Chapter 7
Julia
It was two weeks after our date with Kincaid, and while I might not be sore anymore, I swore I could still feel them on either side of me, holding me close as we came together.
The three of us hadn’t been together since that night, though we’d gone on several smaller dates and dinners.
I was glad that we had given each other space and time to fall into what we were becoming, whatever that may be.
We often met at Madison’s for coffee since it was a safe space, as well as another café owned by a friend of ours.
We’d had dinner at our house once more, but it hadn’t led to anything but a goodnight kiss and a promise of what was to come.
We might’ve started out with the proverbial bang, but we were taking it slowly now.
And I was grateful. Every night, I turned into my husband’s arms, and we made love.
We held each other. And I couldn’t help but wonder what Kincaid was doing.
When I voiced that to Ronin, he had said much the same.
I knew if we continued down this path, Ronin and Kincaid would soon go out together without me, and I didn’t feel even a single twinge of jealousy at that.
It was what a true triad was, even if we weren’t thinking of permanence but rather connection right now.
One day, I might go out with Kincaid on my own, and I was grateful for that.
I wanted to know the man with the sadness in his eyes and discover how he could be direct one minute and hidden the next.
And I wanted Ronin to be able to find that, as well.
It was such an interesting connection, the way we all worked together, and I was grateful that I had found the other part of my soul that understood—someone who wanted the same things.
However, I knew the two of them had far more to talk about than Kincaid and I might.
And I didn’t mind that. Because it meant that Ronin would be opening up about something that he might not fully open up to me about because I hadn’t been there.
And I didn’t feel like I needed to pry that out of him.
I shook my head and looked down at my phone, wondering once again why I was letting my thoughts go down this path instead of getting out of the car and walking into my parents’ home.
I didn’t want to be here today. I didn’t want to be here most days.
But I was a good daughter, even if no one had given me that title and never would.
But I would do what had to be done. I would talk with my parents, and then I would go home, cry, and pretend that nothing had happened.
Just like every year on this day.
My phone buzzed, and I looked down to see a text from Ronin.
Ronin: I can still be there. Say the word, and I will leave work.
I closed my eyes and pushed down everything that might hurt. I couldn’t let the people in the house see these emotions—or any. They would only pounce on the opportunity.
Me: No, I can do this. I won’t be long. You need your vacation days.
I could practically hear Ronin cursing, and I knew that Marcus would’ve covered for him, but I hadn’t needed that. When he got off work, I would lean on him. But for now, I needed to stand on my own two feet.
I hadn’t needed to go into work today because I had worked remotely over the weekend and had gotten my hours in that way.
My boss was pretty amazing, and I could work from home most days as long as I had network access to the server.
I liked going in and working with Ethan and the others, though.
And sometimes I needed the space. But I had known that I needed today, so my boss had let everything work out the way it did.
Ronin: I love you. Call me when you can.
I choked back a sob, annoyed with myself for getting emotional already. I hadn’t even walked through the doors yet.
Me: I love you. And I will.
I turned off my phone, knowing that it would only annoy my parents if it rang or buzzed, and I didn’t want to add anything else to the fire.
I checked my reflection and smoothed my hair currently pulled back in a chignon at the base of my neck. My eyes were done up in subtle makeup, just enough to make them pop but not to look slutty—at least in my mother’s opinion. I looked normal, like I wasn’t dying inside.
As if I’d missed the fact that my sister was no longer here.
My baby sister would’ve had a birthday today.
She had died when she was only sixteen years old, and every day on the date of her birth, the family she left behind met.
Though we didn’t celebrate. Sitting around a table and watching my mother come to hate me more and more, and my father turn in on himself with each passing moment, couldn’t be counted as a celebration.
I was eighteen when my sister finally passed.
Sixteen years old and dying of terminal liver cancer shouldn’t have even been an option.
Kids did not get that cancer. It was something the doctors told us repeatedly, the refrain echoing often in my ears.
But she had died, and we had broken as a family.
Or perhaps we had broken long before that.
My mother had pushed me away, her precious baby dying in front of her.
And I never once blamed Mother for that.
Never once blamed the fact that she hadn’t wanted to look at me because I looked so much like Taylor.
That I hadn’t been there when it counted.
Taylor had been a light. Had brought so much joy.
She had faced the cancer head-on and told the world that she would make something of herself.
And she had, even in the few short months that we’d had her with us after the diagnosis.
She didn’t go to school. Instead, she worked full-time for a charity organization, donating what energy she had to helping others.
My mother had been right there with her for every doctor’s appointment, every moment of horror and unending unknowns.
In the end, the cancer had taken Taylor swiftly, the pain and agony no longer digging their claws into her. I missed my sister with every breath I took, with every moment I was still here. I hated that Ronin had never gotten to meet her. I even hated that Kincaid could never meet her.
She hadn’t grown into the wonderful woman she could have been. I let out a shuddering breath and then got out of the car. I didn’t need to wallow in the what-could-have-beens and what-had-beens. Not when I needed to face my parents.
I knocked on the door since I no longer had a key.
And even if I’d had one for emergencies, they never would have let me walk right in.
Ronin could walk into his parents’ home and be welcomed with open arms. He could go straight for the fridge, grab something to eat, and laugh with his mom as she rolled her eyes, patted his head, and made him a sandwich because she could.
She might still work forty-hour weeks and be connected to the military even after she’d retired from active duty, but she loved her baby boy.
Honestly, I wasn’t even sure the welcome mat that lay in front of my parents’ door symbolized acceptance for me. My father opened the door, his face gray, the lines of the years digging grooves into his skin. He had aged during Taylor’s sickness and had turned into an old man when Taylor died.
He didn’t say anything, just gave me a slight nod and stepped back. I held a single lily, my baby sister’s favorite flower, and walked into the room. I set the lily on the foyer table where Taylor’s pictures were, a single candle lit for her, and closed my eyes tightly, doing my best to breathe.
My father didn’t offer to take my bag, didn’t move to help me with anything. Instead, he shuffled away, much like he had done through life.
My mother was in the living room, her head held high, a handkerchief in her hand. She looked over at me, her gaze going from my head to my toes. She gave me a slight, tight nod. “You’re late.”
“I’m sorry, I was in the car, and it took me a moment to get in. It’s a tough day.” I held back a wince, knowing I shouldn’t even bring it up, even though it was the only reason I was here. Other families might discuss it, but we wouldn’t. We couldn’t.
My mother glanced at me and then looked straight ahead to where our family photo was, the last one we had taken.
There hadn’t been any more pictures on the walls after Taylor died.
Not in the more than fifteen years we had lived without my sister.
It was as if this house and everything in it had stopped at that moment.
There had been no growth, no more living.
And I didn’t know how to make it end. I didn’t know how to make it better.
“I didn’t cook,” my mother said.
I nodded.
We had stopped having family dinners on Taylor’s birthday. Instead, I came over, sat with them for a moment while we tried to rekindle something between us, and then I went home, where I’d cry and heal.
I knew this wasn’t what Taylor would want, but I didn’t know how to fix it. And, honestly, I didn’t know if I was strong enough to continue trying.
“I’ll be working on the garden soon, that’s what Taylor would have wanted,” my mother spoke up, and I nodded. I had been wrong. One part of the house did continue to change.
The garden in the back.
That was what my mother and Taylor had worked on day in and day out together, something just for the two of them.
I had loved to garden with them, but when Taylor got sick, it’d become something for mother and daughter, and I had understood.
I had backed away, and now, my mother gardened with fervor, trying to bring life into each plant as if she could bring life back into Taylor.
I hated that I couldn’t do anything about that, so I only nodded tightly, knowing that soon there would be new blooms, a thrilling masterpiece of a garden that I would likely never walk into.
I wasn’t welcome.