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She set her phone down on the coffee table and noticed her hands were shaking. The last thing she needed was Keegan at her house, or anyone, for that matter, doting over her. She wanted the quiet. She wanted the silence. She sought the nothingness, because that was the only thing that felt like home anymore.
As Monday passed, she couldn’t find the energy to work on her computer. She didn’t scour over reports or unread emails that piled towards mountainous heights. She laid on that couch as countless movies flashed across the screen and seemed to end just as fast as they started.
She ignored the phone calls from Keegan–no doubt trying to check on how she was doing. She ignored the cold messages from Erin with evaluations needing her review. She ignored the world.
She kept her phone on the coffee table before her, the volume turned up to max capacity. Every few minutes she’d open it and scan through her call log. There were no missed calls from the hospital, but she had to check. It’s probably nothing.
Surely they would rush her imaging. Surely they knew how important and time sensitive it all was. Surely they knew she was lying there in a ball, her knees pulled to her chest, while she contemplated why she’d been so afraid of living for so many years when they might be all she’d ever be allotted. It’s nothing.
Nothing.
Nothing.
Nothing.
If this was it for her–if cancer was what got her in the end–she was stupid for being so afraid of everything else. She took for granted every kiss, every touch. And when they were gone and only the ghost of Marin’s skin was left on Julia’s? Well, she buried herself with those memories instead of rising from the ashes like the phoenix she held within.
Instead of burying herself in her work, she should’ve been living. She should’ve taken that trip in the fall to the Adirondacks–admiring golden amber and maroon leaves falling hundreds of feet to the foliage living at the bottom of the mountain.
She should’ve rented that cabin deep in the woods–the one on the lake with the canoe clinging to a rickety old dock–and basked in the intimacy of experiencing it all on her own. She should’ve sat around a crackling fire with nothing but the quiet caw of birds and rustling trees filling the air. She should’ve brought her canvas and painted the way the water reflected the pine trees across the lake–the way the surface ripples turn a subtle yellow in the reflection of the sun setting above.
What she couldn’t push out of her mind the most–what tugged at the seams of her being–was that she should’ve taken Erin home that night in The Tipsy Hatter. She should’ve given into every impulse her body was electrifying into her and said yes. She should’ve soaked up the vanilla scent into her bedsheets and buried her face in her morning hair, savoring every last remnant of an unforgettable night.
She should have lived. She should have said yes at every turn, and now she may not have that chance again. How sad is it? To only now realize you wasted so much of your life on the little things? Is this what the very foundation of a mid-life crisis is built upon? Does everyone go through this moment of clarity and think they’re the last fool on Earth, or is everyone just uniquely set in their own misery?
Tuesday passed and there was still no call. It was worse than knowing. She texted Keegan again and told her she wouldn’t be in. She ignored all the other texts, calls, and emails. She tried to stay busy–tried to catch up on work or read the newspaper. She scoured over online articles about new legislation regarding LGBT students, anything to get her mind off of the rest.
She wanted to talk to Erin, desperate to ask for her forgiveness again. She wanted to explain everything–explain that she wished she was with her that night, not Lauren. But she knew she wouldn’t answer even if she did call. The way her voice broke would be ingrained in Julia’s memory until her last breath. It will scar over her skin, embedding itself to her forever.
She still wore the fuzzy sweats from the day before. She should shower–taking the stench of the sweat-soaked, sleepless night off of her. She should have drunk some water instead of having another cup of black coffee that just stretched her blood-shot eyes. She should have eaten something instead of drinking half a bottle of merlot as the sun settled beyond the horizon.
She should’ve done anything other than curl back onto the couch, the blanket pulled tight around her body as she prayed for rest. Just as her tired eyes slipped close–her body curled into the cushions like a snake–the doorbell chimed throughout the house.
Dammit, Keegan.
She pulled the blankets over her head and tried so hard to get back to the almost unconscious state. She’d go away. She’d take the hint and leave. Then the bell rang again.
She groaned as she sat up, throwing the blankets to the side in a toddler’s tantrum mode. She took down her hair and ran her fingers along her scalp. With a sigh, she clipped it back up and then walked to the door.
If she just answered that call or text message, she wouldn’t have to face her. She wouldn’t have to let her inside and tell her everything, wouldn’t have to apologize for keeping something that serious to herself. She wouldn’t have to look at the worry in her eyes as she tried to reassure her that it would be alright when she wasn’t even sure about that herself.
Isn’t it funny how when you’re the sickest–when you go through something no one else should have too–you’re the one that has to be sorry? You’re the fragile piece of China in the pawnshop. You’re the weakest link, but somehow, others are the ones needing reassurance. Because it’s one thing to have something wrong, to go through something unimaginable, but it’s entirely different to not be okay.
“Keegan,” Julia sighed, “I know, I know–”
She opened the door in haste, already preparing for the look in her dark eyes. When the door swung open and the cold wind wrapped around her, she realized she had it all wrong.
They both stood there, staring at the other.
Marin.
Chapter Twenty-Four
“I can’t do this right now.” Julia’s voice shook as she tried to close the door, but Marin’s trembling hand stopped her.
“Please, Jules. Please,” she begged, her hand still firmly placed, holding the door open.
