Chapter Fourteen
Jules - Two years later
I probably look rude, which isn’t my intention at all, but I can’t seem to get my feet to push me into the centre of the room– the place where Zander and Mom are standing with beaming smiles and a make-shift cake.
Yep, it’s my birthday weekend; my eighteenth, to be precise.
I’ve been gearing myself up all week for today, even though, technically, it was a ‘surprise party.’ Along with the anxiety the party brings with it, I also can’t help but feel bad for Zander.
He turned eighteen just over four weeks ago, and as much as he told us he didn’t want to celebrate, I can’t help the feelings of guilt that plague me.
Knowing he doesn’t have anyone other than my Mom and me to celebrate such milestones fills me with a sadness that’s physically painful.
He was on the verge of tears all day, constantly thanking us for making it so special.
I wouldn’t have described it that way, but knowing how he had spent the previous seventeen years with his dad made our meager efforts look astronomical and my guilt a little less heavy.
Zander told me about my Mom’s plans, knowing I don’t really like surprises.
It’s not that I’m ungrateful for her efforts; I’m really trying, but the space feels too small.
The expectant stares and excitement buzzing in the air makes my skin itch, and suddenly, I’m too warm.
I can feel the heat creeping up my chest and along the back of my neck as my eyes jump between the smiling faces.
“Jules, honey, are you going to come and blow out the candles?” Her voice is soft and reassuring. It pulls my focus back to the only people that matter. Move, Jules.
When the candles are extinguished, the room erupts into a symphony of cheers and ‘happy birthdays.’ Palms land on my back and fingers squeeze my shoulders, jostling my body backward and forwards.
My feet are as uncertain as my emotions, before a set of larger hands grip my biceps, grounding me completely.
“You did good, Jules,” Zander’s voice is a quiet comfort amongst the chaos of the guests. I swallow down the uncertainty threatening to spill over. “Come with me.” He spins me on the spot and marches us to the stairs, his hands a gentle reassurance he has me.
When we cross the threshold to our bedroom, and the door closes, my mind quiets, along with the noise from below.
“You just looked like you needed a minute,” Zander says, busying himself with the top drawer of his dresser.
“Yeah, it’s great, and all that everyone wants to celebrate with me, but sometimes it’s just… too much, y’know?” I admit, watching him from my perch on the edge of my bed. The muscles of his back flex and strain under the restraint of his cotton t-shirt, as his hands move wildly inside the drawer.
“I know, buddy… Yes! There it is…”
“What?” Leaning to the side, I try to look around him to see what has him so excited.
“Close your eyes, Jules,” his voice is relieved and happy. I can almost picture the smile I know so well decorating his face. I lean back, planting my hands behind me for support, and shut my eyes. He knows I’d do anything he asks; my trust in him knows no limit.
I feel the heat from his body on my legs. The rustle of his jeans and the way his hands clasp my knees for support suggests he’s now crouching in front of me.
“Open,” he commands in a whisper.
I open my eyes, and immediately they find him, as they always do. His face is lit up mischievously, giving me a glimpse of the unfiltered, five-year-old boy I met all those years ago.
“Go on, open it…” He nudges at the small package I hadn't even noticed in my lap. I pull the corners of the wrapping paper carefully as he watches closely. I’m not even sure he’s breathing.
The final tear of the paper reveals a transparent plastic slab, encased inside is a retro-looking Pokémon card– Ditto.
“I searched high and low, but I finally found it,” Zander says proudly. “It’s from the year we met, still in perfect condition; no hollow scratches, no whitening on the edges, and, look…” He flips the slab over to show the back of the card, “Perfect centring.”
Tears sting my eyes as the image of my best friend wobbles in front of me. I want to look at the card, I want to share in his excitement and pride, but seeing him this way–free and happy–is a gift in itself.
“Say something, Jules…” His eyes bore into mine, worry swimming in the beautiful brown depths.
But words won’t come– none that could capture this moment.
I’m fighting tears that teeter on the edge, just as hard as I’m fighting the urge to propel my body forward and into his arms. The way he makes me feel vulnerable and safe all in the same breath never fails to amaze me; it’s as uncomfortable as it is liberating. It’s me, and it’s him.
“You’re incredible.” The words are breathy and barely audible, but they’re true.
“What a day,” Mom remarks, stuffing paper plates and utensils into the black bag Zander is in charge of holding open. He throws a grin my way, and then, a balled up napkin–
“Since your birthday was technically two days ago, how about you go make yourself useful and grab us grafters a drink?”
“Hey, it wasn’t my idea to throw a party… You both brought this on yourselves.”
“Yeah, yeah… Drinks. Please.” Zander flutters his eyelashes before obediently shuffling behind my Mom.
Just as I pull two bottles of water from the fridge, the sound of smashing echoes through the hallway. I slam the door closed and race back to the living room, my mind going faster than my legs as it spins out all the scenarios I’m about to walk into.
“Ugh, I’m so clumsy sometimes,” Mom sighs, rubbing her hand along her brows.
“I’ve got it. Why don’t you go and sit down? Your hands are shaking,” Zander replies. I notice the way his fists are balled by his sides, the skin over his knuckles white with strain.
“What’s going on? I heard something break?”
“Oh, you know how I am, Jules. Complete butterfingers,” She wiggles her hands in front of her, and I don’t miss the shaking Zander had pointed out. She notices too, and quickly drops them to her side before taking a seat on the sofa.
“You ok, Zan?” My eyes reluctantly leave Mom once I know she’s safe.
“Yeah, I’m good.” I watch the swallow squeeze past his Adam's apple, his eyes averting mine and dropping to the mess at his feet. “We should get this cleaned up… can you grab the dustpan and brush?”
We get to work cleaning up the broken vase. Zander doesn't speak; he just lifts his gaze to my Mom every now and again before returning to his task. He looks concerned but doesn't voice his worries– I guess I’ll have to wait and see what confessions the darkness brings later.