Chapter Nineteen
Julia
My body is tired, my cheeks hurt from all the forced smiles, and my feet are killing me. Chloe is already in my room lounging happily on the bed, and I collapse on the mattress beside her.
“I’m so happy to be out of those shoes,” I say into one of the overly large, down-filled pillows. The low-heeled shoes were a last-minute decision and are half a size too small.
“You looked cute, though,” Chloe says and pats my sweatpants-covered butt.
“You really did,” Alex agrees when she enters the room.
Being alone with the two of them, free of pretenses and feigned charm, is the first time in a while that I feel like I can truly be myself. That I can finally breathe.
Alex sits at the foot of the bed and pulls my feet into her lap and presses her thumbs into my skin in just the right spots. I give her a grateful smile, then close my eyes when she presses just a little bit harder and bite back a moan.
“Are you going to rub my feet next?” Chloe asks seriously.
“Why? You wore sandals,” Alex answers without missing a beat.
I look at them, my heart full and so very happy. “Thank you both. For being here.”
“You need to stop thanking us,” Chloe says. “Really. We love you. Of course we’d be here.”
I’m not just talking about the party. I mean being here, in my life. But that feels like too deep a conversation for this blissful little moment. “Well, thank you for crashing here tonight, at least. I know staying over wasn’t part of the initial plan.”
“We had to. We both drank too much. Plus, it annoys Nancy, and that alone is worth it.” Alex stretches her hands high over her head and yawns. Her buttoned-up shirt rides up just a little, and I look away, careful not to linger on the sliver of skin momentarily on display.
I haven’t forgotten that a peek at her stomach is what shifted our relationship all those years ago. I really don’t need that happening again. Not when it’s taken me this long to get over the possibility of us.
“Have any more spare clothes I can change into, or did Chloe snag all the comfy stuff?”
Chloe shrugs, unbothered. “You snooze, you lose, buddy.”
Alex glares. “I had to pee, so sue me.”
“I should have something,” I chime in. “Just rummage in my suitcase.”
Alex gives Chloe’s leg a slap and slides off the bed to go look for something she can change into. When she reaches my overflowing luggage, she eyes it curiously. “How long have you been here at Hotel Prescott?”
“Three days and counting. I overpack when I’m stressed.”
“Clearly,” Alex says through a laugh. She manages to find a pair of shorts and a blue Penn T-shirt and begins to undress.
I roll over on my back to give her some sense of privacy, holding back a verbal reminder that the bathroom is right there.
Changing in front of each other never used to be a big deal.
It shouldn’t be one now. We’re all friends here. Nothing we’ve never seen before.
Except that’s part of the problem, I remind myself. I’ve seen everything of Alex. Seen, felt, tasted… I quickly try to think of something else, anything else.
“Um, what is that?” Chloe asks.
“What is what?” I lift my head and look at Chloe, only to see she’s staring at Alex.
But Chloe flies off the bed like she was shot out of a canon. “You got a tattoo?” She maneuvers Alex so that she can investigate, leaving me confused and curious. “When did you get that done?”
Alex shrugs like it isn’t a big deal, and in the grand scheme of things, I guess it really isn’t.
She’s been talking about getting one since we were fifteen.
What is surprising is that she didn’t tell us that she finally went through with it.
“A friend did it for me about a month ago. I was going to show you when I got home, once I had it touched up. Consider yourselves shown.”
Chloe nudges her and winks. “A friend or a friend?”
The last girl Alex dated was an artist. I don’t miss the blush that reddens her cheeks. She pushes Chloe away. “Just a friend.”
Chloe grabs her shoulders and spins her so I can get my first look at what all the fuss is about.
My initial thought is that it’s absolutely gorgeous.
It’s two peonies, one fully bloomed, the other just starting to open, with leaves woven underneath, starting at her shoulder and trailing halfway down her bicep.
I scoot closer, drawn to the detail and artistry.
There’s something about the colors that seem familiar.
“The shading is interesting, don’t you think, Jules?” Chloe says, as if reading my mind. She stands behind Alex, grinning like a damn Cheshire cat. “Blue into green. Almost like vibrant sea grass in a deep blue ocean.”
Alex freezes, her shoulders pulled tight. Where blue meets green shaded beautifully inside my favorite flower. I stare at Alex. She seems nervous. Hesitant. I tilt my head in a silent question: “Is that what you were going for? A color scheme that matched my eyes?”
She answers by pulling on the shirt.
Chloe glances between us and fakes a yawn. “Anyway, I’m exhausted. Think I’m going to crash. See you both in the morning,” she says casually, as if she didn’t just recall a memory that holds weight.
Once we’re alone, Alex stares at the bed and chews the inside of her cheek. Finally, after it becomes clear that she’s not going to say anything, I lean against the headboard and pat the spot beside me.
She crawls across the bed and carefully sits.
“So.” I nudge her shin with my foot. “A tattoo, huh?”
She deflates a little and smiles. “The first of many, I’m afraid.”
“First a motorcycle and now a tattoo. You’re building quite the reputation.” She hums and closes her eyes. I use the opportunity to push up the short sleeve of her shirt and get an up close look, to take in the hyper-realistic image etched into her skin. “I didn’t know you liked peonies that much.”
She doesn’t open her eyes. “They hold a lot of memories.”
“Vibrant sea grass in a deep blue ocean?” I press. That gets her attention. She cracks one eye to look at me.
“Don’t get too excited, I have one planned for Mason, too. I’ll probably have to think of something for Chloe.” Her response is neither a confession nor a denial. It’s a perfect deflection.
“Yeah, wouldn’t want her to feel left out.”
“Sure wouldn’t.” She presses her leg against mine. “It seemed like a stressful night. You okay?”
Stressful is an understatement. “Just tired.”
“I bet.” She presses into me a little harder. “If you could fly…”
I smile. It’s been a while since she asked. “The Maldives. Or maybe Turks and Caicos. Chloe went with her family after graduation and loved it. The pictures were gorgeous. Plus, cocktails on the beach.”
“Yeah, gotta have those.”
I rest my head on her shoulder. Despite it being bony, I’m comfortable, surrounded by the familiarness of being pressed into her side. My eyes begin to feel heavy. I’m fairly certain I could fall asleep just like this.
At least until: “Possible honeymoon destination?”
I’ve had to answer wedding questions all night.
What kind of dress do I want? Have we chosen a date?
Will kids follow immediately after the wedding?
All questions I don’t have the answers to.
Ones I haven’t even begun to think about.
I’m honestly still wrapping my head around the fact that Brian asked me to marry him in the first place.
I hate that it’s all somehow leaked into my quiet space with Alex.
“Not thinking that far ahead. I’d like to make it through grad school first.” Alex nods but doesn’t press. Most times, I wish she would. In this case, I’m glad she doesn’t. “What about you? Where would you go?” Maybe back home? I want to ask.
She picks at a loose thread on the duvet and shrugs. “I’ve been thinking about maybe checking out the Northern Lights. It’s always been on Mason’s list. Thought I might ask if he wanted to go.”
For as long as we’ve played this game, Mason has always had the most interesting responses. Whereas Alex’s are random and sometimes silly, and mine usually sway toward any and all beaches, Mason’s have always been thoughtful. True bucket list type places. I hope he gets to see them all.
“I’m sure that’d make him happy. Especially if he gets to go with you.”
“Hey, Jules?” she says after a stretch of silence. “Are you happy?”
And wow, if that isn’t a loaded question. What is happiness? Is it just unfiltered elation? A sense of feeling complete and at peace? Is it a mix of all of those combined to create a perfect and singular moment of pure bliss?
If I had to take a guess, I would say happiness is seven years old, swinging as high as your swing set allows, hand in hand with your new best friend.
It’s ten years old on the beach, with a cool breeze carrying your best friend’s laughter.
It’s eighteen and seeing her smile after a long year apart.
It’s nineteen and for the first time feeling truly beautiful and complete within a dimly lit hotel room.
I’m not sure sustaining that type of joy is possible. Perhaps true happiness happens in bursts. Like an ocean wave. It ebbs and flows. Am I happy? I’m not sure. At twenty-three, I’m mostly just wondering what the hell I’m supposed to be doing with my life.
But I wouldn’t say I’m unhappy, either. I guess I just feel content.
That’s close enough to happiness, right?
“Yeah, I think so,” I finally say, coming to the realization that happiness must come in different forms and frequencies the longer we push through life. Her brows furrow, and I wonder if that was the answer she was expecting. “Are you?”
“Sure.”
“Sure?” She doesn’t bother elaborating, and I’m not sure she’d tell me the truth even if I begged. It makes me wonder where the carefree spirit I grew up with went.
“Do you have a date in mind?” she asks. “For the wedding?”