Julie's Butterfly

by Greta Milán

  But she loved him.

  It would have been so much easier if she didn’t feel that way. But that was how it was—still. So the idea of a small, happy family would remain nothing more than a dream, making it hurt that much more.

  The ringing of her doorbell jerked her out of her thoughts. It was Sunday afternoon. Isabelle had said she would stop by later, but she had a key. Frowning, Julie went to the door and opened it.

  Her mother stood there.

  Julie flinched. They hadn’t seen each other in months, hadn’t even spoken. But now there seemed no way to avoid it; she could hardly close the door in her face, however tempted she was to do so.

  Louisa was holding a huge green box, over which she could hardly see. Uncertainty flickered in her eyes before she jutted her chin out proudly.

  “Hello, Julietta,” she said stiffly. “May I come in?”

  Julie stepped aside and held the door. She followed her mother into the living room where she put the box awkwardly down on the cluttered coffee table, burying several books beneath it.

  “What are you doing here?” asked Julie, not exactly rudely, but with a hint of skepticism in her voice.

  “As you have decided not to grace us with your company today or any other Sunday, I’ve decided to bring you a few things,” said Louisa. She even had the nerve to look hurt.

  Julie folded her arms tensely, causing her mother’s eyes to drop to her small bump.

  “How are you?” Louisa asked.

  “Fine,” replied Julie curtly. She wondered whether to offer her mother a seat, but she had little interest in prolonging their conversation. Her mother had already made her take on things quite clear. Perhaps she had come to suggest putting the baby up for adoption; Julie wouldn’t have put it past her.

  Louisa nodded thoughtfully. “Over the last few weeks, you’ve proved impressively that you can manage perfectly well on your own,” she remarked. Julie almost thought she heard a note of respect in her voice.

  “I’ve never been alone,” she said.

  “I heard you and Bastian have gone your separate ways?”

  Julie’s heart contracted painfully. “We’ll always have something in common,” she countered tonelessly. Not in the way she would have liked, but at least the child would form a link between them.

  “You were always headstrong,” said Louisa, glancing at her pile of books. To Julie’s amazement, she smiled. “Even when you were only two, you always wanted your own way. Joanna was the cautious one, but you couldn’t wait to explore, to push beyond your limits. Sometimes you stumbled and fell, but you always got back on your feet.” She paused for thought, tucking a lock of her brown hair behind her ear, just as Julie often did. A small crease furrowed her brow. “It’s not easy to stand by and watch your own child heading for a cliff,” she continued. “You believe they can jump far enough to reach the other side, but there’s always the fear they’ll fall. You can only do your best to protect them.”

  That was so typical of her mother; she couldn’t have been more melodramatic if she tried. It was clearly impossible for her simply to say she was sorry. But Julie had to give her credit for the fact that her words did reveal genuine concern, and Louisa’s regret was plainly visible.

  “I’m not heading for any cliff,” she said calmly. “I’m expecting a baby. Just like millions of other women all over the world.”

  Louisa smiled stoically. “You’ll learn what I mean soon enough,” she said without a trace of reproach in her voice. “These things are for you and the baby,” she said huskily. “If you need anything, you’ll always be welcome.”

  With that, she squared her shoulders and turned to go. Her sudden departure was bewildering. An expert at making demands, she normally nagged at Julie for as long as it took for her to get her way. But she had just presented Julie with a concealed apology garnished with a declaration of love, a completely new phenomenon.

  As her mother opened the door, she could hold back no longer.

  “Mom!” she called.

  Louisa stopped and looked back hesitantly.

  It might have been one of those classic tearjerker movie hug moments, but Julie wasn’t quite ready for that. Instead, she folded her arms more tightly around herself and smiled. “I’ll see you next Sunday.”

  Louisa had had plenty of practice maintaining her composure, but even she could not prevent the relieved smile that crossed her face. “I look forward to it,” she replied imperiously and left.

  Julie couldn’t claim to be overjoyed at the prospect of reviving their Sunday tradition, but she knew it was the right thing to do.

  She turned back to her table, which was still occupied by the gigantic box. She lifted the lid and peered inside. On top was a pink-and-blue-striped baby blanket. She took it out and gave a sudden sharp cry.

  Surrounded by rompers, baby toys, and plush animals was her grandmother’s music box. She blinked incredulously before taking the merry-go-round carefully out of its fabric nest and setting it down. As she turned the little key in the base, there was a quiet click, then the carousel began to turn, filling the room with the familiar melody from her childhood. A smile spread across her face, and for the first time in months, she felt warm inside. She had a fleeting vision of a happy future, saw herself and her child—enveloped in security—dancing to the tune that was now ringing out through the silence. Her mother could not have given her anything more valuable.

  She rewound the music box three times and listened, entranced by its melody. She then turned her attention to the other gifts in the box.

  A short while later, she heard the door opening.

  “Hi,” called Isabelle. Her hair was now shaggy and dyed a deep blue, which made her eyes look huge. She glanced at Julie’s dining table. “What’s all this stuff?” she asked, undoing the top buttons of her blue winter coat.

  “My mother stopped by.”

  Isabelle wrinkled her nose critically. “I hope she threw herself down on her knees before you and begged your forgiveness.”

  “Something like that.” Julie grinned, causing Isabelle to blink in astonishment.

  “You’re too much of a pushover,” she said darkly. “But while we’re on the subject of forgiveness, have you finally called Bastian?”

  “No.”

  “Why not?”

  “Because I still have no idea what to say to him.”

  “That’s enough!” Isabelle turned and headed toward the door.

  “Where are you going?” Julie called after her.

  “I need some fresh air.”

  “But you just got here.”

  “That’s why you’re coming with me,” Isabelle announced, turning to Julie with Julie’s down jacket and winter shoes in her hands. “To help you think more clearly.”

  Julie folded her arms stubbornly. “But it’s freezing out there.”

  “I know,” said Isabelle with a grin. “Exactly what you need.”

  Cursing, Julie slipped her feet into her shoes and threw her coat on. She pulled a thick woolen cap onto her head on her way out the door, following Isabelle, who steered her to the park. They walked together in silence for a while, Julie staring doggedly ahead. They passed a few families and other people who seemed not to mind the arctic temperature. It hadn’t snowed for a few days, and the snow was crisscrossed with dirty ruts and footprints. But the sun was shining and Julie’s inner tumult began to ebb.

  A light rustle drew her attention to Isabelle who was rummaging for something in her purse. “Want one?” she asked, holding a gummy bear under Julie’s nose.

  She grabbed it sullenly and put it in her mouth.

  Isabelle giggled. “I knew that would cheer you up.”

  “It wasn’t so long ago that you were complaining I didn’t eat enough.”

  “True, true,” agreed Isabelle, passing her the
pack. “Listen, things simply can’t go on like this.”

  “I don’t want to talk about it,” Julie muttered.

  “You’ve been saying that for weeks, but the time has come to sort this out. He’s apologized hundreds of times for his mistake, he’s called you, he’s sent you flowers, he even wrote those letters. By hand!” Isabelle was counting off on her fingers. “Why don’t you just give him a chance to make it up to you?”

  “He broke my heart,” Julie objected. And he would do it again. It was only a question of time.

  “I won’t deny that he hurt you really badly. But don’t you realize that he’s the only one who can put your sweet little heart back together again?”

  Isabelle stopped abruptly and looked ahead with a smile. Julie followed her gaze. Her heart suddenly skipped a beat as she saw Bastian walking toward them.

  “Damn it, Isabelle!”

  “Look at him. He looks so miserable.”

  Frozen to the spot, Julie could do nothing but watch him slowly approaching. Isabelle was wrong. He looked good; he always did. His gorgeous green eyes looked tired, but bright, and he was smiling. His hands were buried in his coat pockets, and his pace was steady and determined. He didn’t look half as despairing as she had expected him to. Instead, he appeared to be taking in every slight change in her expression.

  “At least listen to him,” Isabelle begged. “If you don’t like what you hear, you can go on rejecting him.”

  She kissed Julie’s ice-cold cheek, nodded to Bastian, and walked back the way they had come.

  Bastian stopped a few feet in front of her. He glanced down briefly at her belly. He looked disappointed that he could make out nothing beneath her thick down jacket, then his expression turned to one of concern. He searched her eyes for some telltale sign but seemed unable to read her expression and did not dare to ask after their child. Julie thought it would be cruel to leave him in the dark.

  “The baby’s doing well,” she said quietly.

  Bastian breathed a sigh of relief. Her words seemed to encourage him, and he took a step forward. Julie’s body reacted with a fleeting tingle of excitement.

  “I’ll never forgive myself for all those things I said.” He fought for breath. “You were right,” he continued in a firmer voice. “I was eaten up by self-doubt and insecurity. I’ve never really accepted myself as I am. It took me a long time to understand that.” He pulled a small white box out of his jacket pocket and held it out to Julie. “I’d like to give this to you.”

  “What’s in it?” she asked suspiciously.

  “My gloves,” he replied. He opened the lid to reveal countless tiny scraps of leather nestling in a bed of soft paper. “You can do what you like with them.”

  Julie’s eyes widened in surprise. Her eyes fell instinctively to his hands. She hadn’t noticed that he wasn’t wearing them, because she had been too preoccupied by the sight of him. His fingers were reddened by the cold, deepening the contrast between his scars and unblemished skin. There was a large bandage on his left thumb.

  “I’m never going to wear them again,” he continued. “Let people stare. I don’t care. I’m a nice person, and I . . . I like myself.” His words sounded uncertain, as though he was not used to saying them aloud. He smiled bashfully.

  The small glimmer of hope awakened by his letters now began to spark, but Julie was unable to move.

  Bastian shoved the box awkwardly back into his jacket pocket. He didn’t even notice that a few leather scraps had fluttered to the ground. Then he closed the remaining distance between them and slowly raised his hand.

  Julie didn’t resist. She longed for his familiar touch too much to push him away.

  As he pressed his cold hands to her cheeks, a smile appeared on his lips. His eyes held nothing but sincerity. “I love you, Julietta.”

  Julie was close to tears.

  Until that moment, she had not thought him capable of changing. But it looked as though he had finally found a way to see himself more clearly.

  She wasn’t stupid, though; she knew that his insecurity would return when he reached his limit. She could live with that, with one exception. “What if our child is also affected?” she asked softly.

  “Then we’ll deal with that together,” he said resolutely. “We’ll teach him or her how to live with it and feel valued as a unique human being.”

  What woman with raging hormones who had lived without love for so many months would not fall into the arms of the man to whom her heart belonged?

  Julie melted like butter in the sun. Before her knees buckled, she threw her arms around his neck, and he held her tightly. He buried his face in her neck, gently touching her bare skin with the cold tip of his nose, and inhaled deeply.

  She laughed as a tear ran down her cheek.

  “Our child will be happy,” he murmured in her ear. “And so will we.”

  EPILOGUE

  It was one of those perfect summer days. The sun shone down from a cloudless sky. Flowers dotted the wide expanse of the meadow, and the long grass rippled in the soft breeze. A small butterfly fluttered joyfully through the air, delighting in the scents of nature and its own vitality.

  A pair of lovers caught its attention. They were sitting in the shade of an ancient oak, a baby stroller nearby. The man leaned back against the tree and gazed into the distance with a contented smile while she lay with her head in his lap, enjoying the gentle touch of his rough hands running through her hair.

  The butterfly landed on the stroller’s bug net and peered in cautiously. A baby was asleep there.

  Delicate and beautiful.

  “In two weeks, when you’ve finished your exams, we should go away somewhere,” the man said.

  She blinked up at him. “Where to?”

  “We could visit my father in the South of France,” he suggested. “He can hardly wait to meet you. There are some vacation homes available for rent nearby, right by the sea.”

  “Sounds good. But you do realize it’s a bit soon to be building sand castles?”

  “It’s never too soon to build a castle fit for a princess.”

  “Another one?” she teased. “Have you seen her room recently?”

  “I’m still not sure I can learn to love those flowers on her walls,” he murmured.

  “That’s because you’re not used to the feminine touch,” she said with an indulgent smile. “You made such a fuss over having the walls of your precious studio painted pink.”

  “Yes, but you let Isabelle talk you into buying shocking pink,” he said indignantly. “It’s got nothing to do with pink in itself.”

  “Of course it does,” she said with a giggle. “And those flowers are lovely.”

  “If you say so, my love,” he said.

  She cocked her head mockingly, a silent request in her eyes, with which he complied at once. He bent over and gave her a gentle kiss on the lips.

  As he drew away, his eyes were misty with love. “So are you finally going to marry me?” he asked.

  She grinned. “Maybe.”

  Life was strange. An onlooker would have thought her answer would worry him. But an unshakable air of confidence was visible in his eyes.

  The butterfly flew merrily into the air and danced away from them on the breeze, a silent witness to their happiness.

  ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

  Mika, I thank you for your love and the two wonderful children you have given me, for your unshakable belief in my abilities and your boundless support.

  Mom, I thank you for so much. I will never be able to repay all that you have given me, but I will try my best.

  Sanni, Julie’s power of empathy owes a lot to your wonderful ability to understand what others don’t see. I thank you for that.

  Nana, thank you for your enthusiasm and trust over many years. I’m very fortunate to have you on
my side.

  Jules, thank you for the sincere friendship that has united us for so long and, of course, for your merciless constructive criticism.

  Judith, many thanks for taking the time to get rid of all the mistakes I overlooked.

  I would also like to thank, from the bottom of my heart, all those who have been unprejudiced, self-sacrificing, and compassionate, especially my grandparents, Mopi, Rähne, Robert, and many other good friends.

  I wish to thank the specialist centers and associations who so selflessly help EB sufferers and their families. Above all, I would like to thank the doctors in Freiburg and Dr. Riedl of DEBRA Austria for their support.

  And I warmly thank the readers of this story for their interest and their generous feedback.

  FURTHER INFORMATION ON BUTTERFLY CHILDREN

  Network Epidermolysis Bullosa

  http://www.netzwerk-eb.de/e7/index_eng.html

  DEBRA

  (Dystrophic Epidermolysis Bullosa Research Association of America)

  www.debra.org

  DEBRA UK

  www.debra.org.uk

  ABOUT THE AUTHOR

  Inspired by her real-life love for a “Butterfly Child” and moved by the reactions of other people, Greta Milán wanted to find an unconventional way to raise awareness of the rare hereditary skin disorder epidermolysis bullosa. In her debut novel, Julie’s Butterfly, she deals with prejudice, describes the experience of EB sufferers, and gives rich and varied insight into life with EB. Greta Milán is married and lives near Frankfurt, Germany.

  ABOUT THE TRANSLATOR

  Alison Layland has been a professional translator of French, German, and Welsh into English since 1994. A member of the Institute of Translation and Interpreting and the Society of Authors, she won the Translators’ House Wales/Oxfam Cymru Translation Challenge in 2010, as well as various short story competitions for her own writing. Her translation of the novel The Colour of Dawn by Haitian author Yanick Lahens was published in 2013, and her debut novel Someone Else’s Conflict is to be published by Honno Press at the end of 2014. She is married with two children and lives in the beautiful and inspiring countryside of Wales, United Kingdom.