by Alex Rosa
When Julia doesn’t answer both Lizzy’s and my shoulders slump, but I shake it off. I don’t need my seven year old willingly wallowing with me.
“C’mon, let’s have a glass of chocolate milk before bed.”
She may be an overly wise child, but she can’t help her excitement when it comes to chocolate milk.
I toss my phone on the couch as we get up to go to the kitchen while a new worry squirms into my psyche.
I have a terrible feeling that things are about to go wrong.
What’s going to happen now? I kept telling myself the past week that Julia and I didn’t need to figure that out, but now that everything is said and done, and everything that happened, well, happened, I feel like I’m walking blind.
The pressing feeling of the unknown is nowhere near reassuring, especially now.
How is work going to go? I never considered Julia not wanting to see my face as an option. Is that an option now?
I gulp down the thought, running a hand through my hair, and accidentally bump my bruising eye along the way.Ow.
Will my brother ever want to talk to me again either?
What a mess.
Lizzy maneuvers her tiny body through the kitchen in search of Nesquik for her milk and I try smiling, but I can’t.
Was it Lizzy’s admission that put this all at stake?
I shake my head, stopping my steps mid-hallway. I won’t blame her. I won’t. This is my fault. Not hers.
I turn back around into the living room and grab for my phone.
Julia is known to not only make rash decisions, but sometimes irrational decisions with calculated finesse. I wish I could tell her it’s one of my favorite things about her, however maybe not this time.
“Daddy, get the milk!”
I nod as I dial her number again and hope she answers.
I need her to answer as much as I need her answers.
I stare at my phone as it rings for the fourth time. Troy’s name shines brightly from my coffee table. I want so badly to reach for it, but I can’t have him hear me like this. I can’t stop crying, and my sobs will just embarrass me.
I watch as the screen clears itself and promptly dings ten seconds later.
This version of Troy seems less calm than the one I remember the morning I snuck out of his apartment. His attempt at contacting me was cool and collected in an almost annoying way then. I figured that was the way he always operated.
Maybe there was less at stake during that time. However now, I can sense his panic.
His four calls have come nearly every thirty minutes to an hour. It’s the most recent voicemail that blinks back at me that has me trembling in fear.
Can he feel my doubt? Can he sense my pain? Because if he can, he’d be right to worry.
I’m terrified of what I have done. I want to talk to Troy, but feel compelled to call Noah. Nothing happens in regards to either. I can’t bring myself to touch my phone at all. What could I say to them? Noah won’t want more apologies, and Troy won’t like what I’m thinking.
The trouble with all of this is that I thought I could get away with it. I thought I could manage escaping wound-free.
My hand comes up, and my palm collides with my forehead with a slap. How could I be so stupid?
There was no way I was ever going make this work.
What am I supposed to do now? Run into Troy’s arms?
My heart revs in my chest as if my emotionally driven bits are telling me, “Yes! Yes! Run to Troy. That was the plan originally.”
The relief it would give me no longer feels right. My brain chimes in its rebuttal, going off like a gong within my skull. “You have to let go. The damage has been done.”
I rise from the couch and pace. I make it three rounds before walking to my window to take in the city.
I examine the night skyline as I wipe my nose. I admire the peaks of buildings, and the fashionable rooftops glittering among the light snowfall and the lit up city.
I like what I see, but I don’t see where I fit in. I admire the sight so much more than I realized I would, but I wonder where I belong among this chaos.
I shake my head, turning around to take in my apartment. I’m nearly unpacked other than a few boxes piled in the corner. I have not yet got the living room rug I wanted or the photograph of Paris for the back wall. Oddly, the thought is comforting because it means I’ll have less to put back in boxes.
My shoulders tense at the realization of what the simple thought means.
I can’t stay. If I can’t have Troy, what else can stay the same? I’d never be able to face him at work.
My heartstrings pang in my chest at considering leaving him and having to explain myself. He’ll hate me for it, but maybe it’s better that way. Noah hates me already. If I can manage both, they’d be happy to see me leave and then maybe they can repair their own relationship without my interference.
I can’t sit here in NYC knowing I ruined a brotherly bond. Even though they had their battles, I know they were incredibly close before I came into town. I won’t have that on my conscious. I’m not a home wrecker of any kind.
Maybe it’s time I return to LA where my life made sense. It may not have been everything I wanted, but it didn’t come with this chaos that seems to swell around me like a passing blizzard. I can try a different approach at life when I go back. It doesn’t have to be the exact same as before. My Dad will surely give me my job back, and my uncle will have to forgive me.
I claw at my chest as my insides seem to tremble with the thumping of my heart. I won’t admit that I liked my job here.
I try telling myself the sunshine and endless summers is what will cure me, but when I close my eyes to picture the beach, I can only see Troy’s crystal blue eyes in Times Square as he smiles.
Nope. I can’t. I can’t stay here.
I walk to my front door, opening it and walk straight to Megan’s door.
I knock. She answers by the fourth pound.
When the green door swings open, she smiles. I even smile back. She was a good friend.
I throw my arms around her in a helpless hug.
“Jules, what’s wrong with you?” she asks as she hugs me back with a tight reassuring squeeze. It shocks me that she can be so instantly nurturing as a friend when she plays off her hard exterior so much.
“I’m leaving,” I blurt out with my chin resting on her shoulder.
I feel her shaking her head. “Don’t do this, Jules.”
“I can’t. I have to leave.”
She huffs as if sensing that there’s no changing my mind. Maybe it’s the way my arms have her in a vice grip. I adore her more for not arguing with me. This is not a topic I want to fight about.
“I’ll miss you. Who will drink copious amounts of wine and not judge me?”
A dry chuckle escapes me. “There’s still time for wine.”
“Uncle, please listen to me.”
My Uncle Paul scratches the back of his balding head, and then smooths out his thick brows, totally confused with the situation. Me too, Uncle, me too.
“I just don’t understand why you want to leave,” he harps. “I was under the impression things were going well.”
Watching him pace is stressing me out more than I already am. “It was going well. I just-I just … please don’t hate me.”
He lets out a boisterous chuckle and walks over to me, and instead of sitting behind his desk, he takes a seat in the arm chair next to me. “How could I hate you? You not only got this firm its biggest client, but you’re my favorite niece.”
I roll my eyes. “I’m your only niece.”
“Which also makes you the smartest.”
A laugh escapes me and it’s cathartic in comparison to the sobs that have plagued me in the past day.
“Does your dear old dad know how special you are? You’re the daughter I never had, and letting you go now is difficult when I’ve bee
n trying so hard to get you here.”
I shrug, offering him a smile. “If he doesn’t know, I’ll be sure to remind him how I got his brother the best design contract in NYC.”
He lets out a long sigh while eyeing me adoringly. “I can tell in your tone that your mind is already made up. I can’t say I agree, but I don’t think I have a choice in the matter. If it isn’t work related that you’re leaving, it must be personal.” He raises an inquisitive brow. “You’ve been here almost four months. How much trouble could you have possibly gotten into?”
I will not cry. I will not cry.
Pursing my lips, I shrug. “You’d be surprised.”
“If it helps, whoever this guy is, he’s an idiot.”
I don’t have the heart to tell him that I’m the idiot, so I nod.
He rises from his seat, and I follow his lead stumbling a bit on my Louboutin heels that at one time made me feel like I could conquer the world. Now I feel like a dog with its tail between its legs.
“Well, don’t leave all at once. Take your time. Do you have a date in mind?”
“Soon.”
“Okay. Well, as your employer I can’t say I’m pleased with the time frame, but as your uncle I can see it in your eyes that this situation is out of my control. I hate seeing you so sad, sweetie.”
“I’ll be fine.” I try telling myself it’s the truth. I think the West Coast will offer a remedy the East can’t give me.
“Keep me updated, will you?”
I nod, and he pulls me into the tightest hug, squeezing me close as he mumbles, “if you change your mind, just say the word.”
I pull away feeling like I just ran a marathon, but it’s the relief that feels strange. I thought this would be another hard part, but as always, my Uncle Paul is more understanding than my father. Hell, my uncle didn’t send me to therapy questioning my sanity. Although at this point, maybe he should.
I take a deep breath as I push through his office door.
When I exit Paul’s office Troy is already waiting for me. I try not to trip over my own feet as I wave to my uncle’s assistant as I cross the hall.
Troy’s leaning against the opposite wall in a way that could rival James Dean. The rebel without a cause look fits him even when it’s in a well-tailored suit; all he needs is a cigarette.
“Julia,” he whispers pleadingly, letting his sentence trail off. It has a whimsical tone to it and I want to fall into his arms like his words wield magic, but I don’t.
I want to talk, really I do, but it’s too hard. All I can do is shake my head, and I know it’s the cowardly response, yet at the same time, it’s for his own good.
He has to let me go, just like I have to let him go.
He takes a step in front of me, and I wish in some parallel universe I could throw my hands around him, but again, I can’t.
“Please talk to me, Julia. This is killing me.”
“It’s killing me too”, I want to tell him. I’ve become mute. I also want to tell him that wearing that red tie isn’t funny to me anymore. I want to touch it. I want to touch him. I want to tell him to make it better, but none of it is right. I’ve done too much damage. How could he want to talk to me?
I open my mouth to reply, but someone zooms between us holding a stack of files, reminding me that we’re at work, and this is no place for the conversation he wants to have.
I turn and walk away from him and down the hall.
“Jules …” he pleads again quietly, but forcibly.
If I say his name out loud I’ll end up crying. “I can’t talk.”
We make it into the open area and I quicken my pace to my office, but he’s trailing right behind me.
“Hi, Claire,” I utter as we rush by her.
I feel like I’m being chased, and when we both enter my office and he turns around to close my office door, I feel like a trapped animal.
“You’re not being fair. Please tell me you weren’t in Paul’s office doing something stupid.”
I squint at him. How could he know?
“Say something, dammit. You’re making me lose my mind. Please tell me you didn’t just quit. Why won’t you talk to me? You know leaving isn’t the right thing to do.”
I want to lift my hand up and touch the bruising around his eye, but I’m simply petrified. I wonder if Paul were to see that bruise if he would connect the dots.
Troy takes a step closer. I panic when he reaches out for me. If he touches me I won’t be able to hold my ground.
“Troy … stop.”
His hand freezes midair. “She speaks.” He tries shooting me a smirk, and I want to kiss the corner of his mouth where it curves up, but I don’t.
This is horrible.
He pulls his hand back as if sensing my inner turmoil. “You haven’t been picking up any of my calls. What’s going on? We need to talk. How come you haven’t called me back?”
I lift a careless shoulder. “Nothing’s going on. I-I-we aren’t anything Troy.”
His crystal blue eyes frost over. He’s lost his patience now. “I know you like to treat me like I’m an idiot from time to time, but I’m not. Just because we didn’t make anything official doesn’t mean that it wasn’t implied that we had something. C’mon Julia, give me something to work with here. Thing’s blew up, I get that. But, you owe me—Hell, you owe us more than that. I deserved that hit—“
“No, you didn’t,” I blurt out.
He nods, “Yeah, I did. But it doesn’t matter. Julia, please tell me you did not just quit. Why else would you be in Paul’s office? Please tell me you’re going to give us a chance.”
“A chance?” I whisper. I feel like a cat that’s used all their nine lives. What more do I have left? “Troy, I can’t give us that chance. We screwed up. I screwed up.”
“Screwed up?” he retorts, flailing a frustrated hand and then frantically running it through his hair. “We both screwed up. But if I’m willing to go through picking up the pieces with you, then what’s the problem? I had a feeling you were going to do this. You’re running.”
“I am not running!” I shout.
Troy clenches his jaw and peers back at the closed door. It’s during business hours and there are handfuls of people just beyond that door.
“Then what are you doing? Are you running from me and this job, or are you running back to the place you ran from originally?”
His wide, expectant eyes tell me his words are not just to rile me up. He wants an answer because he isn’t sure. He’s wondering where I’m headed.
“I’m going back to LA.”
His eyes shut tight, but it’s brief. When they fly open they’re blazing. “Jules, you’re being ridiculous.”
I don’t know why, but my guilt boils into anger and I square my shoulders. “It’s not. You don’t understand.”
“What’s there to understand?” he says through gritted teeth as if it’s to keep his voice low.
“I’ve ruined everything. Isn’t it obvious?”
“Let me be the judge of that. You’re worried about Noah.”
“I’m worried about the both of you. I’ve ruined your relationship with him because I was selfish.”
“He’ll get over it,” he huffs childishly.
“I don’t want him to have to get over it. I don’t know how I thought this was going to ever work.” I tense wondering how I’ll make myself clear.
“You’re just going to drop everything you made here. What about Lizzy?”
My heart plummets into the depths of my gut, and I pale at the realization.
“You didn’t even consider how it would affect her?”
My breaths begin shallow attempts at oxygen, but I shake my head. “I’m sorry, Troy. I wish it wasn’t this way but …” He’s right, and it’s ripping me apart at the seams. “I can’t be there for you just as much as I can’t be there for her.”
His eyebrows knit harshly. “She
already looks up to you. She values you. Don’t you have any idea what that means to her?”
The words feel like they’re repeatedly stabbing my well-being. “I don’t know what you want from me here. The realization that if we were to continue seeing each other,” I get choked up as I swallow down the guilt. “—I couldn’t be a mom to her, Troy. Isn’t that what would end up happening? I’d be terrible. I was never ready for that commitment, especially with managing the mess with Noah. It-It wouldn’t have worked.”
His face falls with disappointment and his blue eyes dissolve into hurt. It’s that emotionless look that tells me so much and more. “So, then you’re willing to walk away from both of us? For me Jules, that’s the last straw. I mean, I’ve told you we’d work on mending the bridges we damaged together, and you have to know how much I want you to stay, and I’ve explained how important you are to Lizzy. Though, there’s nothing I’m saying that seems to be getting you to budge in the slightest. You want me to give up? Is that your goal? You got it. I …” he shakes his head while letting his sentence trail off into silence, deciding against whatever he was going to say.
Troy turns around to grab the door. His hand stays on the doorknob before opening it. He turns around with that antagonizing smirk that had gotten me riled up all those months ago, except this time his eyes scream remorse.
I see his inner workings robotically setting him up for what he wants the world to see him as, and I realize in that instant it’s a defense mechanism. He’s trying for calm.
He begins, cool and collected, and I hate it immediately as he says, “Ya know we never talked about it, but I was never ready for it either, parenthood that is, and we won’t get into the details of what us being together would’ve meant, but for the record, you would have made an excellent mother. Bye, Jules.”
When he leaves without letting me say my own good bye, no matter how pathetic it might’ve been, it destroys me.
I remind myself it’s better this way as I wipe at the corner of my eyes and try my damndest not to think.