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Suddenly, Julia found herself wishing she grew a spine and took those pictures down months ago. How much would be different today if she had? Would she have gone home with Erin that night? If she buried her misguided hope in the backyard underneath the Red Maple tree, would she have taken that leap?
She should have. She should’ve torn those pictures off the wall, shattering the glass and breaking the frames of every single one when Marin left. She should’ve burned the rest of her clothes and torched their pictures.
That’s what mad, brokenhearted passion does to a person, right? She should’ve been angry enough to let go of everything that had her fingerprints embedded in their atoms. She should’ve hated her for leaving, for giving up.
That’s what stung so much: Marin gave up. She threw in the towel, forfeited even though they still could have made it. We could have made it. Even though it happened before her eyes, it was still hard to believe. Because that long together, that much love, couldn’t possibly be gone that fast.
Hope. Hope is what tied those pictures to the wall with invisible chains.
She never could hate Marin. God, she tried. They had so many good years, so many nights curled on that couch reading smutty novels while Julia breathed in her auburn hair. She didn’t smell like magnolias and honeysuckle like Erin. Marin smelled like cinnamon, something hot and spicy to warm the soul on a frigid winter night. She smelled like comfort, like home for the holidays.
They gave each other the best parts of themselves, but in the end, it wasn’t enough. Their love, when it was the type of love that sent them dancing around the house in their pajamas on an early Wednesday morning in each other’s arms, was something that poets write books about. Until it wasn’t. Until it was a fragmented, unfinished poem that only the writer could discern.
Maybe at another time, maybe at another point in their lives, maybe in another life they could have made it. They could have held on just a little longer. That love, knowing that they had something some people go their whole lives without tasting even once, that was what kept those pictures nailed to the wall.
Fucking hope. If Julia could write a review on hope, she’d give it zero stars. Wouldn’t recommend: results in unnecessary drinking and an expensive mortgage. All that on top of two decades she’d never give back? Why the hell is there a Hallmark Channel? It’s false advertising.
“She was.” Julia smiled painfully, even with her attempts she tried to hide it.
Erin didn’t say anything about having them up still, about how long they must have been there. There was so much that Erin didn’t make her explain, so forgiving in ways that she didn’t deserve.
Keegan tiptoed around the corner as if she wasn’t sure what she would be walking into. “So, let’s get to the game!”
They sat around the coffee table full of food, drinking wine as they screamed at the television for each bad call. By the end of the second quarter they finished several glasses, their speech just slightly slurring.
Julia leaned back on the couch and closed her eyes. Erin shouted about a fumble by the Miami Dolphins that would cost them the game, and Keegan laughed because somehow the Buffalo Bills were sneaking back up on the scoreboard.
She sunk just a little deeper into the cushions as she took another sip–the noise, a chaotic weighted blanket. When she opened her eyes, she saw Keegan leaning closer to the television as a reporter waited for the most recent penalty flag.
Erin wasn’t looking at the television; she was looking past Keegan’s back directly at Julia, a subtle curl to her lips and twinkle in her eyes. Julia sat up a little straighter, pointing her direction to the television as she brought her glass back to her lips. There was something enticing, almost seductive, about those trailing eyes.
“So, Erin,” Keegan began to ask, “how does someone so young become the head specialist of a multi-million-dollar corporation? One to evaluate one of the most prestigious schools in New York State?”
It sounded like a question, but really it was an accusation and Julia almost choked on the wine still pressed to her lips. Keegan, however, never took her eyes off the TV. Julia really should have considered getting out a little more and finding new friends.
“Keegan,” Julia gasped, her tone she was sure matched her incredulous expression.
“What?” she defended, still not making eye contact as she picked up another popper and stuffed it into her mouth.
“That really isn’t an appropriate question.”
“No, it’s okay,” Erin cut in, full of unfazed confidence. “I’m twenty-five, if that was your question.” Keegan looked up, utterly stunned. “I was fortunate to have opportunities to graduate early, finishing my master’s in less than a year.”
Julia’s mind spun. It took the time of Erin finishing the last sentence for her age to sink in. She was just slightly older than she was when she met Marin. Twenty-five?!? Not a flirty, sun-kissed, thirty something. Two and five, as in almost fifteen years younger than Julia. Fuck.
“How did you move through the company so fast?” Keegan asked, intently intrigued as she leaned back into the cushion.
“Hard work.” Erin smirked, lifting her wine glass to her rosy lips.
If it wasn’t for the complete awe Julia was in just from that woman’s age, she would’ve been impressed.
“That is quite a list of accomplishments,” Julia tried to smile, to steady her voice, but Erin’s eyes squinted with curiosity as if she saw past it. Double fuck.
“When I know what I want, I go for it.”
Her eyes never left Julia’s and they held thousands of tiny possibilities, an entire galaxy full of shining stars waiting for their moment to shoot across the midnight sky. That final gaze, that final purse of her lips as her eye glistened. She felt it too.
“I would have guessed you were in your thirties!” Keegan didn’t meet either of their eyes, oblivious to the tension flickering across the room. She picked at the wings on the table and leaned forward again as she continued, “I mean, you definitely intimidate me.”
