. . . a letter to Juliet
My sisters left for the day without me this morning – got changed, grabbed their handbags and left me to wallow. It was for the best. All I can do right now is bring the vibe down and that’s no way to spend their last day abroad.
I pack my body in as tightly as it will go, curling up into a tiny pearl in the ocean of my king-size bed.
Mourning Noah was hard enough when it was something I kept locked away, but now that it’s out in the open it hurts even more.
I want to disappear under the covers, close my eyes and wake up sometime when my heart is no longer broken.
I wake up from my third nap of the day to the sound of a beep, then an opening latch of the hotel-room door.
‘How are you doing, Squeak?’ Paige asks as the pair shuffle in.
I glance up at their arms overflowing with shopping bags before resting my head back on the pillow and closing my eyes.
‘Have you been up at all? Showered?’ Sara asks, setting her bags down. ‘We brought you back a pastry from this cute bakery. You would have loved it.’
I let out a small groan of thanks as I stir, before pulling the covers tight over my head. That doesn’t stop them from pushing. I feel a dip in the bed as Paige sits next to the mound I’ve left and holds my hand through the sheet.
‘Paige, please. Not in your outside clothes,’ I hear Sara whisper as she too comes closer.
The two of them softly squabble, their voices hushed but clipped, before Sara sighs deeply and the bed dips again. A slither of light finds my eyes as her hand pulls back the covers just enough to stroke me gently on the head.
‘We missed you today, Squeak,’ she says.
She pulls more of the sheet down, completely freeing my face so they can both look me in the eyes. They tower over me, their faces deeply concerned and I feel a second lump form where the first has barely left in my throat.
‘I’m fine.’ My voice cracks.
A stray tear rolls down my face just in time with the end of my terribly unconvincing sentence. Sara catches it with her thumb, tenderly brushing it aside and smoothing over the area like it never existed.
‘You sound fine,’ Paige says jokingly.
I give a small, empty huff of an attempt at a laugh. She squeezes my hand tighter, her eyes sinking as she looks into my own, before jumping off the bed and clasping her hands together.
‘Right, let’s get you fed,’ Paige says.
She grabs a paper bag from the table and runs it over, shoving it in my hand.
‘Sit up.’ Sara taps the bed twice.
The two make enough room for me to shuffle up to a sitting position, with my back propped against the headboard.
They reposition themselves in turn, both choosing to sit cross-legged, facing me from the bottom of the bed.
I peek into the bag and see a fat, white wedge of cream, sandwiched between two domes of soft, golden pastry. I take a bite.
‘Okay, that’s good,’ I mumble, mouth still partially full.
‘And we have something else for you too,’ Sara says.
She reaches into her pocket and pulls out a small red envelope, stamped with a wax seal. I twirl it in my hand, noting the scrawled writing on the back.
To Juliet.
Paige shrugs. ‘You can’t leave Verona without replying to one. You said so yourself.’
I eye them sceptically – we saw the Instagram post together, we all know that they’re closed for the next few weeks, letters be damned.
But I pop the wax seal anyway, running my finger over the sealant and shimmying the letter out of the envelope.
It’s packed in tightly and I have to unfold it four different times before it lies open in front of me. It reads:
Dear Juliet,
We’re worried about our little sister, who has found herself with a broken heart. She’s fallen for her friend and currently can’t see a way to continue her journey without him by her side.
But we know that she can. We know she’s stronger than any obstacle that could stand in her way. She’s brave and resilient, and she’s already come so far. She can do this, travel buddy or no travel buddy.
How do we convince her to keep going? We know you’ll have her best interests at heart.
All the best,
Sara whether she’d judge or support my actions, which girls she’d like, which guys she wouldn’t .
. . I knew so little of her that I often find myself painting my own picture.
I hope she looks down on me and knows that I’m trying to hold her with me even if I’m scraping for things to hold.
Each year I grow closer to the age she was the day she got into her car accident, is another year I thank her for what she left behind for me.
I was raised by a loving dad and two of the best sisters a girl could ever ask for.
Two sisters who help me keep her memory alive even when I struggle the most.