12
JULES
S unlight poured in through the mismatched curtains of my tiny studio apartment, illuminating every corner with a warm, golden glow that revealed the vibrant edge of fabrics draped artfully over a worn armchair. The sunlight bounced off these colorful textiles, scattering a mesmerizing tapestry of hues across the eclectic, cluttered floor. My studio wasn’t so much messy as it was a carefully orchestrated chaos, a symphony of stacked books, scattered sketches, and a collection of mismatched dishes, all arranged with an odd, intuitive rhythm.
Callie had commandeered the sturdiest chair available, sitting with their legs crossed in relaxed defiance while holding a bagel aloft as if proclaiming a royal edict. Their eyes, sharp and playful, locked onto mine with a teasing intensity.
“You’re impossible, you know that?” Callie teased, gesturing with a bite-marked piece of bagel pointed directly at me. “I told you not to text him. Let the man spend his spring break with his kid. And what do you do?”
A mischievous grin spread across my face as I took a deliberate sip from one of my many coffee mugs, a chipped relic with a crack tracing its handle, still reliable despite the wear. “I texted him. And guess what? He replied. So, problem solved. Everything’s under control.”
Callie exhaled dramatically, leaning back as they rested their chin in their palm. “Under control? You call a series of curt texts 'under control'? Jules, you’re like a golden retriever, achingly enthusiastic over a bouncing tennis ball. You can’t simply sit and wait.”
“I’m more like a border collie,” I retorted, reaching for another bite of my bagel as if bolstering my argument. “Focused, diligent, and driven. Loyal to a fault.”
“Needy,” Callie shot back with a playful sneer. “Tirelessly insistent. But sure, we’ll stick with 'loyal.'”
I crumpled a napkin into a loose ball and tossed it in their direction, watching with a wry smile as they deftly dodged it with a practiced flick. “Anyway,” I deflected, barely acknowledging the sneer tugging at their lips, “we have a meeting now. We’re back on track. I can’t wait to share some of these ideas I’ve been brewing.”
Callie groaned and ran a hand down their face, exasperation lining every gesture. “Oh my god, you’re not even listening. Jules, the man barely bothered to reply. You’re acting like he just popped the question.”
“Why are you like this?” I countered deadpan, leaning back in my chair and gesturing vaguely at the whirlwind of their presence.
“Why are YOU like this?” Callie fired back. “You can’t just bulldoze through every moment because you crave a morsel of attention.”
“It’s not just a morsel,” I insisted, straightening up as I tried to project confidence. “It’s communication. We have a plan here. He said he’d meet me to discuss the GSA event.”
“Right,” Callie replied dryly, absently picking at the edge of their bagel with a touch of cynicism. “Because nothing promises 'emotional resolution' quite like a purely logistical meeting.”
I waved off their skepticism, reaching for my notebook that rested on the cluttered table. “Listen, I’ve got an idea for an interactive timeline display that we could…”
“Jules,” Callie interjected sharply, their tone slicing through my excitement. “Just stop.”
I paused, notebook still half-open, blinking in surprise. “What?”
“Stop bulldozing,” they commanded firmly, placing their coffee cup down with a resonant thud. Their eyes narrowed as if drilling into my very thoughts. “You’re distracting yourself with grand plans and elaborate ideas instead of really addressing the situation.”
“I’m not bulldozing,” I said, though my voice wavered slightly. “I’m simply planning.”
Callie snorted, folding their arms as if shielding themselves from my fervor. “Planning, my ass. You’re trying to fix everything at once, exactly like you always do. And you’re ignoring the fact that Elliott is still untangling his own thoughts. You can’t force him to be on the same page as you, Jules. It doesn’t work that way.”
I rolled my eyes and flipped open my notebook regardless of their admonition. “It’s not as if I’m suggesting we elope. This is just about organizing an event for the GSA, not mapping out our future.”
Leaning forward, Callie’s piercing gaze softened my resolve even as they pressed on. “One: do you know that? And, two: You really think he’s oblivious to the connection between you two? That he doesn’t sense the pressure you’re putting on every conversation?”
I opened my mouth to argue, but Callie raised a hand to silence me. “No, don’t. Just listen.”
Their voice mellowed, though their expression retained its earnest seriousness. “I know how much you care about him, Jules. You don’t need to spell it out, the way you throw everything into the people you love is both your strength and sometimes your downfall. It’s one of the things I admire most about you, but it can overwhelm.”
I caught my breath and looked away, the weight of their words settling around me like a heavy fog. The notebook on my lap suddenly felt far weightier than before.
Callie reached across the table, their hand gently resting on mine. “I’m not saying stop caring. I’m saying be patient. Let him come to you. If you push too hard, too fast, you’re going to frighten him away.”
I nodded slowly, the adrenaline of my earlier excitement slowly draining away as a soft sigh escaped me. “I just… I don’t want to lose him.”
“And you won’t,” Callie whispered, their tone gentle yet insistent. “You need to meet him where he is, not where you want him to be. He’s not going anywhere, Jules. Not if you give him the time and space to figure things out.”
For a long moment, only the ambient hum of distant traffic and the soft rustle of fabric punctuated the silence. I drew a deep breath, striving to let Callie’s measured words permeate my hurried thoughts. They were right, as they invariably were, but patience was hardly one of my natural virtues.
“I hate it when you’re right,” I mumbled, a faint smile tugging unbidden at my lips.
“I know,” Callie replied with a warming grin, reclining back in their chair with an air of self-assured mischief. “But you love me anyway.”
I chuckled, shaking my head in playful disbelief. “Debatable.”
Callie raised their coffee cup in a mock toast, the clink of ceramic echoing softly in the sunlit room. “To not fucking this up.”
“To not fucking this up,” I echoed, our mugs clinking together like a pact sealed in the quiet morning light.
As the sun’s rays continued to dance artfully through the sheer curtains and the lingering aroma of coffee merged with the early day, a quiet flicker of hope kindled within me. Maybe, just maybe, Callie was right. If I could learn to balance the impulsiveness of my heart with the calm of my thoughts, there might still be a chance for Elliott and me to harmonize our lives. But first, I had a rehearsal to conquer, a long, intricate evening of blocking, notes, and creative energy, before I could face Elliott tomorrow.