18. Jules
EIGHTEEN
JULES
“Oh, Jules, what did you do?”
Arabel, my hairdresser, places her hands on hips and shakes her head as I sit down on her chair. I’ve been coming to her for years because she knows exactly what to do with my hair. Luckily, her previous client cancelled at the last minute and she was able to take me in today.
“It’s a summer cut!” I insist.
It’s easier than admitting that I felt hopeless last night and like any woman going through an emotional event, I cut off my hair.
The only thing I could think of last night as I stared at myself in the mirror was my mother telling me how beautiful my hair is and I should keep it long because men like long hair.
She wants all the attention and she discovered a long time ago that men will give her all the attention she needs if she plays up to them.
“And what am I here for?” Arabel asks. Her Boston accent is strong, the r’s disappearing when she speaks. Lavinia swears every time I leave the salon, my own accent gets thicker, even though most of the time I don’t drop my r’s.
“It was an emotional night,” I say.
Arabel’s face falls in sympathy. “Oh, sweetie, you got dumped?”
I snort. “I have to date to get dumped. Nah, emotional for other reasons.”
“Well, don’t worry. You’re here now and I’m going to get you sorted in no time.”
She always says that and I don’t leave the salon for four hours. She styles my hair so the bob is a lot neater, adding texture and layers. Then we touch up the color a little, adding in a little warmth for the summer.
By the time I’m ready to leave, I feel more like me, albeit with shorter hair.
I leave Arabel a good tip because she’s truly a miracle worker and then drive back to Drew’s house. Contrary to what he believes, I’m a good driver. Okay, yes, I speed past a few yellow lights, but everyone does that. I’m not the first person to do that.
My flabbers are still gasted over the fact that I’m now living with Drew Callahan. And that he offered it, super casually, like it’s not a big deal. Like we’re friends.
I remember his words from this morning in the park.
Your happiness is not a mistake. Being loved is not a mistake. You can’t dull down your shine for someone else.
We might not be friends, but we’re definitely living in friendly circumstances.
I pull the car onto his driveway and get out. Using my key for the front door, I enter the house and find it quiet. I stand still in the entryway and that’s when i hear the repeated thwack, thwack, thwack coming from upstairs.
Oh my god! Does he have a woman up there? Did I walk into the house in the middle of him getting down and dirty? I’ll never be able to put it out of my head if I walk in on that.
I turn around to leave the house. Just as I open the door, I hear footsteps on the stairs.
“You’re back.”
I freeze and look at him over my shoulder. He’s wearing the same blue jeans and navy t-shirt he was in before I left, his hair is ruffled and he’s got his glasses on. My eyes drop down to the toolbox and hammer he’s holding.
Oh.
“Yep. I’m back.”
I close the door and remove my shoes, putting them up on the rack. With a nod, he walks off towards the garage to put away the toolbox and hammer. No comment about my hair, but then what was I expecting?
We’re friendly, not friends. There’s a difference.
“I’ll make lunch.” Drew comes out of the garage and walks toward the kitchen.
“Oh, uh. You don’t have to do that,” I say.
“Why? Are you planning on starving?” Drew pauses to look at me.
“Not today.”
I sit down on the counter stool and watch him pull out ingredients for a sandwich. An awkward silence hangs between us. Usually, we’ll fill it by snapping back and forth at each other, but it feels so wrong to do that when he’s letting me live in his house.
“I hope you realize you’ve completely ruined our dynamic by letting me stay here,” I say.
A brief smile appears on his face and disappears just as quickly.
“I didn’t realize we have a dynamic,” he says.
I watch him spread cream cheese on a slice of sourdough. I have no idea what he’s making, but it’s bound to be good. Dinner last night was some of the best food I’ve had in a while. The man can cook.
“Of course, we have a dynamic. We don’t like each other. That was our dynamic.”
He removes the lid off a tupperware container which includes some kind of veggie and cheesy mixture which he spreads over the bread slices.
“Jules, are you saying you like me now?” He pauses what he’s doing and peers up at me.
My cheeks heat slightly. “No. I don’t like you. I’m just concerned about the fact that I can’t fight with you anymore.”
Drew slices jalapeno and adds it to the sandwich before adding more cheese on top. I don’t know what he’s making but it’s already making my mouth water. He pops the whole thing into the air fryer and leans next to the kitchen sink.
“Why can’t you fight with me?” he asks curiously.
“Because you’re being kind and generous, and you’re letting me live with you.” I wave a hand around his house. “I can’t fight with someone who’s doing all that for me.”
Drew frowns, looking down at the floor. “I don’t understand. My being nice hasn’t stopped you before.”
“You’ve never been nice to me!” I exclaim.
His eyes shift up to mine, bright and shining. “I’ve always tried to be and you’ve always started fighting before I can even get in a nice word.”
I can’t believe my ears, or his audacity.
“You revisionist! You’ve hated me since the day Lavinia introduced us in kindergarten and you hate me still.
In third grade, I passed you an eraser when you needed it and you took it from Lina Srivastava instead.
In tenth grade, you refused to communicate with me even though we were doing a group project together.
You talked to everyone else. Don’t tell me you have tried to be nice to me! ”
I breathe out in a huff, crossing my arms as I glare at him.
Drew raises an eyebrow, completely unphased by my outburst. “Feel better?”
Blinking at him, I deflate slightly when I realize it was all a ploy to make me fight him. Oddly enough, I do feel better releasing some of my anger, even if most of it wasn’t about him.
“I do, thank you,” I say in a small voice.
He shrugs. “Let me know when you need to do that again and I’m more than happy to start a fight.”
“No, no.” I shake my head. “We said we’ll try to be civil and we should do that. We’ll create a new dynamic. We’ll be friends!”
Drew looks highly doubtful of that. The airfryer turns off, indicating the food is done and Drew opens the oven door to remove the tray.
“We can be friends,” I insist.
“Absolutely. If you say so.”
I’m determined for us to be friends. Friendly. Friendlier. Whatever. Something that doesn’t involve us fighting over every little thing.
He sets two pieces of toast each on two plates and cuts them in half before passing a plate to me. “Do you want something to drink?”
“Water is fine, thank you.”
Grabbing two bottles of water from the fridge, he sets them on the counter before sitting on the stool next to me. I blow on the sandwich and take a small bite. My shoulders dance automatically as the burst of flavors explodes in my mouth.
Drew rolls his eyes, biting into his own lunch, but I see the hint of a blush creeping onto his cheeks. It makes me unreasonably happy.
“I’m determined to make us friends,” I say. “We’re going to do the best friend making activity there is.”
Drew looks at me wearily. “Which is?”
“We’re going to get our nails done.”
Drew scoffs. “I don’t think so.”
I pout, looking away. Lavinia wouldn’t have turned down getting our nails done, but she’s in Italy, enjoying a wonderful holiday with her husband and her parents. I sigh.
“You can pout all you want. I’m not going to agree,” Drew says.
I shrug as I continue to eat. Cracking open the water bottle, I take a sip.
“Where’s Bailey?” I ask.
“Outside.” Drew nods towards the deck and I see Bailey sprawled out, fast asleep. “The weather is still nice enough that I don’t have to worry about her being overheated.” The door is open but the screen door is closed to keep the bugs out.
We finish eating in silence and Drew reaches for my plate but I pull it away from him.
“I can put my plate in the dishwasher. I might have to stay here for a while, at least until I find a place. You’re not going to continue to wait on me.”
I get up and rinse out the plate, putting it in the dishwasher. I grab his plate as well.
“I’ve got some work to do,” Drew says.
“Sure.”
I take my laptop from my bag and walk out onto the patio. Bailey lifts her head as I reach down and run my hand over her head and back.
“Hi, sweet girl. Are you having fun?”
She whines softly and rests her head on her front paws again, closing her eyes. I settle onto the lounger and place my laptop on my lap.
I’ve been writing for maybe an hour when the door opens and Drew steps out, frowning at me.
“Fine. We can get our nails done.”
“Are you sure?” I blink up at him, smiling internally.
He gives a single nod, checks on Bailey and walks back inside. I finally release my grin.
“I can’t believe I actually agreed to this nonsense,” Drew grumbles next to me.
“Be thankful I didn’t suggest facials,” I say with a giggle.
The nail techs also giggle as they continue our pedicures.
I want Drew to have the proper experience.
The nail techs actually blushed when we walked in here and they realized Drew would also be getting his nails done.
Not because men don’t come here. It’s because Drew is unreasonably attractive for a man.
Alright fine, to some women who are not me, he’s downright hot. Very model-like features. The slutty little glasses just add to it.
As much as I love to torture him, I’m not a cruel person, so I offered to let him sit it out if he really didn’t want to do it. He denied, so now he’s sitting in the chair next to me.
“Are you dating anyone?” I ask, resting my elbow on the armrest and my chin on my fist as I watch him.
Drew is frowning, eyes focused on the nail tech like he expects her to do something suspicious. He glances at me when I ask the question, the frown still on his face.
“No. You’d know through the grapevine if I was.”
I roll my eyes a little. “You have got to relax. This is supposed to be enjoyable.”
He grumbles something under his breath that’s too low for me to hear.
“Are you having problems with a man at work?” I ask.
Drew raises an eyebrow. “Obviously not.”
Okay, that was a stupid question. Who’d bother him? For Bostonians, he was no less than a hero. We take our hockey very seriously.
“Is a man bothering you at work?” Drew asks, tilting his head curiously.
“I’m currently working out of your kitchen,” I remind him. Sure, the occasional man pops into my DMs—on my author account since my personal one is private—but that’s what the block button is for.
“What about Minhye?” Drew asks.
“What about her?” I reply.
“Is she still on about doing a live show?”
I twist my mouth to the side in displeasure. “Yes. A part of me thinks I should do it because it’ll be great for Lavinia’s career.”
“Fuck that,” Drew says sharply.
I look at him, taken aback by his exclamation.
“Lavinia is a big girl and she has a career. The podcast is a part of it, sure, but it’s not going to make or break anything. Besides, she’s still in touch with her old coach and can always turn to coaching if she wants. Do what you want.”
Drew has been oddly helpful these last few days and I’m not sure what to make of it. This is the part of him everyone gets, the grumbly, but helpful pieces of himself he hides from me. Because I’m not worthy, apparently.
“It really makes sense why they chose you as captain,” I say. “You give good pep talks.”
Drew looks down as the nail tech starts to apply clear nail polish to his toes. I’m being more whimsical and picking a multitude of sparkly colors. I’ll find joy wherever I can.
“It’s not about pep talks,” Drew says. “It’s about saying and doing the right thing. Knowing when the guys need my support and when they need me to step back and trust them. It’s also about being able to support the coaches.”
It’s always been hard for me to comprehend Drew as the Titans captain. The Drew I knew was, well, not lazy, but he certainly didn’t make all the right choices, according to everybody. Hell, despite being an athlete, he used to hang out with the stoners in high school and college.
I secretly liked that about him. He never changed his friends just because he was a popular athlete. He never conformed to the stereotype of one, even if people expected him to.
Once our feet are done, we move to one of the stations for our nails.
“Do you want clear nails?” The nail tech asks Drew.
“Come on, Drew. Live a little,” I say with a giggle.
Drew eyes my different shades of nail polish. With a sigh, he says, “Do what she’s doing. But less sparkles.”
Our nail techs giggle, exchanging looks. I have to hide my smile. They probably think Drew is doing this to impress me. They have no idea that impressing me is the last thing Drew ever wants to do.
I look at him as he frowns, watching the nail tech pick out the colors. He hasn’t stopped frowning since we came in here but he’s not complained once. He’s even getting colorful nails, just to make me feel better.
He’s definitely changing our dynamic and I’m not sure what to do with that.