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It's not clear. And is this woman, who may or may not exist, actually named Juliette? Also unclear.
Very clear: the spark between Rome and Laurel. They have that sameI hate you / I want to kiss youvibe Damon and Cassie had once upon a time.
My best friend is withherbrother in the lobby. They're talking. Maybe about how Damon and Cassie's vibe went from I want to kiss you to I kiss you all the time.
Which is a perfect deflection.
"Do you think Cass and Jackson are talking about me or you?" I ask.
"Are you kidding?" Damon shakes his head, sending his messy hair over his forehead. "The guy doesn't trust me."
I don't know what to say, so I nod.
"I don't take it personally. Not anymore." He looks around the room as excited attendees pile into seats. There's a huge range of people, from a gaggle of sorority girls in pink to an especially rowdy party of women my grandma's age. Mostly, the crowd is women, but there are a few couples.
The place is smaller than I expected. There's only room for about two hundred people. And the theater looks so normal. A curtain. A stage. Lights.
No giant posters of naked men or dick-shaped furniture.
A totally typical show.
"Can you imagine"—he points to one of the rowdy older women—"if that was grandma?"
"And Mom with her?" I ask.
"And Dad laughing at her awkward blush." His smile is soft. Sad. He notices their happiness now.
He used to deny it. He used to see Dad the way he saw himself. As the alcoholic fuckup ruining the family.
Now, he sees a more complicated picture. Dad is an addict, and he has slipped, but he's been sober for a long time. People worry about him. Sometimes, he hurts those people. Sometimes, he fucks up.
But everyone fucks up sometimes.
Everyone hurts the people they love.
At least, that's what I try to believe. No, I do believe it. I just struggle with letting go of the weight of the expectations that come with love.
When things with Dad or Damon were tumultuous, Mom looked to me for stability. She never put it into those words, of course. She never neglected to keep food in the fridge. She never forgot to take me to school or asked me to comfort her when she cried.
But she was glad I was easy.
And even though she hid it, I heard her cry. I saw it. Over Damon more than over Dad.
What else could she do? Her son was slipping.
But my brother was slipping too. And I didn't have anyone to help me with that.
Sure, my parents tried. They explained in calm words. They offered space to share my feelings. When I didn't, they suggested therapy.
It helped, but only so much. I didn't transform into a person who never struggles to let her guard down.
I still work too much and try too hard to achieve good things to never bother anyone with my needs or expectations.
This weekend is supposed to be a break from that. The only expectation is fun.
It's a party, and I'm out to a) enjoy this time with my friends and family and b) get laid, but both those things are already complicated.
And I'm already pulling into myself, shutting down, trying to not talk about it.
