“And we smell so good, too. I might never shower again.”
We started laughing, and then we couldn’t stop, that wonderful, unstoppable laughter that made me run for the gorgeous bathroom, which made us both laugh harder.
Maybe it was the champagne. But I didn’t think so. I think it was relief, and a little exhaustion, and most of all, love.
CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO
Juliet
Sadie knew a thing or two. The two nights in Boston had been heaven.
Juliet hadn’t cried so much . . . well, ever. But they were the good kind of tears, the kind that washed away the dirt from your soul. Mom was magical. She could make every situation better just by her pragmatism, her dry sense of humor, her conviction. If the woman Juliet most admired in the world thought Juliet was the bomb, who was Juliet to disagree?
Even so, she felt nervous when she got home. Oliver could well be furious with her. When she texted to say she was going away for a couple of nights with her mom, his response had been, “Have fun.”
That was it.
He was home when she got back . . . His car was in the garage, at least. Sloane swarmed her at the door, full of questions, wondering what presents she was about to receive. Juliet gathered her up and smooched her cheeks before doling out the gifts—a fake Boston Police Department badge, since Sloane wanted to be a cop, and a T-shirt that said Chowdahead. For Brianna, she’d bought a replica of the statue that showed Mrs. Mallard leading her ducklings through Boston Common.
“I loved this book when I was little,” Brianna said.
“I know.”
Brianna looked at her. “I’m not little anymore. Here, Sloane. You can have it.”
“Yay!” Sloane said.
“I got you a T-shirt, too,” Juliet said, holding it up. Wicked Smaaht.
“Thanks anyway.”
Okeydokey, then. “Where’s Daddy?”
“Daddy!” Sloane bellowed. “Mommy’s back! She brought presents!”
He came up the stairs. “Hello, darling.”
“Hi.”
“Did you have a good time?”
“Yes. Definitely.”
“Brilliant.” His voice was tight. “Girls, would you mind going to your rooms?”
“Are you fighting?” Brianna asked.
“Not at all,” Oliver said. But his eyes were not happy. “Darling, shall we go up to the deck?”
“Sure!” Too enthusiastic. Shit.
It was a gorgeous day, full-on May glory, the lilacs blooming below, their scent heavy in the air, the wind gentle off the water. She still felt like throwing up.
“Right. Well. You said some things the other night,” Oliver began.
“Listen, I—”
“No, no. My turn. It’s only fair, isn’t it?”
She nodded. Sat down on the sofa and tried not to cry.
Oliver took out a piece of paper.
“Do you want to sit down?” she asked.
“No. Please. Just let me read this.” He cleared his throat. “Dear Juliet, you told me you were tired of trying to be perfect and that you were afraid I would cheat on you if you were anything less than one hundred percent. Please allow me to share the following with you.” He glanced at her, frowning, and her toes curled in her shoes.
“The first time I saw you at Yale, you were standing in the rain at the corner of York and Elm, and I stopped in my tracks because I knew the world had just changed. Then, rather unfortunately, a cabbie blew past you, soaking you, and I felt it would be ungentlemanly to approach you.”
Oh, God. She remembered that. She’d been drenched to the skin with filthy gray water, and the driver hadn’t so much as tapped his brakes.
“The second time I saw you, you were buying tampons at the CVS just off the green, and again, the time didn’t seem right to engage in witty conversation with you, because, knowing me, I’d have said something less than clever, such as ‘Oh! I see you’re menstruating! How wonderful!’ and you rightly would’ve dismissed me as a wanker.”
She felt a smile start in her heart.
“The third time I saw you, you were going into a party in Saybrook, and I begged my former flat mate to get me in so I could be in the same room as you, and when I saw you, my heart was pounding so hard, I thought I might vomit, and I was terrified you’d turn away and talk to your extremely good-looking and fit boyfriend, who would no doubt go on to become president of the United States or cure cancer. But you didn’t turn away, and you didn’t have a boyfriend, and you graciously said yes when I asked you out after forty-five agonizing minutes of mindless chatter, the subject of which I still have no recollection.”
His eyes were tearing up. “You are the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen, never more so than after you had our daughters, or when you’re folding laundry, or in the car, or at your desk. You never have to eat salmon again. I will henceforth take on all the baking of the fucking gluten-free vegan cupcakes, and I can assure you that our firstborn doesn’t hate you at all, she is merely blinded by the horrors of adolescence and will once again become your darling girl.”
He folded the paper and put it in his back pocket. “I love you. It’s pathetic, really. I worship you. You at twenty percent is more than every other woman in the world at one hundred, and you at one hundred is nothing short of a magnificent tornado, but if you need help, darling, please, ask for it. That’s my job. To take care of you.”
She was crying again, but the tears felt wonderful this time. “Why haven’t you told me this before? I always . . . I never . . . I never knew you watched me buy tampons.”
“Darling, I’m British. Free expression of emotion is forbidden by the Crown.” He looked down. “I just assumed you knew.”
“I love you.”
“Thank God, because I’m nothing without you, Juliet Frost.”
They were in each other’s arms then, holding on tight, kissing with relief and love and blessed familiarity. His darling bald spot and strong arms, the smell of his soap, how they were the perfect height for each other.
“They’re kissing,” came Sloane’s voice.
“Gross,” said Brianna, and Juliet smiled against her husband’s mouth.
What a joy, what a blessing to know that after all this time, love could grow and flourish like the lilacs below, growing stronger and intertwining, becoming more beautiful with each passing year.
* * *
— —
The next day, almost purring from the lack of sleep and an abundance of sex, Juliet went into DJK and buckled down to work. A phone conference with a client, design tweaks on the senator’s house, a long meeting with Brett on an airport addition. Nothing bothered her. Work was finally as it used to be.
To her surprise, Arwen stopped in her office around five. “Would you like to have a drink after work?” she said.
“Oh! Sure. Where did you have in mind?”
“Barcelona at six?”
“Sounds good.”
And so, at six on the dot, she opened the heavy wooden door of the restaurant and went in. Arwen was already there at a high top. “Just a Perrier for me,” Juliet said to the server.
“Same,” Arwen said. “And privacy, please.” She smiled at the server to soften the words. “How was your time off, Juliet?”
One day off. One day. “Lovely,” Juliet said. “My mom and I went to Boston.”
“Fun.”
“Are you close with your mother?”
“Sure. Of course.” She offered no further details, and Juliet realized she really didn’t know Arwen at all.
The server brought their water and slipped away. “What’s up?” Juliet asked.
“I’ll get right to it. I’m leaving DJK and starting my own firm.”
“My goodness.” That was fast. Not entirely unexpected, and not terri
bly unwelcome news. “Are you sure you’re ready?”
“Positive. It’ll be called Arwen Alexander Architecture.”
“Triple A.”
“Exactly. I’ve already had a logo designed.”
Juliet opted not to point out the car association. “Why are you telling me this?”
“I want you to be part of it.”
Okay, now that was surprising. “That’s very flattering. Thank you.”
“You know I’ve gotten a lot of attention recently, and it’d be foolish not to seize on it and make a move now.”
Smart woman. “There will be the usual noncompete issues, of course.”
“Of course. I’m not worried. Are you interested?”
“What’s the offer? I assume I’d be a partner.”
Arwen sipped her water, maintaining steady eye contact, then set her glass down. “Actually, no. I’d like you to come on as senior associate.”
The nerve. Eleven years her junior, and she wanted Juliet to be subordinate. “Who are the partners, then?”
“Just myself and Kathy.”
Kathy? That was . . . wow. Kathy. “Well, good luck.” DJK would go back to the way it was. No more It Girl, no more fawning over the shiny new thing. Good.
“Juliet,” Arwen said, “please think about it. You’re very reliable, you multitask well, and you’re . . . well, steady.”
“Gosh golly. Thank you so much, Arwen.”
Arwen twisted her straw into a knot. “DJK just offered me a partnership. So you might be thinking it’ll be nice not to have me around, but you’ll still know that I leapfrogged over you. If—if they offer you a partnership—and I think it’s odd they haven’t yet—you’ll have to live with the fact that you’re their second choice. After you put in more than fifteen years with them, they offered it to me.”
Well, shit. She was right. Juliet straightened her cocktail napkin. “Can I share something with you, Arwen?”
“Of course.”
“I was you. Ten years ago, I was pretty much exactly where you are.”
“Were you, though?”
“No, you’re right. You’ve gotten much more attention than I ever did. But I got my fair share. I also listened to architects who were better than I was. I put in the work and the time, and I became a better architect, because I knew I had to, and I wanted to.”
“So is this the ‘I paved the way for you’ speech?”
“No. It’s me telling you you’re not as good as you think you are. But you could be great. Someday. And you won’t be great if you believe all the buzz around you. If your name had been Lorna Kapinski and you weren’t quite so photogenic, I doubt you’d be getting all this attention. I, on the other hand, picked you for your potential as an architect. Nothing more, nothing less.”
“I’m taking this as a no,” Arwen said. “Thank you for your time, Juliet.”
“Thank you for your offer.”
With that, Juliet slid off the stool, pushed her hair behind her ears, and grabbed her bag. “Good luck, Arwen.”
Arwen wasn’t at work the next day, and her office was empty. Kathy, too, was gone, not so much as an e-mail of goodbye after all this time. That hurt, since Juliet thought they’d been friends. But Barb Frost hadn’t raised any fools. Juliet had always been wary of Kathy.
Meanwhile, the rumor mill was churning out stories, and Edward and Dave were in a huddle in Edward’s office. Juliet closed her door and did her work.
It was no surprise when Dave and Edward called her into the conference room at five.
“Juliet!” Dave said as if he hadn’t seen her seventeen times today. “You look amazing! That week off did you some good, did it?”
“One day, Dave. One day off. And yes, it did.”
Edward was staring at his iPad. “Let’s get to it, shall we? We’d like to make you a partner, Juliet. Your excellent contributions here have not gone unnoticed or unappreciated.”
“So true! We’re a meritocracy, and you have merit, all right,” Dave chuckled.
She listened as the men wooed her with phrases like percentage of profits, principal ownership, staff management, increased vacation time. When they were done, she folded her hands neatly in front of her.
“Arwen turned you down, I take it?”
The men exchanged glances. “Uh . . . well, she’s decided to pursue other opportunities,” Dave said.
“I know. She asked me to join her firm.” They flinched in unison.
“Well, we know you’re a team player, Juliet,” Dave said. “Loyal. We gave you your start, after all.”
“When I got my license, I had offers from nine firms, Dave,” she said.
“But you came here, and I think we’ve treated you very well.”
She could do it. Sure, they offered Arwen the spot first, but business was business, and Juliet wouldn’t take it personally.
It was the recent memory of the two of them lecturing her in her own home just a few days ago that did them in.
“No thanks,” she said. “I hereby tender my resignation. All the best to you, gentlemen.”
She called Oliver from the car, and he congratulated her and said they’d talk more when she got home, but he was very proud.
Her righteous badassery lasted the entire drive home and up to dinner (which was not salmon, but a delicious roast chicken. Juliet’s favorite. Oliver had served it with a flourish and a kiss).
“I quit my job today,” she announced as the girls bickered. That did silence them.
“Hear, hear, darling,” Oliver said, toasting her.
“Seriously?” Brianna said. “You quit? That’s just great. Are we still going to Hawaii this summer? Has it occurred to you that you make more than Dad and maybe quitting isn’t a great idea?”
The little . . . brat. “You know what, Brianna? Maybe we’ll go to Hawaii, and maybe not. Maybe, if you don’t lose the attitude, we three will go and you can stay with Nana and help with Grampy, because you’re not . . . how should I put this? You’re not bringing much to the table these days. I mean, we love you, but you’re a real pain in the ass lately, and I’m not sure you deserve a vacation at all.”
Brianna’s mouth dropped open.
“Sorry, sweetheart,” Oliver said, putting his hand over Juliet’s. “But Mum’s got a point.”
“Am I a pain in the ass?” Sloane asked.
“Not yet, honey, and hopefully not ever,” Juliet said. “Brianna, you need to try harder. Okay? Great. Also, I’ll be taking your phone for the rest of the school year. I don’t think it’s good for you, being attached to it as much as you are.”
If looks could kill . . . There was no love in that glare, that was for sure.
Shit. The panic attack was coming. She’d quit her job. She’d turned down frickin’ partner and was currently unemployed for the first time in her life and her daughter hated her and they might not go to Hawaii, and she had really, really been looking forward to it, and— “Excuse me.”
Down the stairs, down the hall, into the closet. Breathebreathebreathe, nope not working. She lay down, legs weak, and wished she’d thought to bring a paper bag. Her vision grayed, but this time she didn’t want to faint. She just wanted . . . she just wanted nothing.
The truth was, she had everything.
She’d find a job. She could start her own firm. She’d be fine. Oliver made a decent enough living. They could switch their health care to his work, even if it was a worse plan, and . . .
“Mommy?” Brianna sounded like a little girl again, scared from a bad dream. Shit. Had she done that?
“Yes, honey?” Juliet said, sitting up.
“Are you really that mad at me?”
“No! No. Just tired of the . . . bitchiness.”
“You still like me, though, right?”
“Of c
ourse!” A lie, but really. Parenthood was ninety percent forgiveness, ten percent lies and a hundred percent love.
“Why are you in the closet?”
“Oh, I guess I’m . . . hiding from life. Sometimes I feel scared about things.”
“Like what?”
“Like, am I a good mother? Have I been helpful and kind today? Will everyone I love be okay? Can I be doing more?”
“That’s a lot.” Brianna sat down next to her and picked up one of Juliet’s shoes, fiddling with the strap.
“It is.”
“Is being a grown-up hard?”
“Sometimes.”
Brianna started to cry, her sweet little face crumpling. “I don’t want to grow up, Mom. I hate all this, the periods and zits and boobs and boys and the drama. I want to be eight again. Eight was really fun.” Her voice squeaked on the last word, and Juliet gathered her up against her, every molecule in her body wanting to wrap around her child and protect her from every hurt, every bad feeling.
“I understand, honey. I do. I remember how hard it is.” She kissed Brianna’s hair. “But you know what? You’re going to like your body pretty soon. It’s so weird, but you will. This is the hardest time. You’ll get through it. Daddy and I are with you every step of the way.”
“Is there anything good about being a grown-up?”
Juliet laughed. “Sure. You can pick someone really great, like your dad, to be your best friend, and you get to live with each other. You can find a job that you love doing.”
“I don’t know what I want to do. I hate when grown-ups ask me that.”
“You’re not supposed to know. Tell them that. Say, ‘Hey, I’m twelve. Give me some room here.’”
Brianna laughed a little.
“You know what the best part of being a grown-up is?” Juliet asked.
“No.”
“You get to be a mommy if you want.”
“I thought I was a pain in the ass,” Brianna muttered.
“You are. But you’re my pain in the ass. I wouldn’t trade you for anything.”
Brianna didn’t answer, didn’t hug her any tighter, didn’t say, I love you so much, or You always make me feel better, as Juliet would have said to her own mom.
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