Chapter 5
JULIA
“Welcome to my funeral,” Aislin announces as she opens the front door of her house with a flourish.
Pressing the back of her hand to her forehead, she throws her head backward with an anguished sigh.
The dramatics are fitting for the property; it’s a two-story mission-style home with an arch at the entryway and beautiful, lush plants lining the entirety of the walkway. Every time I come here, it feels like a red carpet has been rolled out and I’m walking into a resort, not someone’s house.
Aislin’s husband works in real estate, and he managed to snag this property before it had the chance to hit market. I can’t blame him; I would have, too.
“You look beautiful for a dead woman,” I giggle, wrapping my arms around my best friend’s shoulders with a squeeze.
Her fingers trail against the sparkly, sequin-covered strap secured over my left shoulder, and she offers an approving smile as she studies Tripp’s sleek black suit and matching tie.
“Dapper,” she nods.
He does look dapper.
The suit he’s wearing tonight is almost identical to the one that he wore on our wedding day, but this one fits him a little better than the other did. I would be lying if I said that seeing him in a suit again didn’t set butterflies loose in my stomach.
We walk hand in hand through the party, all of which is decorated with black accents and headstones that read ‘here lies Aislin’s youth.’
It’s no more than five minutes after we arrive that Tripp excuses himself to talk to Aislin’s husband and a few of their mutual friends, leaving me alone near the champagne table. I pour myself a tall glass with a sigh and pull it to my lips as one of the girls from the salon approaches me.
“Not good, huh?” She asks with a gesture of her head in my husband’s direction.
“We’ve been fighting all day,” I tell her with a shake of my head. “I picked a fight at breakfast, he picked a fight on the way here. We had such a good night last night, but…”
“You think it’s over,” she says as I heave a defeated sigh.
“It sure feels over.”
My eyes move to my husband, twisting the cap off of a bottle of beer while he laughs with his friends. About what, I can only imagine.
He laughed like that for me last night, while we made a mess of our kitchen together in a pathetic attempt to put together a simple tray of lasagna, which I seemed almost determined to ruin in one way or another.
Today…
I don’t know what happened to us. We’ve been through the deepest trenches of the Hell that we were promised, alone and together, and I thought that we’d managed to come back from it unscathed, but maybe I’ve gotten it wrong.
Maybe the scars we bear are just too much, and we’ve gotten so used to carrying them that we can’t see the damage anymore.
Maybe we’ve fallen out of love with each other and are just clinging on to the one constant that we’ve known to keep us from going into free fall.
Maybe it’s just me.
Throwing what’s left in my glass down my throat, I refill it just as generously, taking a sip before I reach for a headstone-shaped cookie.
Tonight isn’t about me or about my crumbling marriage; it’s about Aislin. You only turn thirty once, and she’s been dreading this day since she turned twenty-five, so I can set aside the weight on my chest for tonight and do my best to celebrate her.
As I meander through the house, sipping on my champagne, I find myself chuckling at the obvious discrepancies in the décor.
The black and grey balloons with RIP printed on them and tied neatly together with a thick, black ribbon?
Aislin’s work. The bright blue cooler, filled with ice and beer and adorned with a Sharpied-on frowny face? Her husband’s.
Nearly everyone is immersed in one of several drinking games that remind me of the college parties I’ve seen in movies, but never got to experience for myself: flip cup, shot roulette, and I even find myself participating in a couple of games of quarters.
Aside from a few momentary check ins, Tripp and I avoid each other.
I’d love to be able to say that, if we were at home, we would sit down and talk through it; but that would be a lie.
We would be doing the same thing that we’re doing here: staying on opposite sides of the room from each other, exchanging the occasional awkward glance and a quick ‘all good?’
I’m pulled from my thought spiral as Aislin’s arms wrap around my waist and her head drops onto my shoulder.
“Hi, pretty,” I coo to her, wrapping my arms around her body in return.
“Come with me,” she tells me with a hum.
Locked in each other’s arms, we clumsily maneuver our way to and up their staircase and into the bathroom, where Aislin drops to her knees in front of the toilet to vomit up what must be her last five drinks.
Reaching for her hair, I pull it away from her face and hold it securely while I rub a palm against her back with my free hand.
Now, it’s really a college party.
“Oh god, I’m too old for this,” she groans into the porcelain bowl. “I’m thirty!”
“Thirty’s not so bad,” I say, gently stroking her back. “I think fifty is where we’ll really feel the pain.”
Truthfully, thirty was one of the hardest years of my life. I’d forget that year entirely and never look back at it again, if I had any choice in the matter, but I won’t tell her that. Her thirty won’t look the same way that mine did, and I’m thankful for that.
As she settles onto the floor, I reach into one of the drawers beneath the sink for a scrunchie and I gently work to pull her hair on top of her head to secure it into place before picking up my glass and sitting next to her, leaning my back against the wall.
“You’re drunk,” she says with a giggle.
“You’re throwing up,” I counter.
Snorting a laugh with the back of her hand against her nose, she says, “David is gonna be so mad.”
“Oh well,” I tell her, reaching forward to push a stray hair back into her scrunchie. “It’s your special day. You’re allowed to be a mess.”
My thirtieth birthday celebration looked a lot different from Aislin’s; a quiet, candlelit dinner in a tucked-away corner of the beach with just Tripp and I, surrounded by my favorite food and treats. It was the perfect night.
I pull in a deep breath as I remember the crisp breeze that cooled our skin and the way that it felt to sit in my husband’s lap, being kissed and held and cherished.
And my heart plummets.
Quietly pushing the door closed behind Aislin as she pushes herself off of the floor and leaves in an effort to find her husband, what starts as a shaky breath quickly dissolves into a sharp sting behind my eyes.
I sniff as I press the pad of my finger to the corners of my eyes in an attempt to stop my tears from falling, and a startled gasp forces itself out of me when the door to the bathroom is pushed open.
“Occupied,” I call out angrily, turning away from the idiot who apparently has no idea that a closed door means that a room is not available to them.
“Oh, sorry. Aislin left, I thought it was— Jules, are you crying?”
A red plastic cup is placed onto the counter next to me as Connor stumbles into view, dropping a supportive hand between my shoulder blades.
“Please leave,” I ask him, and as he opens his mouth to speak, I add, “and don’t tell Tripp that I’m in here.”
“Yeah, that’s not gonna happen,” he says, gripping onto my arm. “Come on. Let’s go get him and get you home.”
I yank myself free from his grip, taking a staggering step away from him with a sniff.
“He’s going to leave me. Do you know what that feels like?” I slur, pulling my arm away from him. “Every day, he’s further and further away from me. If I’m not pushing him, he’s pushing me, and I can’t…”
My head falls backward, my wrist swiping across my face as a heavy breath forces itself from my lungs.
“Jules—”
“It’s killing me,” I whisper through the burn in my eyes. “Sometimes, when he looks at me, it’s like he’s looking at someone he hates. I can’t lose any more.”
“You need to go home,” he tells me. “If you won’t let me get Tripp, I’ll get you a ride home.”
“I don’t need a ride home,” I argue.
Plucking the red cup from the counter, I move toward the door, but Connor blocks my exit.
His body straightens, crossing his arms over his chest with a challenging quirk to his brow. His eyes are faintly tinted with red, probably from playing one too many drinking games, and they don’t break from mine.
“Please get out of my way,” I plead, trying to shove past him.
Reaching for my wrists, he takes hold of them as he pushes me backward, both of us ignoring my drink – his drink?
- as it falls out of my hand and onto the plush rug beneath us.
My body presses against the counter as my eyes meet his, and I angrily try to twist myself out of his grip, but he holds firm.
“We’ve both seen this play out before,” he says. “If you go out there right now, you’ll embarrass yourself and Tripp, and you’ll ruin Aislin’s birthday.”
“You don’t understand,” I cry.
“So help me understand.” His head shakes, like I’m not making any sense to him. “What could have possibly gone so wrong from Wednesday night to now?”
My lower lip trembles as my mind races and I try to make sense of the thoughts and the doubt swirling around in it.
But I can’t.
A sharp javelin pierces through my chest as mine and Tripp’s shouting voices carve their way into my mind. Our fights have no substance. They don’t matter; and somehow, they still hold the power to rip us apart.
My eyes search Connor’s with a burn in my throat, and as he frees my wrists, I take a firm hold of his face to pull him toward me. My thumbs trace the smooth skin of his jaw as his hands settle on my hips and I take his mouth, letting his tongue slip against my own with a soft moan.
“What the hell are you doing?” He asks, pulling himself away from me.
My head shakes, my eyes flicking between his as I pull in a sniff. “I don’t know.”