16. Juniper
Iexpected to fall to the floor behind my closed door in a pile of sobs, but I don’t. I feel nothing when I walk back inside—nothing but . . . relief.
In the few short months since this whole thing started with us, I’ve been holding my breath. Waiting. Waiting for the other shoe to drop, and it finally did.
Maybe I’m in shock, I tell myself as I walk upstairs to take a shower. I know that while it’s fresh and I’m still angry, it’s easy to be emotionless at this stage. But maybe in a few days, or tomorrow, it will hit me at the worst time and I’ll break down.
I reach into the shower to turn on the water when I hear the sound of a car door slamming. I remove my hand from the nozzle.
Did he come back?
My heart skips a beat at the thought of him returning to tell me I’m wrong—that what we did meant so much more to him. I walk over to the window and peer out just as my mom walks around their camper, coming into view. I run downstairs the moment they walk through the back door.
“Surprise . . . we’re home early!” my dad shouts with open arms, a Grand Canyon hat perched atop his head and a Yellowstone T-shirt stretched over his belly. The second I’m in his arms, I fall apart.
“Oh, sweetie, what’s going on?” My dad tries to pull me back, but I tighten my hug around him. “Is everything okay?” I nod into his neck, my tears wetting the collar of his shirt. “We missed you too, baby girl.”
I didn’t expect to lose it this quickly. I wipe away the tears, laughing around them as my mom pulls me into a hug.
“I’m okay, I’m sorry. I just . . .” I shake my head, my chin quivering, “I’ve just been overwhelmed with the garage and I didn’t realize how much I needed you around.” I burst into tears again, which are clearly exasperated by the recent addition of the situation between Decker and me.
“Oh, baby girl, I told your father we shouldn’t have taken off for three months like this; that’s why I talked him into coming back.” My mom wraps her arm around me and looks at my dad. “I told you it was too much, Ron.”
“It wasn’t, honestly. I think I’m stressed, and seeing you guys just unexpectedly brought out my emotions is all. Let me make some decaf. I want to hear all about your travels.”
This is exactly what I needed after my conversation with Decker. My parents have story after story and picture after picture of the places they visited and the friends they made along the way. My parents have always been joyful people, but seeing them like this—happy, in their element—makes me realize that this is the kind of love I want. This is the kind of love I deserve.
We laugh and talk for hours until we’re all taking turns, yawning around the table as our eyes grow heavy.
After we finally say good night and I take a shower and crawl into bed, I can feel my mind being pulled back to Decker. I see his smile from earlier, but his eyes look sad. What I didn’t tell him was that it took everything in me to hold back from begging him to choose me. But I can’t be the one to sit back and wait on the sidelines for him to choose.
“We’re hereto take you out,” Brooklyn announces after opening my bedroom door.
“Sorry,” Milly says softly, “but you have no choice.”
My hand is still paused halfway to my mouth with a burnt-and-now-cold Pop Tart. My phone is still replaying the same social media video I was watching on a loop while Golden Girls streams on my TV.
“Umm, okay. Am I unaware of an intervention I’m in need of?”
“No,” Dahlia sits on the edge of my bed, “but we’ve noticed that you have literally done nothing but go to work and then come home for the last week and a half. “I think it’s time to go dancing.”
She looks over at Milly, who smiles and chimes in, “Yeah, you love dancing!”
I glance around at the three of them, the same weird smile on their faces. “Let me guess: This is the ‘everyone’s found out about Decker’s ex showing up, so now you think I’m spiraling’ brigade?”
“It’s just that?—”
I sit up. “I’m okay, really. Just because I’ve had a crush on him since I was a girl doesn’t mean I thought we were going to get married.”
“We know; it’s not about that. We just haven’t seen you around, and we miss you. Plus, it’s a Friday night and you’re rewatching Golden Girls for the 100th time.”
“Fine.” I drag myself out of bed and walk over to the mirror. “Yikes,” I add, glancing at the rat’s nest on my head. “I’m going to need a shower.”
Thirty minutes later, we’re heading out the door and jumping into the back of Brooklyn’s Range Rover.
“Wait, where are we going?” I glance over my shoulder as we get on the interstate.
“Fort Collins. We need a change of scenery,” Dahlia replies quickly.
“Let me guess, less chance of running into Decker?” Milly shrugs and I roll my eyes. “You guys really need to work on your subtlety.”
We spend the drive talking, laughing, and singing along to our music. The gut-wrenching and often paralyzing sadness I’ve been keeping just below a simmer is finally getting pushed to the back of my mind.
For the first time in a few weeks, I feel like I can breathe. I feel like my old self. We grab tacos from our favorite place in town, along with margaritas, before moving on to the next spot. It’s a wine bar with romantic ambient lighting and a live jazz band in one corner.
“This place is so cute!” I gush as we take a seat at the bar and order martinis. “I’m glad I dressed up a little.” I tug at my short black dress that hugs my body like a second skin. It hits me mid-thigh with thin spaghetti straps. I had planned on pairing it with my slip-on tennis shoes, but the girls agreed my thigh-high boots looked better. I’m grateful for the suggestion as I look around the place.
By the time I’ve finished my martini, my head feels a little light. “I’m going to run to the restroom. Be right back.” I slide off my stool and glance toward the back of the bar, where a dark hallway has a sign for the restrooms. I take a few moments to freshen up, looking myself over in the mirror. My hair falls in air-dried waves, my makeup very minimal tonight. I slick on a layer of gloss and step out into the hallway, focused on putting it back into my purse, when I feel the presence of someone watching me. I look up to find Decker leaning against the wall by the emergency exit. I stare at him, blinking several times to make sure I’m not imagining him.
“Hey.” His voice is low.
“Hey.” It feels weird to see him in public, and the reason why suddenly hits me: I’m a good 45 minutes from home. “What are you doing here?”
“Could ask you the same thing.” I stare back at him without answering. “I’m having dinner.”
“With Camilla?” I hate that I ask it; I know I sound jealous.
“Yes.”
I don’t know what to say, and I hate that he’s putting me in this position right now. Why couldn’t he just let me have a night in peace? Why’d he have to come hunt me down?
“Have a good dinner.” I smile, attempting to step around him, when his hand darts out to grab me.
“Juniper.” His voice is commanding, his hand resting warmly against my stomach. “Please.”
I step back, breaking our contact. “What do you want, Decker?”
“I want to talk. I want to know how you are.”
“Now doesn’t seem like the best time, considering you’re on a date with your fiancée.” I over-enunciate the last part.
“She’s not my fiancée. We aren’t back together.”
“Fine, whatever. You’re dating her, aren’t you? You’re on a date, so it feels like a really weird time to have a talk with me.”
“It’s not a date.” I stare back at him with the most uninterested and annoyed look I can muster.
“Did the girls know? Is that why they dragged me all the way out here, so that I’d run into you?”
“What? No, I didn’t tell anyone I was coming here tonight. It was actually a last-minute decision.”
I have no interest in doing this right now. Or at all. I shake my head and push past him.
“Can you just . . . are you okay?” He stops me again.
“I’m not doing this.”
“I know—I know you, Juney. I know you’re hurting, and I’m hurting too.” I stop, my heart threatening to rip itself from my chest as I blink back tears. “Please, just talk to me.”
I turn around and look at him. “About what, Decker? You made your decision. I don’t resent you for giving it another shot with her, but you can’t do whatever this is.” I motion between us. “We had our fun, but it’s over. Move on.” Then I take in a shaky breath, getting myself together before stepping back out into the room to join my friends.
I don’t tell them about seeing Decker. I don’t even look around the room to try to find him again . . . at least not until I see him stand up in the far corner and walk through the room with her at his side. The girls have their backs to him, lost in a fit of giggles over another round of martinis.
He glances up at me, his eyes catching mine for the slightest second before looking away. Just as they’re about to be out of my eyeline, Camilla turns her head and looks directly at me. She offers a slight smile before dipping her head and exiting the restaurant.
Does she know who I am? Has he talked to her about me?
I try to rejoin the girls’ conversation, laughing and adding a comment or two, but my head is a million miles away. I run my finger around the rim of my glass, my eyes glazing over.
Of course he has. He must have told her that the real reason he needed time to figure out where his head was at and sort out his feelings was because he needed time to get over me . . . to get over those few weeks where I thought I finally had it all.