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One September night Marin and she laid curled into each other on a hammock, swinging in the fall breeze. They were floating in the air, giddy with laughter. The stars were so bright–constellations glowing on all sides, emphasized in yellow highlighter–almost too luminous. And even though something so incredible, so scintillating, was right above them, their eyes were locked on each other.
Julia’s mind was quiet. Everything else faded away. Everything made sense. But now every past memory halts at one question: why wasn’t she enough? Why hadn’t that moment engrained itself so deeply in Marin’s mind? Why did it mean something different to her? And that, that question, she knew she didn’t want the answer to.
“I don’t know,” she confessed. “Would it make a difference?”
“I don’t know,” Keegan whispered, sympathetic pain in her voice. There was a long break filled only with their rattled breathing. “It wasn’t your fault,” Keegan said at last.
“What?”
“What happened,” she continued, “I don’t think I ever told you that it wasn’t your fault. I’ve told you she’s garbage. I’ve reminded you that you weren’t the problem in your relationship, but I’ve never said ‘it wasn’t your fault.’”
Involuntary tears welled in Julia’s eyes. Those were the words she couldn’t bring herself to believe. She had to have done something, said something, to push Marin that far over the edge. It was all the ways she didn’t measure up that snapped something just a little bit more in Marin each day.
“But what if it was,” she spoke, unaware of where the quiet sobs came from. “What if it was me the whole time?” Keegan pushed a tissue box towards her, five tight fingers clenched over her fist across the table as she let it all out. “I, I, I, I thought it was over.”
Keegan squeezed her hand, letting her know she was still there, letting her know she wasn’t alone. Julia held the tissue to her eyes, catching the tears before they dropped and anything else spilled out of her.
“And then there she was,” Keegan whispered.
“And then there she was,” Julia repeated, her voice barely an audible murmur.
“Does that change anything for you?” she asked.
Julia paused, her tears holding on her eyelids for dear life. “Should it?”
“That’s not the question,” sighed Keegan. “Does it?”
Julia let go of Keegan’s hand, pushing herself a little away from her desk. She dried her eyes and took a deep breath, pushing whatever was left deep down to a place where it wouldn’t escape again–at least not right now.
“If it did, I think I wouldn’t have been able to walk away from her.”
Keegan smiled weakly, her hand still available on the desk. She knew how much courage it took to say that–how much Julia didn’t want to admit it to herself. She mourned Marin for so long under the impression that at some point it would just stop hurting–at some point the scar tissue would become too thick, and she would learn to love her a little less.
What would it be like to just forget Marin like she did her? If she had found that reset button, how much of her life would be different?
“So, maybe it can be time for closure?” she asked cautiously. “Seeing her doesn’t change anything. You can’t go back, but you can move forward. Maybe she can help you understand, so you can do that.”
“Maybe.” Julia tried to smile back, but the thought pained her. “But what if she doesn’t have anything to say?”
“I think you’re more worried about what she will say,” Keegan paused. “I think you’re more afraid she’ll ask to come back.”
“Don’t be ridiculous,” she huffed.
Keegan just smiled at her for a moment, her eyes brimming with kindness, but Julia couldn’t stop thinking about that possibility. Is that what she was really afraid of? Would that be the worst thing that would spew from those ruby lips?
“You can’t let her back in,” Keegan begged. “You can’t take her back.” Julia didn’t respond, her eyes glued to the lacquer on her desk. “I’m always here,” she reminded her.
“I know,” she replied, smiling back. And with the closing latch of the door, at last she had quiet.
Chapter Twenty
Julia used to take life by the balls–no instruction manual needed. She didn’t like things to sit, didn’t like the uncertainty of what could happen. She was the person who went out of her way to find what was wrong, just so she could fix it before it got any worse. But lately? Lately she avoided problems, avoided life, as if it was her last purpose on Earth.
Week after week passed, her going through the motions and rolling with whatever came her way. She pushed everyone within her inner circle so far out that it was only her left, standing in the middle of the ocean on a stowaway paddle boat; no life in sight.
Maybe she liked it that way. Maybe that was the way she was supposed to be–that was the way she always felt safest–tucked away to a place where there was no Marin, no Erin.
She didn’t go out of her way to avoid Erin again, but she didn’t seek her out either. They touched base once every week or so, signing whatever documents necessary and then moving on with their day. Julia never asked her why she left so quickly, and they never spoke about anything that happened the day of the field trip.
