Julia
JULIA
B loodred lips. The silver tube in my hand is labeled Black Honey, my favorite color.
I’ve worn it since my freshman year of college and although I’ve experimented with other colors at times, it’s always been a staple in my beauty bag.
Pressing my lips together, I smack them once as I examine myself in the mirror.
My complexion is flawless thanks to the full-coverage foundation I’m wearing. My lashes are thick and long, and I’ve got just a hint of blush. It’s a timeless look, classic and clean. And it hides everything. My reddened skin and the dark circles under my eyes are nowhere to be found.
I don’t look like the person I’ve become. This woman in the reflection, she’s who I used to be. A very large part of me wants this woman back. I want to smile like I used to and hear the sound of a genuine laugh from my own lips.
My heart pangs and stops that thought in its place.
He’ll never laugh again. It’s as if any small moment of time that passes where he’s forgotten for even a second is a disgrace. My eyes fall and I slip the cap back on the tube of lipstick, tossing it into the pouch on my vanity.
No matter what I do, every little thing reminds me of him.
Trivial things, like the color of the granite he insisted we purchase when we remodeled this place together.
The knobs on the bathroom drawers he hated and never failed to complain about.
The change he left in the cup holder in the Bentley.
The pile of dimes and pennies that clink together when I drive over speed bumps or a pothole.
The same small coins I refuse to touch. He put them there, and I can’t bring myself to move them.
Freaking pieces of metal render me useless.
It may seem pathetic, but not to me. From my perspective, I’m being as strong as I can. I face the New York City judgment every day, putting on a brave face and going about my life, my new normal.
All the while I shove everything I’m feeling deep down inside. That’s healthy, right?
I won’t let them see me crumble. There are those who want to. I could practically hear them licking their lips months ago when my world fell apart.
Julia Summers, born into wealth and raised on the Upper East Side.
She always did everything by the book and married young to her high school sweetheart, Jace Anderson.
With a loving family, a handsome and doting husband and the social life every young woman in Manhattan dreams of, Jules had a picture-perfect life.
Until her husband suddenly passed away at the age of twenty-eight, leaving the twenty-seven-year-old woman widowed and alone for the first time in her life.
Twenty-eight now and numerous months since the tragic accident.
They’re waiting to see what I’ll do next. Pens to the papers and cameras ready. There’s nothing better for the gossipmongers. It’s to be expected. Being in Page Six is how I’ve made my life.
They’d love to see me fall and I have, but not in front of their eyes. I’ll keep my hair pinned up and my concealer on thick.
I know what they say, though. This town whispers, especially in the circles I run in.
They don’t need to see the truth to figure it out themselves.
There are rumors of leaning too heavily on alcohol for comfort.
I don’t command enough loyalty for discretion; every member of my household staff has sold out to the tabloids looking for a hint of what goes on behind these walls.
Living on the Upper East Side, every single person who struts in front of my home is looking for a crack in my veneer.
What’s ironic is that there’s no glamour here, nothing noteworthy.
Just a woman who cries herself to sleep at least once a week still.
A woman who’s struggling to move on because I’ve never been with anyone else.
I suppose it’s what I get, though. I loved posing for the cameras and practically lived for regular mentions in the gossip columns.
This is what I deserve. They wanted in my life and I let them. I can’t expect them to be shut out now.
Days have turned to weeks and weeks to months. Now that my husband’s been gone for nearly eight months, I have plenty of cracks in this so-called perfect life. I’m still shattered but I’m working on gluing little pieces back into place.
I glance at myself as I tug down my dress just slightly and smooth out the black lace. It’s time to face the music.
I clear my throat as I turn off the light and grab my phone, checking the text again.
Are you sure you don’t need me to pick you up?
Kat’s a sweetheart. She’s always looking out for me. Of all my friends, she’s the one who still texts me religiously, which is insane because she’s constantly working and I have no idea how she finds the time.
My fingers tap , tap , tap away an answer. I’ve got it. Leaving now.
The Penrose is only twenty minutes away if there’s no traffic. Seeing how it’s 9:00 p.m. on a Friday night, I’m prepared to sit in the back of a taxi for half the night.
A light sigh slips past my lips as I bend down to pick up my favorite Louboutins.
With a row of spikes up the back and red-lacquered soles, they have exactly the touch of color and attitude I would’ve worn back then.
I almost second-guess the simple black dress I’ve picked out.
It’s a nod to Audrey Hepburn. But looking over my shoulder at the darkened bathroom mirror, all I see is one of the options I had for Jace’s funeral.
I would’ve worn this dress last year before it all happened. Back when I was happy and everything was how it was supposed to be. And don’t I want to be that girl again? I want to find a way to move forward on a new path.
Holding the heels in one hand and the iron banister in the other, I descend the winding staircase.
I’m not that woman any longer; I’ve changed.
I accept that, but I don’t love who I am now.
The crying and feeling sorry for myself.
I need something. A change and some light in all the darkness.
Eight months of a pity party and being stuck in a rut is long enough.
I’d like to say that Jace wouldn’t want to see me like this, but I don’t even know what Jace would want for me.
I’ve quit wearing my wedding ring, although it still sits on my nightstand.
I’m ready to find out who I am without him beside me.
Before I open the front door, I glimpse out the large stained glass window in the foyer. It’s nothing but gray outside, and the hustle and bustle is only a fraction of what it could be.
Heavy rain greets me when I step onto my small porch.
I decided not to bother with an umbrella, simply grabbing a stylish trench coat on my way outside.
Quickly taking the steps to the street out front, I hail a cab.
My heels click as I wrap the belt around me and tie my coat tight when the first taxi comes to a slow stop in front of me.
I could have called for someone to do this, to order me a cab so it would be waiting. I could ask for help with so many things. I’d rather do it myself, though.
The light breeze and rain feel real. The rain is cold to the touch and I’m sure I’ll be regretting my decision soon. But it’s something different. I don’t want anyone’s help. I just need time.
Climbing into the taxi, I shake off the gathered rain from my jacket; the inside of the cab is warm and welcoming. I push the hair out of my face and say, “Penrose, please.”
“You got it,” the cabby says as he glances over his shoulder to look at me. His thinning black hair is oiled over and he’s more than a little overweight. The buttons on his striped shirt are straining to keep it shut.
I can see curiosity in his eyes but just as he opens his mouth to ask something, I don’t know what, I turn to look out the closed window and thank him.
Everything outside is wet and dreary. The people walking by move quickly and a couple only about ten feet away are fighting over an umbrella.
It’s a cute little struggle though and the tall man in a navy blue Henley lets the woman win.
She’s dressed in formal work clothes, while he’s in casual attire.
But as soon as she takes full control of the umbrella, she walks closer to him and he wraps his arm around her waist.
I rip my eyes away and pick at my nails. It’s little things like what I just witnessed that I find unbearable. I bite the inside of my cheek and hold back the bitterness.
Luckily, the driver gets the picture. I’m not in the mood to talk and the cab moves ahead, taking me away from my sanctuary and toward another test.
That’s what these things really are. Tests.
It’s only in this moment that I realize I’m really doing it. I’ve put it off so many times over the last eight months. I’ve given so many excuses for not meeting up with the girls.
Why today? I don’t know. My heart sinks thinking that maybe I’m really getting over my husband’s death.
As much as I want to be the woman I once was, happy and carefree, I don’t want to forget him.
I lay my head back on the headrest and close my eyes, my clutch in my lap. Jace gave it to me last Christmas. I snort at the thought, running my fingers over the smooth, hot pink leather. More like I picked it out and he paid for it.
I close my eyes and take in a deep breath. It’s calming riding in a quiet cab at night in the city. The quiet rumble of the engine and the white noise of the rain are a serene mix.
The last day I saw my husband was when we were watching my nephew Everett, so my sister could have a mother-daughter day with Lexi. It’s rare I see my family at all; everyone is so busy with their own lives and my sister is much older than I am… so we’re not exactly close. I still love them though.
The thought of my nephew brings a smile to my face.
With sandy blond hair that just barely covers his big blue eyes and a wide smile, you can’t help but smile back at him.
He was only a few months old back then. A brand-new life in this world.
That’s the way it works, isn’t it? Life and death go hand in hand.
I glance forward out the windshield and give a slight start when we stop far away from Second Avenue where the bar is located; a bit of traffic is holding us up.
The cabby notices my reaction in the rearview mirror and shrugs as he says, “We should be out of it soon.” He’s tense at the wheel, probably expecting me to snap at him, maybe blame him for taking this particular route.
More guilt washes over me. I hate spreading negativity simply by being so …
gloom and doom with the air surrounding me.
I’m not an ice queen, or at least I don’t mean to be.
I give him a soft smile, placing my clutch in the middle seat. “I figured we’d run into something,” I say easily. My voice comes out even and calm. It’s the voice I use with my mother. The kind of tone that says: I’m okay, just tired.
The cabby shifts, making the leather seat grumble and he tries to make small chat.
I nod my head and answer politely, but keep everything short and to the point. I can be accommodating with others and I truly want to do so. I’m tired of being alone and pushing others away. It’s just harder than I thought it would be after how I’ve been since Jace passed.
After a moment of quiet, I look out the window again.
The rain’s nearly stopped, and the sidewalks are instantly crowded as a result.
The people were always there, waiting under awnings for protection.
Not many people like to venture into weather that washes away your makeup and ruins even the best put-together look.
They were waiting and ready to keep moving just the same. All they needed was a small break before setting out again. The only question is if there will be another awning to save them when the brutal downpour comes back.
The cabby stops and my eyes whip up to the sign on my right, my heart beating faster as I watch dozens of people walking in front of me on the sidewalk. Each going wherever it is that life has taken them. I don’t know if I’m ready, but at least I’m here.
“Miss?” the cabby asks after I remain where I am in this cozy seat. I shake my head slightly with quick motions and play off my hesitation, paying him and leaving a big tip as well. He deserves it for having to suffer my company.
“Have a good night,” I tell him as I slip out, my heels hitting the slick asphalt and the door shutting behind me with a resounding click.