36. This Thing
36
THIS THING
Jules
Sometimes it’s easier to deal with logistics. “So, what brings you over here on a Saturday morning?”
“Right. That,” my father says slowly, but he’s still out of sorts. Understandable. “But…Julia.”
He heaves a sigh, then says nothing.
I can’t not fill the silence. “Are you mad at me?” I feel like a kid all over again. I guess that never goes away with your parents.
“No,” he says without hesitation. “I’m just…surprised.” He jams his hands into the pockets of his shorts.
“This isn’t how I wanted to tell you,” I say, wishing I had scanned the street first, seen him coming, something, anything. “That probably sounds trite. Like a line. But I mean it. I wanted to sit down with you and tell you what was going on.”
I hope he hears the plea in my voice.
“Yeah, that would have been nice.” It’s not sarcastic, though, just an admission that he’d rather not have been surprised. I get that.
“As soon as we knew that this was real, that we were committed, I wanted to tell you. He did too.” It’s weird and uncomfortable to say all these things to my father. But I suppose I’ve been prepared for weird and uncomfortable for a long time. “I didn’t want to just shock you with it like that,” I add, flapping my hand in the direction of my apartment where we obviously came from. I don’t need to spell out the rest of what we did in my apartment. Ever.
“I am shocked. And I’m honestly not sure what to think, Julia,” he says, a little lost. He might be for a while.
And I can’t make this go more smoothly. I lied by omission, so I don’t have the moral high ground. I’m okay with what I’ve done though. “He’s good to me. I promise,” I say.
That word hangs in the air, fragrant like perfume. Finn’s promise. My promise. I’ll write about all these promises in my journal tonight when I tell Willa about my day. “I promise,” I say again. I want him to feel the strength of that word deep inside him.
My father’s quiet for a long beat before he nods at last. Perhaps, that’s his olive branch. “Good. A man should treat you like you’re the center of his world,” he says.
If I was looking for acceptance, I just got it. I beam, like the sun. “He does. He really does, Dad.”
Impulsively, I reach out and hug him. His arms wrap around me, and he gives me a fatherly squeeze.
When I step back, I tilt my head, refusing to let go of my first question. “So, why were you here on a Saturday morning?”
“About that.” Dipping a hand into his pocket, he clears his throat, then takes something out. His fingers curl around a small cloth bag with a little ribbon cinching it closed. “I…found this a few years ago. Well, Liz found it when she was going through some—” His voice catches, but he must swallow past the pain, since he adds, “Some things. I held onto it, but I thought you might want to have it. I didn’t connect the dots at the time, but after the other night and what you said, I started thinking about the past, and about things that I missed. I’ve been thinking about that a lot since we spoke. And then I remembered…you and Willa used to give these to each other. I don’t even know why. I just know you did.”
Without even looking inside the bag, I know what’s there. My fingers tingle with hope. He hands it to me, and I open it and fish out the silver anklet.
Daisy charms dangle on it. Willa’s favorite flowers. Wild daisies for my wild-child sister. “I’ll always hear you coming now,” I say quietly, a little mesmerized as I stare at the silver bracelet I gave to her.
My dad’s brow knits in question. “What do you mean?”
I look up.
His eyes flicker with curiosity. He so clearly wants to know something about his other daughter—my best friend. To learn something new about her. I can give him that. I’m the only one who can give him that.
“It was this thing we did when we gave each other these ankle bracelets,” I say, eager to share at last. “We pretended they meant different things. Like I can hear you sneaking into my room to take my lipstick or I’m going to steal Mom’s dark chocolate . They were inside jokes. It was just…this thing we did.”
His smile tells me he likes knowing this thing . “Thanks for sharing that.”
Memories are all we have, and so we keep them alive in our own ways. Sometimes, we can keep them alive together.
I clutch the jewelry, this piece of Willa, tighter. “Let’s keep talking about her,” I say, my throat catching.
“Yes. Let’s do that.…Jules.”
It’s rare when he uses my name. It feels like starting over.