Chapter 31
Everly
The first thing I notice in the apartment is the slight lived-in vibe.
No one has been here since the wedding. Did Julian come here?
With Taya? Did she stay here? The bed looks slept on but not in.
A couple glasses litter the sink. Were they here together?
I quickly throw the dishes into the dishwasher so I don’t have to look at them, think about what they might mean.
But how can I flip my shit about that when I kissed Seth?
I need to talk to Lilly. As if I summoned her, my phone dings with a text from her. Three actually.
Lilly: Got your note.
Lilly: You home safe?
Lilly: Fuck my head hurts.
She sends a string of emojis depicting a hangover.
Me: I’m home. Sorry your head hurts and that I bailed. Had to get home.
Me: When you feel better can we talk?
My phone screen immediately fills with Lilly’s FaceTime call.
Lilly: Where are you?
Me: The apartment.
Lilly: Why?
Me: I don’t know. Just needed some space. To think.
Lilly: Does Julian know you’re back?
Me: Yeah, I went there first.
Lilly: And?
Me: And I don’t know. I don’t think he lied, technically. He just . . . doesn’t share much about the past. But Taya is here, back. I don’t know more than that. I . . . How can I grill him about his . . . ex? Is she his ex? See? This is the shit I’m talking about.
Lilly: Why can’t you ask him?
Me: I . . . uh . . . kissed Seth.
There’s a pregnant pause while Lilly just looks at me through the screen. After a few seconds, she exhales loudly.
Lilly: And?
Me: That’s it. But . . . I’d flip my shit if Julian kissed someone else.
More loud exhales and staring at me through bloodshot eyes.
Lilly: Look, Ev, I’m not telling you to lie to your boy, but college is . . . college. And Seth . . . kisses everybody. To be honest, I think it’s how the boy says hello.
It’s my turn to stare at her. I blink a few times, absorbing this college dynamic she described.
Am I making a bigger deal of this than it is?
Fuck my inexperienced life. I feel like a toddler trying to walk, fumbling around, crashing into shit.
A knocking sound interrupts my mental spiral and sends my heart up into my throat.
Julian’s here. Only he knows I’m here. A swarm of butterflies erupts in my stomach.
Me: I gotta jet. I think Julian’s here.
Lilly: Davis? It’s no big deal. Okay? Love you.
I nod because this logic calms my nervous system. I want it to be true. It can be true.
Me: Love you.
I hurry to the door ready to throw my arms around Julian and tell him I love him.
Tell him that the past doesn’t matter. We matter.
The two of us. I’m giving myself whiplash with the complete one-eighty.
But ghosting my issues, my typical MO, would be so much easier.
I ignore the way my brain wants to scream SELLOUT, that I’m betraying myself, and swing the door open and freeze mid-step.
The past does matter, because it’s standing in my doorway. “Taya?” I don’t even conceal my shock.
It mirrors hers telling me she’s not here for me. “I . . . hi. Everly?” Her polite smile is meager, nervous. Points for finding her manners.
Mine are MIA when I reply, “Julian’s not here,” sans smile or emotion of any kind.
“Oh, okay. I just wanted to return these and tell him thanks.” She hands me a pair of sweats and a tee—my sweats and tee.
I look down at them like they’re a coiled snake about to strike.
Thanks, Dad, for modeling compartmentalizing.
“Great, I was just about to start some laundry.” I take the items from her and stand with my hand gripping the door handle.
Manners dictate that I invite her in, offer her a drink.
I do neither. I let the charged silence hang between us and wait, not breathing or blinking.
She finally speaks. “Sorry for just showing up like this.” Without the clothes in her hands, she’s fidgeting with her fingers, then shoves them into the pockets of her jeans. Her awkwardness penetrates my detachment.
“It’s fine. Come in. I can call him for you if you want.” I turn and move to the bag of clothes I dropped earlier, taking the worn ones out. Why the fuck did I offer to call him for her?
“No, I don’t want to intrude.” But she takes a step inside.
I can’t help the smirk. Don’t you, though? I can’t help my bitchy thought, but my manners win. “It’s fine,” I say again. But is it? “Want some coffee? I was just going to make some.”
“Okay. Yeah. Thanks.”
“Sure. Just, uh, follow me.” I move toward the kitchen and hear her close the door behind me.
“Have a seat. Just gonna start this load.” I drop the clothes into the barrel of the washing machine like they’re toxic waste.
Aren’t they? Moving back into the kitchen, I make myself look her in the face.
She’s so pretty. My opposite, really. “Want me to text Juli—Julian for you?” Does she call him Julian now? Or Jayce.
“I . . . Can we talk? You and me? Without Jay?”
Or Jay. Fuck her just a little for using a pet name.
“Okay.” I turn and busy myself making coffee.
I opt for the quicker single cups over a whole pot.
Within seconds of removing her from my line of vision, I find myself.
The new me I was slowly becoming who isn’t afraid to say shit.
“But, honestly, none of this is okay. It’s fucking weird and it’s got me spun.
Just wanted you to know that. I’m not normally an asshole. But this is weird.”
Taya’s laugh is full-bodied and kinda hot, like her. I hate her a little more. But I feel guilty for it because, in our world, mine and Julian’s, she was dead until a couple of days ago.
Her reply has me retracting my claws. “Well, I am an asshole, usually, so no offense taken. This is fucking weird. Until a few days ago, I thought Jay was an asshole too, who took a payout from my dad to disappear. Stayed pissed off through most of college, too, and angry-screwed my way through a few frat houses because of it.”
Hmm. Maybe that is just what you do in college—kiss everybody.
Or in her case fuck everybody. The way Taya just overshared and nutshelled her side of things is refreshing.
And endearing. Maybe it’s a girl thing. Except for me.
I used to only have deep, stimulating conversations in my head or in my journal that never saw the light of day—until Julian.
But I’ve read that statistically, women talk more than men.
Maybe Julian’s stoicism about his past is more about his anatomy and less about hiding things.
He doesn’t exactly not talk about it, but only answers what’s asked.
I give Taya a genuine smile when I hand her a mug of coffee. “Cream or sugar?”
“I’d love both if you have it.” She smiles back with her whole face.
Finding my irreverent sarcasm is easy when she’s so open. I don’t think twice before I say, “Did you off your dad when you found out what he did?”
But her smile disintegrates, and I realize instantly what she’s going to say. Asshole status reactivated.
“He died. Of a heart attack. That’s how I found out. About Jay. He had files.” She fidgets with her hands again, then wraps them around the coffee mug and looks at me with a tinge of anger, darkening the sea-glass green to emerald. “He was an asshole, too. My whole life.”
The smile I give her is sad, but I want to somehow unring the bell of my thoughtless comment. “I’m sorry, Taya.” Saying her name feels weird on my tongue. “My dad died when I was young. He wasn’t an asshole, just gone a lot.”
She nods sadly. “It’s okay. And thank you. I got over wishing he was something he wasn’t a long time ago.”
We both sip our coffee in the awkward silence.
Taya speaks first. “Jay—Julian is lucky to have you. Now that I know he’s not an asshole who bailed on me, I’m happy he found someone like you to love.
I’m sure you know his life growing up was shit.
His parents are shit.” One perfectly arched blonde eyebrow spikes upward as she goes silent for a second, staring into her coffee mug.
I can tell she’s not done, so I stay silent as well.
When she focuses back on me, her eyes brim with unshed tears.
“He really is as good as you think he is. Always has been. He could’ve turned into an abusive bag of shit like his parents, but he didn’t.
I’m so happy he has a beautiful life.” On the last sentence, one tear spills.
She swipes it hastily and stands. “Thanks for the coffee . . . Everly. I’m gonna go. ”
I nod, following her as she stands and moves out of the kitchen, my mind spinning. I’m searching for the words, the manners, and drawing a blank.
Then she turns back and adds, “And I like your T-shirt.”
I look down at my faded holey Guns N’ Roses tee. My dad’s. “Thanks. It . . . was my dad’s. It was his favorite band. My favorite band.” I fixate on my pinkie dipping through a hole in the bottom hem.
“Mine too.” She says it softly, bringing my eyes back to hers.
“But I think it’s more the moody aggression than nostalgia.
” She smirks, and I’m transported back to Julian stalking to the sound system that day at Fit and snapping it off.
I had “Paradise” turned all the way up. I realize I’m staring at her, lost in the memory.
“Are you sure I can’t . . . call him for you?” I don’t know why I offer that. Nice Everly. “Our . . . This isn’t where we live. It’s not far though,” I finish lamely.
“No. No. It’s all good. I’m good. He . . . knows where to find me if he needs to.”
I’m nodding again. And following her as she makes her way to the front door. In a trance, I hold the door she opened as she walks through it.
Before she gets all the way out, she turns and puts her arms around me. Without releasing my grip on the door, I awkwardly pat her lower back with my free hand. “Let him be good to you. He will. Always. That’s who he is.” With that, she hurriedly turns and jogs down the stairs.
I watch her go. I stand there in the doorway long after she gets into her truck and drives out of the parking lot, reflecting on the last hour of my life.
Part of me feels stupid for not seeing the bigger picture—leaning into what I know about Julian.
But even if I’ve completely misread him, Taya is still back—very much alive and .
. . here. And what about me? I almost burned everything we have to the ground in less than twenty-four hours with a trip to Pismo.
Proof that I am not as solid as I’d like to believe.
Trauma is a funny thing. I need to admit to myself that deep down I expect the good things to go away.
I was ready to believe it was gone, he wasn’t who I thought he was and what we have (had?) isn’t real.
No matter how much work I’ve put in or how fixed I think I am, healing isn’t a one-and-done scenario.
Triggers show up unexpectedly and sometimes at the most inconvenient times.
My life up till now has taught me that it doesn’t matter how good things get.
It can change in an instant. I need to know I’ll be okay if it ever does go away.
I don’t want to be my mom, escaping the reminders of what used to be.
I’m not sure I’ve entirely wrapped my brain around the circus of Taya being alive and what it means for us—me and Julian—but as I move through the apartment, doing laundry, thinking, planning, I decide that I’m going to stop waiting in fear for that change to come.
With that decision comes the realization of the path I need to take to ultimately get there.
It’s not a complete plan, just the beginning of one.
My resolve scares me, but I’ve also never been more sure it’s what I need to do.
I need to see Julian, talk this through.
Not only do I owe it to him to explain it, but I also owe it to myself to commit to it.
Before I lose my courage to do it or talk myself out of it, I text him.