Definitely, Maybe in Love(46)

My spine stiffened. This did not sound like Julia. Frankly, it sounded like Anabel. "But you won't, right?"

She scoffed, that cynical tone still hanging on. "I'd never have the  guts. Maybe I should call Alex." She laughed darkly. "He's got the  experience and I know he'll-"

"Julia!" I cut her off. "Don't even joke about that."

She blinked, as if coming out of a trance. "Sorry. I didn't mean that. Of course not … not Alex."

"Good," I said. "Because I can't have two reckless roommates. Anabel got  kicked out of a bar last week." I reached for her hand, pulling her to  sit beside me. "I need you to be my sensible one."

Julia smiled, a real one this time. "I will," she said, but then her  posture sagged. "I still get sad sometimes," she admitted. "Very sad."

"What can I do?" I asked, feeling an ache in my throat.

"Nothing. Just … thank you for being here, for being such a good friend to me through all of this."

Now was my turn to move my eyes away. I knew I'd been too wrapped up in  my own drama the past few weeks to give her any real comfort. I still  didn't feel like I should tell her what I knew about Dart. Not now. I  didn't want her to flip out all over again, especially if she considered  a good remedy for her blues to be picking up casual sex as a hobby.

"You have," Julia insisted when she saw me turn away. She reached out  and lifted my chin like a mother would. "And now, I want to be a friend  to you." She stared straight at me, as if she knew I was withholding  information. "There's something you're not telling me, isn't there?"

I nodded, feeling a tingle creep up the back of my neck.

She leaned back, bracing her arms behind her. "Why don't you go ahead and say it."

I rubbed my neck, trying to dig up the right words, reaching for the pages in my pocket.

"Just tell me, Springer," she said. "Tell me how Henry feels about you."

She tilted her head and smiled at my totally stunned reaction. It wasn't  very often that she caught me off guard. I didn't want to discuss what  she was asking about, but my other choice was to share with her the rest  of the letter. I couldn't do that either.

"Henry," I began. Just saying his name in this context made my heart flip. "Loves me."

Julia exhaled like she was relieved about something. "Yeah." She swept  her scarlet hair over one shoulder. "Henry has always loved you. I could  see it all over his face. You"-she pointed an accusing finger at  me-"would just never look." She laughed like a tinkling bell, the first  I'd heard of it since December. I didn't mind in the least that her good  mood was at my expense.

I bit my lip, not quite as happy as I thought a girl should be while  having a conversation about love. Then again, I had zero experience. "He  wanted to take me to Tahiti."                       
       
           



       

She turned somber. "How romantic."

"I told him no. In fact, I told him to go frack himself." I sucked in my  lower lip so it wouldn't wobble. "And then, I was so pissed that I  kicked him out the door." Dullness pressed against my chest and I sank  onto the bed. "In the middle of a rain storm."

Julia's eyes brimmed with tears. She reached out for my hand and smiled in beautiful, commiserative silence.

This wasn't like me. I wasn't the kind of girl to fall apart then slump  into exile over a personal crisis, especially over something as pitiful  as the obliteration of an almost-relationship. Yet, here I was. The girl  I mocked. Wretched and depressed. Even more broken-hearted than before.

"I feel blue." I sighed. "What do I do?"

"You can borrow my Prozac," she offered with a smile. "If there's time  later, we might throw in a little endless pontificating. Maybe play a  little Adele?"

"Now you're just reading my mind."

"Or, we can always turn existential, like one of those Swedish  apocalyptic films from the fifties. That should brighten our moods."

"Okay." I sat up, happy for the distraction. "You be the cloaked and  hooded Angel of Death standing on the stormy beach, and I'll be the  vicar's wife, banished to a life inside an isolated seaside cottage."

Julia giggled and stood, a bottle of energy water cradled in both hands.  Her expression went theatrically solemn as her eyes glazed over. "I … am  the Plague of Death," she began, monotone. "I shall hold this brim'd  beverage in my memory between my hands of fate. The silence, the  loooooathing, the high fructose corn syrup." Her arms stretched out to  her sides. "Never spilling," she went on, staring straight ahead, "never  waking, the prisoner of my life preposterous." She bowed her head and  fell forward onto the bed, not spilling a drop.

"And the Oscar goes to … " I said, clapping.

"All right, I gotta study," she said as she stood and walked to the  door. Halfway there, she turned back. "Can I ask you something? And  don't be afraid to tell me to butt out."

I rolled my eyes. "What is it, bunny?"

She tucked some hair behind an ear. "When was it? I mean, when did you  start changing toward Henry?" I'm sure she caught the sting that crossed  my face, but for once, she didn't back down. "Was it before Washington?  Before they moved away?"

I took in a few breaths, like I was psyching myself up to cannonball off  the high dive. "Yes, it was before," I answered. "Henry and I … we  could … talk. I miss it."

"Talking's nice."

"It's all we did for months. Of course we debated, too." I exhaled a  soft laugh, remembering fondly. "But the arguing wasn't genuine, it was  more like-"

"Foreplay." She winked and left the room.





Part IV

Summer

"You are too generous to trifle with me. If your feelings are still what  they were last April, tell me so at once. My affections and wishes are  unchanged; but one word from you will silence me on this subject  forever."

From Pride & Prejudice





Chapter 30

"Time to hit the road," Mel said, her head sticking out the passenger-side window of my Subaru.

I stared down at the large envelope in my hands, hovering outside the  outgoing mailbox slot. The address of the house across the street from  me at Stanford was written on the front.

"You've been carrying that thing around with you for a week," she said.  "It's a good plan. He lived there once, so the post office will have a  forwarding address."

"I just … I want him to read it."

"You want him to see you scored an A." Mel's white sunglasses sat on the tip of her nose, shading the bright Montana sun.

"We worked hard. He deserves to see how it turned out."

But it was more than that. When I'd started on the final draft of my  thesis, it was do or die. And I was not going to die. I'd busted my ass  for two years to get the opportunity I'd been given. Braiding my hair  and angry chick rock were only symbols of what I wanted to be. I knew  what I wanted to be now. I didn't need symbols.

All I had left were those final research notes Henry had given to me  that last evening in the study room. The more I delved into that, while  veering off with additional research of my own, the more I felt the fire  return. I'd lost it for a while, but it came back. I wanted the world  to know I was passionate again. Was it selfish that a part of me wanted  Henry to know that, too?                       
       
           



       

"So mail it already and let's get going," Mel said. "I'm about to faint from starvation."

I rolled my eyes. We'd stopped for food less than an hour ago. Something  about road trips made Mel in need of constant nourishment.

This was the end of our third week on the road, two more to go. My  partner in crime was not enjoying herself on the same level as I was.  Perhaps I'd been just a teensy misleading in my description of how  exciting our summer excursion would be: Two single gals, freewheeling  through Idaho, Wyoming and Montana while I did research for a new paper,  picking up where my thesis ended, living off the tiny research grant  I'd received from the Earth Science department.

Last night, as we'd huddled together on one twin bed, dodging flying  cockroaches at a seedy roadside motel outside Great Falls, Mel had very  politely informed me that if we visited another effing cow pasture or  toured one more sustainable-living-effing-farm, she would feed me to a  buffalo.

I believed her.

"Do it, babe," Mel coaxed. "Drop it down the slot and walk away. It's called closure."