Chapter 52 #2
She reaches across the table and takes my hand. "I'm sorry you're going through this too."
"I'm okay," I say again. "I have you. And Jamie. And my parents, who won't stop asking when you're coming over for dinner again, by the way."
She laughs. "Really?"
"Really. My mom has been pestering me for weeks. She wants to have you over. Says it's been too long."
"I'd like that."
"Yeah?"
"Yeah." She squeezes my hand. “Any time.”
Two weeks later, I bring Julie to my parents' house in Queen Anne. She's nervous. I can tell by the way she keeps smoothing down her dress, adjusting her hair.
"They already love you," I remind her as we pull into the driveway. "You know that."
"I know. But it's been so long. And everything that happened?—"
"They don't care about any of that. They care about you."
She takes a deep breath. "Okay."
My mom opens the door before we even knock. "Julie!" She pulls her into a hug, holding on tight. "Oh, sweetheart. It's so good to see you. Really see you."
Julie's eyes fill with tears. "It's good to see you too, Linda."
"Come in, come in. Tom's been cooking all afternoon."
My dad appears from the kitchen, wiping his hands on a towel. When he sees Julie, his face softens. "There she is," he says, pulling her into a hug. "Welcome back, kiddo."
"Thanks, Tom."
"We're so proud of you," he says quietly. "What you did, leaving, standing up for yourself, turning down Ancre, that took real courage."
Julie's voice cracks. "Thank you."
"No thanks needed. You're family. Always have been."
Dinner is easy in a way I didn't expect.
My parents don't tiptoe around what happened.
They acknowledge it, validate Julie's pain, and then move forward.
My mom asks about the cruise, about Julie's plans for the house, about the shop.
My dad tells stories about the San Juan Island trip, how they drove Julie's car around and pretended to be tourists.
"Linda took about three hundred photos of eagles," he says. "I think she has a new hobby now."
"The lies this man tells," my mom protests. "I took maybe fifty."
Julie laughs. Really laughs. The kind of laugh I haven't heard from her in months. After dinner, we sit on the back porch with wine. My parents excuse themselves to clean up, leaving us alone.
"Your parents are wonderful," Julie says.
"They really care about you."
"I know. I just... I didn't know if things would be weird. After everything."
"My parents are salt of the earth. They don't judge."
"It makes sense that they raised someone like you," she says.
We sit in comfortable silence for a while, watching the sun set over the city.
"I'm getting better," she says suddenly.
I look at her. "Yeah?"
"Yeah. I can feel it. The weight is lifting. Slowly, but it's lifting."
"I'm glad."
"I couldn't have done it without you."
"Yes, you could have."
"Maybe. But I didn't have to. Because you were there."
She leans her head on my shoulder, and I wrap my arm around her. "I'll always be here," I say.
"I know."
The divorce becomes final on a Tuesday. Julie texts me from her attorney's office.
It's done. Officially over.
I call her immediately.
"How are you feeling?" I ask.
"Relieved. Exhausted. Giddy." She laughs. "All of it at once."
"This was like a weight came off me. I'm okay. I really am."
"I'm proud of you."
"Thanks, Ryan."
"Do you want to celebrate? Or commiserate? Or just... be?"
"Can we just be?"
"Of course."
We meet at her new house. She's been working on it for weeks—painting, refinishing floors, tearing out the old kitchen. I'm there with her every step of the way. She hires contractors I work with often, and they help by doing the things we can't. It's starting to look like a home.
We sit on the porch with takeout and beer, watching the neighborhood settle into the evening. I don't know if it's because I'm next to her or if it's because there's an energy around it, but I'm deeply in love with everything about her house.
She turns to look at me. "You've been so patient with me. So kind. I don't know how to thank you."
"You don't have to thank me."
"I do, though. Because you didn't have to do any of this. You didn't have to tell me the truth. You didn't have to help me. You didn't have to stay."
"Julie—"
"Let me finish." She takes a breath. "You didn't have to do any of that. But you did. And I need you to know that it mattered. That you matter. More than I can say."
My heart is pounding. "You matter to me too."
"I know." She smiles. "I can feel it. The way you look at me. The way you show up. The way you've been there through all of this."
"Julie—"
"I'm not ready," she says quickly. "I'm not ready for... whatever this is. Whatever it could be. I'm still healing. Still figuring out who I am outside of that marriage."
"I know."
"But I want to be ready. Someday. And when I am..." She trails off, her cheeks flushing.
"When you are," I say carefully, "I'll be here."
She nods. "Okay."
"Okay."
We sit in silence for a while, the weight of the unspoken hanging between us. And then she leans over and kisses my cheek. "Thank you," she whispers.
"For what?"
"For waiting."
"Always."