Chapter 6 #2
But first, I need to tell Jules about my suspension.
“Jules—”
“Oh, Stelly,” she interrupts me, pulling me into a big hug as she squeals. “I’m so glad you’re here. Not just because I want you to get to know Harry, which I really do—he’s so kind. And funny as hell—honestly, sometimes his sense of humor reminds me of yours.”
But I’m barely even listening. What’s the most innocuous way to say suspension? Forced vacation days? Involuntary sabbatical?
“But also… because I’m scared.”
“Scared?” I repeat incredulously, the speech I’m forming in my head tumbling over like jenga bricks. Jules is brave to the point of recklessness. As far as I’m aware, the only things she’s afraid of are sharks and Velcro sneakers.
“Harry swears his family loves me. And I know he doesn’t care that we have different backgrounds. But sometimes I get the sense that Patricia doesn’t think I’m good enough for him.”
“I’m sure that’s not true, Jules.”
“Stella, in LA, the Warrens are like royalty. I think Patricia was expecting her son to marry a Vanderbilt, not some hairstylist college drop-out.”
I’ve never heard Jules talk about herself like that. She’s never been anything but happy with her decision to drop out of school—something she reminds me of every time I facetime her in near tears when grades are due.
“Jules, if that woman said anything to you that makes you feel bad about yourself, I swear to God—”
“No!” My sister backtracks. “She’s too tactful—she would never say it out loud.
What I mean to say is, I’m just really grateful you’re here.
Not just for emotional support, but because maybe seeing how brilliant and successful you are will help Harry’s family realize we’re not just a couple of brainless country bumpkins. ”
I swallow. Did Jules bring me on this trip so she could show me off? Me? Whose life is circling the drain faster than yesterday’s coffee grounds?
“Jules, I’m not successful.”
“Oh please, Stella. You put yourself through college and grad school. You’re a fellow at one of the most competitive art history programs in the country. Soon we’ll all be running around calling you Doctor Olsen.”
My stomach sinks like it just hit an iceberg. Jules and I have never kept secrets from each other, but I can’t tell her about the suspension now—not when she’s relying on me to help her gain credibility with her mother-in-law. Would it be so terrible for me to wait just a few more days?
“Oh! I almost forgot,” she exclaims, running out of the cabin. When she returns, she’s clutching a glittery blue gift bag that I’m certain her future MIL would not approve of. Shimmering plastic bits sprinkle across the duvet as she sets it down.
“What is this?” I ask.
“Just a little something to say thank you for coming. I know this kind of trip isn’t exactly your idea of fun, but you being here means the world to me. Really.”
Way to lay the guilt on thick, Jules. I reach into the bag, past the copious layers of white and navy tissue paper, and grab hold of something smooth and weighty. I pull out a blue leather book with my initials embossed on the front—SDO. The white pages inside are heavy and slightly grainy.
“It’s a sketchbook.”
“And pencils, too!” she announces conspiratorially, pulling a beautiful set of pencils that cost more than last night’s hotel room out of the bag. “I know you’re partial to oil, but I thought Patricia might skin me alive if I brought a bottle of paint thinner aboard.”
I run my hands over the book’s soft leather binding.
There was a time when I couldn’t go a day without one of these, but I haven’t so much as doodled on a napkin in over a year.
The only thing I’ve had time for since starting my fellowship is teaching, research, and worrying about teaching or research.
But feeling the familiar weight of the sketchbook on my lap triggers a warmth that blooms in my stomach: a forgotten intimacy that wraps itself around me like a hug and squeezes just the right amount.
A feeling that even though I’m on the Titanic Junior, thousands of miles from the shores of the Olympic Peninsula, I’m home.
“Thanks, Jules,” I tell her, and give her one of those rocking hugs reserved for the people you really can’t live without. “It’s perfect.”
I don’t tell her that I’m not even sure I remember how to draw. The satisfied expression on her face is enough of a gift for me.
“I’m glad you like it, Stelly.”
Before she gets up, she squeezes my hand, planting an extra kiss on Pepe’s plush forehead like she used to do when we were little.
“Now, you’ve got exactly—“ she looks down at her Apple Watch. “Eleven minutes to sulk. After that I expect you bikini-ed up and ready for dolphin spotting!”
“Copy.”
“Just do me a favor, please, and try to enjoy yourself this week. You’ve got the rest of your life to be stressed out.”
She winks at me before opening the door, and I sigh.
If there’s one thing Jules and I have in common, it’s that we’re pathologically independent.
So if she’s asking me for help with her in-laws, I know it must be really important.
I’m just going to have to swallow my secret for another ten days—or at least until she starts to feel more comfortable.
There’s just one teeny, tiny problem.
Caleb already knows.