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"Do you think she'll forgive me?" There's a raw edge to his question, unexpected and revealing.
"Absolutely," I shoot back without missing a beat. Julian's just another pawn in this messed-up game, the same as Poppy.
"I can't believe it," I mutter, more to myself. I can’t fathom whyhedid what he did. At the same time, I completely understand.
We both turn and look at the house where Poppy is safely tucked inside.
"Can I have some time alone with Poppy to tell her everything?" Julian asks.
"Sure." I eye the detached garage behind the house. "I'll go for a morning bike ride."
"Thank you." He replies, then he straightens, "She still sleeping?"
"Yeah, We shared a few cans of cheap wine. There is Advil in the cabinet to the left of the fridge."
"Can wine?" He raises a brow.
"Don't ask?"
He smirks. "Are you going to be okay?"
"I'm fine," I reply, but my throat feels tight,
"Kent," Julian hesitates, "He wanted to come." His grey eyes bore into mine, carrying a warning.‘Please, don't hurt my brother,’his eyes seem to plead.
“Do you believe in parallel universes, alternative realities, and all that jazz,” I ask Julian.
He tilts his head, probably wondering if I'm high or still drunk on the can of wine.
"Humor me." I push.
He crosses his arms over his wide chest,“I never really thought about it. I’ve got enough on my plate in this world; I can’t begin to think about another.”
“What if, in another world, your plate was cleaner?”
“What if it was worse?” He counters.
"Some nights, I lay awake thinking about my life in a different universe. I think about what it would have been if Peter hadn't died," I tell him. It's a confession I've bottled up inside for years—a message in a bottle that has finally found someone it wanted to reveal itself to.
Now I feel empty.
Now I feel like I have space to put something else inside. Someone else.
"That sounds like a nice dream," Julian replies swiftly. "But it's just that, a dream, it isn't your reality, Harper. You have to wake up and move on. Don't let grief swallow you. Trust me, I've felt it, felt its grips around my ankles. You have to shake it loose."
"Some nights, I think about a future with your brother.” I blurt out.
“You feel guilty about that.”
I nod.
“I came here to tell the truth; maybe deep down you want to tell Poppy the truth also. Maybe that will set your guilt free.”
“Poppy is in a fragile state.”
“She is,” he agrees,“But she won’t always be.”
My gaze drifts to that stupid tree looming over the house, its branches whispering secrets of a life not lived. I find myself imagining if Peter and I would have ever carved our names into its trunk. A melancholic smile plays at the corner of my lips—perhaps, in some parallel world, Peter and I did just that.
