Chapter 19 #2
So I went upstairs and locked myself in my room, claiming a need to work—which is believable enough.
I wasted an entire Saturday afternoon like that.
A million things I could have been doing, but instead I stared at my ceiling and out my window and into my closet.
I organized my clothes and shoes a bit. Checked my phone a million times and hated myself for it.
But I still feel like garbage, in ways I can only partly explain. And it’s showing.
Juliet is a master at reading emotions, especially since I’m her sister.
India is quieter and more reserved, but she can tell something is wrong too.
They’ve been giving me questioning looks all evening, and I can only hide it for so long.
Even when I try to smile reassuringly at them, they exchange expressions of faint concern.
Am I that bad at smiling?
Finally, after dinner when we’ve all settled on the couch to watch an old episode of Murder, She Wrote, they act. I’m not sure if they’ve discussed it beforehand or if they’re just totally in sync, but they turn on me at the same time, their expressions set.
“All right,” India says. “Come on. Spill.”
“It’s like a thundercloud is raining on the house,” Jules says with a nod. “And you are so bad at pretending to be fine.”
“I am fine,” I say automatically.
Juliet’s eyes drop to my hands, which are a bit dry from my secret cleaning spree in my room earlier.
“I’m fine,” I say again. “Work is just stressful. Come on. Let’s start the episode.”
“If you don’t tell us what’s going on,” India says, “we’re going to take another carton of eggs to Barf’s place. Then we’re going to go to Tyler’s.”
I snort at this, a moment of lightheartedness that feels good. “Oh, please—”
But Juliet hops off the sofa and trails into the kitchen, returning a moment later with a stack of not one, not two, but three egg cartons.
“We’re very serious,” India says solemnly. “Felix already agreed to come along so he can be our lookout.”
My jaw drops at this, my arms wrapping tightly around my knees until I’m curled in on myself. “Are you telling the truth right now?”
“Yes,” Jules says. She sets the eggs on the TV stand and then sits on the floor in front of the couch, crossing her legs and looking up at me. “So start talking. It’s so painful, Ror.”
And I know they’re not going to stop hounding me until I give in. So I sigh.
“I don’t know,” I say. “It’s just—” I clear my throat. “Roman asked me out.”
But instead of the reactions I expect, Juliet gives a smug smile, and India sighs. Jules holds her hand out to India.
“Pay up,” she says.
Grumbling under her breath, India pulls a few bills out of her pocket and slaps them in Juliet’s palm. “Fine,” she says.
Juliet’s smile widens, and then she turns to me. “I knew it,” she says happily. “Okay. So tell us why you’re so depressed.” She pauses, her shoulders sinking as her expression turns into something unsure. “Did he take it back? You like him, don’t you?”
I swallow. Somehow my feelings seem more complex than what I can say, but I don’t know how else to explain. “I think I kind of like him. A little bit.”
Jules squeals, clapping her hands together, but India frowns. She nudges Juliet with her foot.
“Calm down.” Then, to me, she says, “What happened, then? What’s wrong?”
The shrug I give is jerky, not at all casual like I intended. “Nothing happened. He asked me out, I said no. I’m just a little thrown off. That’s it.”
“You…said no?” Juliet’s words are slow, like she’s never before contemplated rejecting a handsome man.
“Of course I did.” I try to keep the bite of impatience out of my voice, because I know they’re just curious—and concerned. They love me. They care about me. “I don’t need another messy relationship, do I? I don’t need more—more—”
I break off into silence, and they wait for me to finish speaking, but I don’t know what to say.
“Anyway.” Scrubbing my hand down my face, I force my voice to be more normal. “I’m fine. I’m just tired and stressed. And I think—I maybe offended him.”
“Because you said no?”
“Not exactly.” I swallow. “I think I implied some things about him that maybe weren’t true.” His closed expression flashes through my mind. “Or things that were hurtful. Something like that.”
Shame creeps on sticky feet in the pit of my stomach, and I can’t bring myself to tell my sisters the full story. They would never judge me, but I don’t think they would be proud of me for how I handled things, either.
I think I need to apologize to him. I don’t even know what I would say. But I feel…sort of gross.
“Can we go ahead and watch the next episode?” I say, because I’m desperate for a change in subject. “I should go to bed early tonight.”
“I’ll grab the popcorn,” India says quietly, and a wave of regret washes over me—regret that I’ve pulled the mood down so far.
“Do you need help?” I call, even though I know she doesn’t. It’s just popcorn. But I don’t want them to think I’m angry.
India’s bark of laughter tells me everything is okay, and some of the tension drains out of my body.
Juliet stands gracefully and settles next to me on the couch, and when the scent of buttered popcorn begins wafting from the kitchen, we press play.
India appears behind us and passes the popcorn over the back of the sofa to us.
She stands there for a moment as the theme song blares through the room.
“I love this show,” she says fondly.
“Me too,” Jules says with a happy sigh. She reaches up to tug on India’s hand, which is on her shoulder. “Why are you still standing?” she says. “Come—” But she breaks off, and although I’m not looking at her, I can feel her body still.
I frown and look over at them, at Indy as she yanks her hand away and Juliet’s wide eyes.
Everyone freezes for several long seconds, until Juliet moves, her entire face changing.
“India!” she gasps. She knocks over half the bowl of popcorn onto the floor as she scrambles over the back of the sofa to stare at Indy, who’s wearing a deer-in-the-headlights look.
“India!” Juliet says again, louder this time. “I felt a ring. I felt a ring on your hand! Did Felix propose?”
My eyes widen, my gaze dropping to India’s hands, but they’re behind her back now. “Did he?”
When India doesn’t answer, Jules says, “Did he?!”
India lets out a little sigh, but it’s accompanied by a smile, and then she holds out her left hand and wiggles her ring finger—on which rests a thin golden band with three small diamonds.
It’s not flashy or gaudy. It’s simple; practical, even, in that it won’t catch on fabric or poke anyone’s eye out.
It’s perfect. It’s the exact kind of ring I would choose for India myself.
Juliet screams, not a horror-movie scream, but close. The bowl of popcorn now goes flying into the air as she kicks it with her foot and climbs all the way over the back of the sofa, launching herself at India.
They go tumbling to the ground, as anyone could have predicted, but they’re both laughing, a sound punctuated by tears.
My vision is blurry too as I hurry off the couch and around the back, where I find them in a tangled heap on the floor. Juliet is now openly sobbing, and there are tears in India’s eyes as she smiles, patting Juliet’s back.
And I can’t help it—my watery eyes overflow. I sit down next to them and lean forward, wrapping my arms around the whole knot of arms and legs as something intangibly bright rises in my chest, banishing the shadows where they still linger.
“Why didn’t you say something?” I say.
“I was going to,” India admits. “But—you were having trouble with Roman, so I decided to wait. I just hadn’t taken the ring off yet.”
“You didn’t need—” But I break off when a voice from overhead causes Juliet to shriek and the rest of us to startle.
“What on earth?”
We crane our necks as one to look up, only to see Cyrus looming over us, his face screwed into a highly concerned expression.
“It’s just Cy,” Jules says in a watery voice, and then she proceeds to go back to her happy cries, her arms tightening around whatever she can find of India.
“Why are you here?” I say.
“Poppy said you were doing a weird auction thing,” he grunts.
“It sounds sketchy. I came to ask about it, and you had the money thing with the lousy ex? And I wanted to see if Jules had baked anything recently.” He pauses.
“Can someone please explain—” But he breaks off when India wrestles her hand free and holds it up in the air, wiggling her ring finger overhead.
“Oh,” Cyrus says.
That’s all, the great lug.
“Congratulate her!” I say, but the words are muffled because my mouth is more or less full of Juliet’s shoulder now.
“I can barely see her face,” Cyrus retorts.
Indy’s arm breaks free once more, half of her tear-stained cheek visible as she reaches up and beckons to Cyrus, waving for him to descend to our level and join us in our human dogpile of happiness.
“No,” he says succinctly.
Except Juliet and I clearly have the same thought, because as much as Cyrus annoys me—he’s bossy and smug and I swear he gets under my skin on purpose—he’s also, deep down, a good brother. So I raise my hand with Juliet’s, grab Cy’s leg, and pull him closer.
“Stop that,” he says, trying to kick us off. “Stop—it—stop. Stop—” His protests die as we continue to tug, and he should feel grateful he has on pants instead of shorts, because I know Juliet’s nails could do some damage. He heaves a long-suffering sigh. “Oh, all right.”
And to my absolute shock and amazement, a second later he settles himself next to us. I wrench my head up to look at him, just to make sure I’m not mistaken, but he’s there—cross-legged next to us, a little smile on his face as he reaches out to touch India’s head.
As he should; she’s getting married—married to Felix, and Juliet will marry Luca, and Cyrus will either marry Poppy or join a monastery, and all that will be left is me, alone, proud and lofty on my crumbling mountain.
This is not about you, I tell myself furiously as tears continue to trickle down my cheeks, as my strangled laughter turns a bit more watery. This is not about you, Aurora.
“Tell me Felix at least got you a nice ring,” Cyrus says from next to me, and from our heaping pile of limbs, India laughs, a muffled sound.
I think we all cry-laugh a little harder after that.