Chapter Twenty-One
Julia
The wind is biting. I pull my collar higher up on my neck and silently curse myself for not bringing my knit cap.
Especially since the closest parking spot I could find is two streets away from the bistro where I was supposed to be five minutes ago.
I pick up my pace, holding my phone between my shoulder and ear while I navigate the DC sidewalks.
“I have some news,” Chloe says, and I can practically hear the smile in her voice.
“You’re pregnant,” I guess. It’s obviously a joke, one that I know will ruffle her feathers and probably bite me in the ass, but it’s always worth it to hear how offended and disgusted she gets whenever I mention children.
“Ew, no. Kids are gross. Are you pregnant? Is that the real reason you and Brian are getting married?”
And there’s the biting me in the ass I foresaw. “No, we’re getting married because we love each other.”
“Are you sure?”
The crosswalk sign switches, and I rush to make it across the street. “Am I sure I’m not pregnant, or am I sure I love Brian?”
“Both.”
“I’m sure,” I say, unamused at her comment and making a note to circle back around to that when I have a bit more time to chat. “So what’s your news?”
“I talked to that guy in Seattle, you know about the job that sounded amazing?” She’s been excited about this position for months, going on and on about how competitive it is but that she wanted to apply anyway because she just knew the job was meant for her.
“Please tell me he hooked you up.”
“No, but he got me an interview with this amazing start-up in DC, and he said once I get a little experience under my belt, he’d love to rediscuss.”
“That’s great! I think?” To be honest, I don’t feel like I’ve been a great friend lately. I’ve been so wrapped up in grad school and my internship and the wedding that even when I try to keep up with Chloe and what’s going on with her, I still feel a bit lost.
And don’t even get me started on trying to keep up with Alex.
“Yes, it’s great,” she confirms and thankfully doesn’t hold my memory against me. “I’ll be closer to you and getting experience. I should even be around for your wedding. As long as you don’t push it into the next century. So you know, win-win.”
I wince at the slight dig. Though I’m pretty sure she doesn’t mean for it to be an insult. The truth is, she’s right. If I had it my way, I’d push the wedding into late next year. Brian, on the other hand, would rather have it as soon as possible.
“Why are you all out of breath?”
“I’m on my way to meet Mason for lunch.”
“I’m jealous. Tell my sugar bear I said hi and give him a monumental squeeze.”
I reach the door to the bistro and pull it open, scanning the crowd for Mason’s familiar face. “I will. Wait, before I go, how’s Dominic?”
“Oh, you know,” she says, her voice unusually high, “he’s good.”
I interpret that as “You’re getting serious, aren’t you?”
“Yeah, okay, love you, bye!” She hangs up, which tells me way more than she thinks it does, and I smile, happy that she’s found someone.
Mason waves from one of the back tables, and I wave back and weave through the tight space to reach him. “I’m so sorry I’m late,” I say just as he stands.
“You’re not late. You’re just on time.”
He wraps me in his arms, and somehow, the five-inch height difference feels so much larger than it normally does. Maybe it’s because I needed this hug a lot more than I thought I would.
When we sit, I notice that he cut his hair. It’s still wavy, but it’s pushed to the side, showing off his face and his precisely trimmed chin strap beard. He makes twenty-six look more like thirty-two, and his thick flannel shirt buttoned over a navy T-shirt makes him look rugged and handsome.
But even with his new look, I can still see the bags under his eyes.
“How are you feeling?”
“Not terrible.” He pushes a small plate toward me that’s filled with an assortment of various bagged teas. He waits until I’ve selected the one I want and takes the liberty of pouring some hot water into my mug.
“But not great?”
“Never great,” he tells me with an almost sad smile.
I start to say something. To ask him if it’s a good idea that he’s out, especially when he tends to get sick when it’s cold, but there’s something in his expression that causes me to hesitate.
“How’s grad school?” Just like his sister, he changes the subject off himself and on to me. And just like I do with Alex, I allow it to happen.
“It’s been amazing and challenging, and I love it. I’m also glad I’m almost finished.”
“I love how nerdy you are.”
“Says the dungeon master,” I quip.
We pause our conversation to order, and once the menus are cleared and our tea is cool enough to drink, I settle in, and Mason gives me his undivided attention. “Your birthday’s coming up. Any plans?”
That’s the thing about February birthdays.
It’s usually too cold to have plans. When I was younger, I envisioned birthdays in my twenties on the beach, away from the cold and snow, and surrounded by friends and palm trees.
Now I’m lucky to find the time to get away for a weekend, let alone a proper holiday.
“I think Brian said something about a weekend in Chicago. But we might have to push it into early March.”
There’s only one thing worse than spending your twenty-fourth birthday in the cold, and that’s spending it somewhere that’s not just cold but freezing. Especially when I have a feeling this trip to Chicago may be equal parts about meeting with an investment firm as it is wining and dining me.
“And how is Brian?” Mason asks, peering at me over the rim of his mug before he sips his tea. “Still networking, I presume?”
“He’s good, and yes.”
“Playing a lot of pickleball?” His mischievous grin matches his sister’s.
“Not you, too,” I warn with a glare.
He laughs. “Okay, okay.”
“Oh, Chloe wants me to tell her sugar bear hello and to give you a big squeeze,” I tell him before I forget. She’d kill me if I forgot. “We’ll have to send her a selfie. Really make her jealous.”
“Is she still seeing that guy?” Mason asks, and I know he knows his name so I give him a glare, for that, too.
“Dominic. And, yeah. I think things are getting serious.”
His eyes sparkle. He always was a better gossip than his sister. “Really? Do you have a picture?”
“Of course I do.” I grab my phone and scroll to his social media page, pulling up his profile picture.
Mason inspects the photo carefully, like he can tell from that single picture if Dominic’s going to make the cut and be allowed to date Chloe. It’s amusing, really, watching his internal debate. Finally, he hands the phone back. “Not bad. Do we like him?”
“From what I know of him—” I stop mid-sentence when something suddenly occurs to me. “Wait. Did you do this with me? When I started dating Brian?”
“Maybe,” he says in a way that tells me he absolutely did.
I narrow my eyes. “What was the verdict?”
“He’s nice. Polite. I think he treats you well. All good things.”
That I believe. Of course Mason would be protective while also giving someone a fair chance. His sister, on the other hand…
I look at my teacup. “What about Alex? What did she say?”
“She said as long as he made you happy, she’d tolerate him.”
“Not quite a glowing review,” I say quietly.
“Based on the things she’s said about some of the other guys you’ve dated? Yeah, I’d say that’s pretty glowing coming from her.”
I frown. It’s not as though her dislike for some of the people I’ve shown interest in was ever hidden. She’s told me more than once that I deserve better, but somehow, it still bothers me that she would complain about Brian to Mason.
“Any news on the wedding?”
Ugh. I would rather go back to discussing pickleball. The wedding is all anyone wants to know about. I’m tempted to make Mason a deal. No questions about his heart if he doesn’t ask me any about the wedding.
But his expression is so genuine, like he’s not asking just to ask.
And that is the purpose of this lunch, to catch up.
Plus, he’s also always been so easy to talk to that I find, after my initial repulsion, I actually don’t mind telling him.
Maybe it’s because I know I can be honest, and he won’t judge me.
“Well,” I start and take a deep breath. “We have a venue in mind and an idea of a menu but no date yet. I wanted something in June of next year. He wants December of this year. Maybe we should just split the difference and have it next Valentine’s Day like his mother wants.”
“Do you want your wedding on Valentine’s Day?”
“I honestly don’t know what I want.” It sounds bad. I know it does. But lately, I’ve been questioning all of it. Like, maybe I’m not ready to get married. What if everyone is right, and we’re too young?
Mason gently puts his hand over mine and squeezes.
“If you ever want to talk about it, I’ll be around.
You don’t have to wait for our lunch dates.
And if we can’t get together, just say it aloud and send it into the universe.
I’ll hear you.” He squeezes my hand again. “Or you know, text me. Whichever.”
My throat feels tight, and I nod, appreciating the offer and knowing how sincerely he means it. “Okay, it’s your turn,” I say after our food comes. “I haven’t seen you since Thanksgiving. What’s new?”
“Not a damn thing besides a haircut and my fresh new beard.” He turns his head slowly from side to side so I can get a good look.
“It suits you,” I tell him and mean it. I heard from his mom that he was talking to Sarah again. It makes me wonder if the new look is for her.
He looks at his soup and stirs it a few times, not looking at me when he says, “We missed you at Christmas.”
A blanket of guilt envelops me. This is only the second Christmas I’ve missed with the Pestanos since I was seven years old.
The first was when Alex was studying abroad in France and wasn’t sure she was going to be home.
My mom always wanted to spend the holidays somewhere tropical, so I agreed to a Florida Christmas.
When Alex ended up coming home, I was devastated and vowed to never miss another Christmas with her.
A promise I kept up until this year, when Brian surprised me by renting a huge cabin and inviting both sets of parents.
He reminded me that once we were married, we’d be blending holidays anyway and may as well get a jump start.
I didn’t tell him how much it killed me to miss my own traditions and how I wasn’t sure I was ready to start new ones. It also bothered me that he made plans and cornered me into going because he knew I’d say no if asked.
“I missed you guys, too.” I missed the cookies and the annual picture by the Christmas tree. I missed cozying up under a blanket with Alex and cheering on Ripley. Most of all, I missed being home with my favorite people. “Is Alex still mad at me?”
Mason shakes his head. “She’s not mad. She’s just…have you two not talked?”
“No, we have,” I assure him. It’s been sporadic and brief, but we have. “It’s just been…” I sigh. “She doesn’t tell me much.”
I think about her driving away from me in August. After our conversation late at night, when she admitted that it was easier for her not to be here. It echoes in my mind when things get too quiet.
“She’s been even more distant since the engagement. She told me it was easier to be away.” I let out a deep breath and run my thumb along my pendant. “I feel like I’m losing her, and I don’t know what to do.”
He doesn’t say anything, but I know he’s looking at me, I can feel it. I keep my gaze on my half-eaten wrap, wondering how I ever let it get this bad between us.
“When we were kids,” he starts softly, “after I got sick and after Dad left, we’d always talk about traveling the world.
Even if we had the money, with my heart…
Mom was too scared for me to go too far from my doctors.
So she started this game: if you could fly.
” His eyes start to water, and he smiles.
His expression is distant, like he’s falling back in time.
“But it was never really a game to Alex. She was always itching to move, to find an escape.” He continues to stare, lost in memory.
“Some things don’t change, I guess.”
My comment seems to snap him out of his daze.
He gives me the saddest smile. “She runs because she’s scared.
Because she doesn’t know how to handle people leaving her.
She doesn’t know what to do with that hurt.
Be patient with her. She’ll come around.
I have faith that the two of you will find your way back to each other. You always do.”
My throat feels tight and so does my chest. I want to believe him, but Alex has been running since she was seventeen. Any hope of her stopping seems to evaporate with every year that passes.
I’m terrified that one day, she won’t come home at all.