she asked.
"To whom," I replied.
She stared at me.
"Uh, because it's grammatically incorrect to say 'to who,'" I explained. "Um, that's why it's funny…in theory, at least."
I sighed.
"Sorry, I'm not very good at telling jokes."
"That's OK," she said and leaned forward, still smiling. "I am."
And then my lovely girlfriend proceeded to tell me jokes so dirty that I was convinced they would have made even Matt blush. Every time I laughed or nearly choked on my own cup of tea it made her laugh, too, so I considered my mission a success even if I wasn't very funny at all. She was smiling, drinking her tea, and snuggling with my sweater. She finally looked happy and it felt almost like she was sitting across from me and not halfway around the world. Sadly, this was not the case, as I was reminded an hour later when her clock struck midnight while the sun was still shining outside my window.
"I wish you were here," Julia yawned, closing her eyes for a second. "I'm so tired and I don't sleep very well without you. The bed feels too big."
"I don't either. But you should go to bed. It's late and you need to get some rest," I encouraged gently.
She shook her head, stubborn as always.
"I'll stay on the line until you fall asleep," I promised.
"You'd do that for me?"
"Anything. I'd do anything for you," I said sincerely.
I watched as she picked up her laptop and the picture on my screen disappeared. When it came back into focus all I could see was her beautiful face again. She was lying on her side, looking straight at me. It was almost like we were in bed together and I wanted so badly to take her into my arms. But I only had words to give her right now.
"Do you want me to read to you?" I offered.
"Really?"
"Sure." I reached for the nearest book on my desk and held it up to the web camera for her to see.
"Ugh, not that guy again," she grumbled when she saw that I was holding a well-worn copy of Jack Kerouac's On The Road, the very same novel she had openly criticized in my class, completely dissagreeing with my assessment that it was one of the great American novels.
At the same time, she had also had made me realize that I had played it safe all my life and never once embarked on an adventure of my own.
Ah, memories.
"Now, now." I grinned. "I think you need to give it another chance, Ms. Wilde."
"Fine," she sighed, moving around to get more comfortable. "But only if you wear your sexy glasses while you read it."
"It's a deal," I said, slipping them on before opening the book.
"Stephen?"
"Hmm?" I looked up.
"I love you, baby."
"I love you, too, sweetheart," I said softly.
She smiled and closed her eyes and I cleared my throat before I started reading.
"'Part one, chapter one. I first met Dean not long after my wife and I split up’…"
After reading for quite a while I looked up from the book and saw that Julia had fallen asleep. Her features were completely relaxed, her lips parted, and she was breathing deeply. She was so peaceful now and it was hard to imagine this lovely girl could ever be sad. She should be having the time of her life. After all, she was living what I considered to be a fantastic dream: spending a year abroad studying, a whole world of knowledge at her fingertips. It was everything that I now wished I had been brave enough to reach for in my youth.
I took off my glasses and placed the book back on the desk. I remembered how Julia had asked me what great and daring things it had inspired me to do and how I had drawn a complete blank at the time. But that wasn't the case anymore.
Julia. I fell in love with Julia and I was brave enough to pursue her. I dared to put my heart on the line and I succeeded.
She was my motivation. For her I could be both brave and daring. I looked around my apartment, empty and silent without her. No sounds of laughter or lovemaking echoed off the walls. There were no strange smells coming from my immaculate kitchen indicating that Julia had once again tried her hand at cooking. There were no books or articles of women's clothing strewn around, making me both ecstatic and annoyed at the same time. It was just…empty. This was no home. Not without her.
I hate this. What the fuck am I doing?
It seemed so simple all of a sudden: when I was with Julia I was happy. When I was without her I was unha
ppy. Why was I choosing to be unhappy? Hadn't I spent enough years of my life like that? I didn't want to delay my happiness for another second and impulsively I grabbed my phone.
Time to call in years of favors.
I dialed and held it up to my ear. My heart leapt into my throat as it rang and I gazed at Julia's sleeping face on the screen. There was no place in the world I would rather be than by her side. I wanted to hold her every night while she slept, I wanted to cook for her, I wanted to talk and laugh and make love with her. I felt as though I had spent my entire life waiting and now I was done. I was ready to embark on the greatest adventure of my life and felt a surge of excitement rush through me when the phone was answered.
"Hi Brian, it's Stephen. Listen, I really need your help."
Julia frowned in her sleep as if she was dreaming about something unpleasant. Her arm swept back and forth across the mattress, and I knew that she was searching for me just as I still did for her every morning. I traced my fingertips over the screen, caressing her features.
Hold on, sweetheart. I'm coming.
Chapter 13
The coffee shop was crowded. The cold weather brought lots of people inside during the late afternoon, on their way home from work or school. The tables were crowded with university students, laughing and talking, and I watched them, envious of their happiness. I missed my friends. Stepping forward, I focused on the guy behind the counter, who was exactly my type: The Clash T-shirt, tattoos, a lip piercing, and a cocky attitude to complete the look. I’d always had a thing for bad boys. I was stupid then.
I placed my order for a plain black coffee, hitching up my heavy messenger bag as I searched my coat pocket for some money. I found a five-pound note and put it on the counter, reaching for the cup.
“It’s on me,” the barista said, flashing me a grin as he held onto the coffee. “Or, better yet, I’ll trade it for your number?”
I stared at him. A few months ago, I probably would’ve accepted.
“Just the coffee,” I told him, pushing the bill forward.
“Oh, you’re American. New in town? I can show you around if you’d like.”
“No.”
Confusion flashed across his face. He probably wasn’t used to rejection.
“Aww, don’t be like that,” he coaxed. “I can cheer you up, sweetheart.”
Sweetheart.
It was hardly the first time that some random guy hit on me, but for once I didn't have it in me to give him a smile and reject his invitation nicely, however clichéd and overused it was. I was tired from spending all day in class and then studying at the library afterward. I was hungry, lonely, and in no mood for his shit.
“What part of ‘no’ don’t you understand?” I snapped. “Give me my fucking coffee!” Grabbing the cup from him, I stomped out of the café, cursing underneath my breath.
Outside, I sighed and rifled through my bag to find my cigarettes, finally giving in to the urge that I had worked all day to suppress. I was smoking way too much and I knew it. Back home, I usually only indulged when I was out partying with Meg and Sophia, but now it had become a regular thing. They really made it way too easy over here. There were designated smoking areas on campus and no one gave you judgmental looks when you lit up. Not that I cared what strangers thought of me. I had given up on that a long time ago. Life is too short.
I knew that for a fact. One minute you're a happy little girl without a care in the world, and the next your parents are dead, killed in a fire caused by shoddy electrical wiring while you’re away at a sleepover. I saw a movie once where a guy said that your childhood is over the moment you know you're going to die. I suppose for some that's true, but not in my case. It wasn’t realizing my own mortality, but my parents’. Being told that your mommy and daddy have passed away when you're seven? That was the moment my childhood ended.
I looked back at the coffee shop, wishing I’d bought something to eat. I didn’t have a thing at home. The guy behind the counter was leaning forward on his elbows, engaged in conversation with another female customer, a charming smile plastered on his face.
How quickly they forget. Will he forget me?
God, stop with that negative shit. He loves you. You know he does.
I shook my head and put the cigarette back into the pack, resisting the urge to light up, and started walking in the direction of my apartment. I couldn't avoid going home forever.
Home. What a fucking joke.
Despite my dismal mood and the chill in the air, I couldn't help but appreciate my surroundings as I walked through the city. I had always loved London. Even coming here the first time with my asshole ex-boyfriend hadn't changed that fact.
Derek and I started dating when I was fifteen and he was seventeen. We went to the same high school and I thought the world of him. I was so naïve it was laughable and I couldn't believe that someone older and popular like Derek would want plain little Jules for his girlfriend. I shuddered now at how he had treated me and especially how idiotic I had been for allowing him to do it. I was living with Pop and he pretty much let me do whatever I wanted as long as it made me happy and I didn't neglect my schoolwork. So he had no objections when I told him that Derek and I were going to travel through Europe after I finished high school. I had money, left to me by Mom and Dad, and since I couldn't imagine going without my boyfriend who didn't have a dime to his name, I ended up paying for everything.
It had started out OK. I was used to Derek flirting with other girls and stupidly I believed him when he told me that I was the only one for him. Even when I saw him kissing them at parties, he somehow managed to make me feel immature and unreasonable when I told him that I didn't like him doing that. It was still OK because deep down I was the one he loved, right? Yeah, I was such a fucking idiot. I could see that now, but at the time I clung to the familiar after having lost so much already.
Walking in on Derek screwing some girl in our hotel room—a hotel room that I paid for—was the breaking point. Fuck, I hated him. Still did, and probably always would. Hell hath no fury, indeed.
I ended up drunk in some bar later that night and that was when I met Etienne. He was older, nice-looking, and willing to listen while I poured my heart out to him. He made me feel wanted and sexy. Then he kissed me and I went with him to his hotel room after the bar closed. It turned out to be a good decision.
The next day we left Paris together and headed for his vineyard, where I ended up staying for the rest of the summer and well into the fall. Being with Etienne was easy. Not that we were ever really together in that way. We fucked plenty, and he was a good friend, but there were never any romantic feelings between us. I was done with romance. Or at least I thought I was. I grew up a lot over that summer and vowed that I would never fall for a guy again. Etienne had shown me how great sex could be and that it didn't necessarily have to include romantic feelings. It seemed perfect at the time.
When I left France I felt like a new person. Gone was the wide-eyed naïve girl who let a guy walk all over her and was too embarrassed and shy to enjoy sex. I emerged as a woman in control of her life and sexuality, as hokey as that may sound. Unlike many others who had been in my situation, I didn't hate men. I knew they weren't all bastards, but I wasn't about to put my heart on the line one more time. Besides, I had more important things to focus on.
Pop was diagnosed while I was still staying with Etienne and I came home immediately after I received his call. I was devastated. Pop was my family—my only family. He had taken care of me for years and I loved him more than anything in the entire world. I knew what having Alzheimer's meant and I didn't want to waste the precious time we had left while he was still my loving, but slightly forgetful, grandfather.
Pop wanted me to keep traveling and insisted that I shouldn't put my own plans on hold because of him. He thought I should see the world while I was still young. I agreed and asked him to come with me. We spent the next year traveling, always racing against the clock, trying to i
gnore his memory lapses. I wanted as much time with him as possible.
Once, I lost track of him at a street market in Rio de Janeiro, and, when he couldn't remember which hotel we were staying at, he wandered the city for hours before the police picked him up in a very bad neighborhood. They tracked me down and when I raced to the station to collect him, he didn't recognize me at first. It became painfully evident that we needed to go home. Our time was up.
I had hoped that he would improve once we returned to familiar surroundings, but he never did. He needed more and more help to handle simple everyday tasks, and even though I was happy to provide it, he finally put his foot down.
"I won't be a burden to you."
"You're not!" I insisted. "You took care of me when I needed it. Was I a burden?"
"Of course not, but it's different. You're wasting your life here! You're nineteen years old. You should be in school. You shouldn't be playing nursemaid to me because you feel obligated."
"I want to take care of you! It's not something I'm doing out of obligation. You're all I have left!"
I was crying by then. Pop went to the stove, presumably to make me some tea, but he had forgotten that I had just boiled water a few minutes earlier and burned his hand on the piping hot kettle. I rushed to his side to help him and for the first time in my life he yelled at me.
"Goddamn it, Fiona. I can do it myself!"
Fiona was my mother's name. At that moment I knew that something had to change.
We moved to San Francisco. Pop went to live in a facility that specialized in Alzheimer's patients, one of the best in the country. I went to college, just like he wanted me to. It turned out to be the best thing I ever did. I met Sophia and Meg, partied, studied, and lived a pretty normal college life, with the exception of my weekly visits with Pop. Some were great; he would be his old self and so happy to see me. Some were sad; when he mistook me for my mom and was confused about not being in his own house. Some were downright awful, when he would yell and throw things in frustration and anger because his mind was jumbled and he couldn't distinguish between past and present. I always partied after those visits. Like the night I met Stephen outside the bar.