When I moved back to Cedar Falls, finding this old Victorian home just a few blocks off the square felt like kismet. On a quaint, tree-lined street within walking distance to the pharmacy, the only thing it needed was some fresh paint. Courtesy of my dad and his painter friend, a cheerful shade of blue greeted me every day. Before the winter hit, two rocking chairs and some hanging plants made it a perfect welcome home after a long day at work.
“You’re brooding again,” Jules said, handing me a glass of wine. Grabbing a fuzzy blanket, she situated herself on the other couch. “I love your house.”
Jules lived in an apartment, and I’d told her more than once she was welcome to move in.
“I think you love it more than me,” I said. She was staring at the stone fireplace which, unfortunately, used real wood. The aesthetic was great, but it was a pain in the ass to keep wood and get started.
“Honestly, I do. It’s like a writer’s paradise.”
“Speaking of writing, how did that article about the birthplace of the women’s rights movement do?”
Jules loved writing, but hated the fact that it was her nonfiction that brought home the bacon. “It was well received,” she said, tucking her feet under her. Jules’s shoulder-length black hair was held back by a bandanna. The multiple silver necklaces, always present, gave her an edgy look, exactly the opposite of my own. Red hair and a smattering of freckles tended to evoke more wholesome vibes than “girl who lives on the edge.”
I took a sniff of the wine, intending to make every moment count. “I still can’t believe you brought this over on a random Friday night.”
Taking a sip, I let the burgundy liquid slide down my throat.
“You’ve had a rough week.” Jules took her own sip, the sound of a crackling fire the only one to fill the room. With my TV still on pause, and the street I lived on filled with older people and almost always pretty quiet, we might as well have been in the middle of a forest. I didn’t count on that as a benefit of this house, and sometimes it was too quiet for me, but at this moment, it suited us.
“The worst,” I said after another few sips of wine, “is how angry I am for going back to him. I think I always knew he’d hurt me in the end. But I did it anyway.”
Jules had as sordid a dating history as me and could understand. “I know,” she said. “But love isn’t logical. We don’t always make the best decisions. But the past is in the past. Over and done with. No point in looking back. You’re not going that way.”
Surprisingly, I didn’t feel tears forming or the tingle of my cheeks that said they were coming. My chest still hurt, but it was more like an emptiness than a knot twisting inside there. I took another sip, not wanting to put the show back on. For the past few weeks I alternated between work, the gym and home, usually numbing myself with reality TV.
All for some giant asshole who’d probably moved on the second after he broke up with me. Again.
“I’m done,” I said.
“With?”
“All of it. Moping over him. Hiding in my house. Feeling like shit. I’m done.”
Jules smiled. “I’d have brought the Aonair weeks ago if I knew it would be that easy.”
I lifted the glass. “This helped, no doubt. But I just think… being sad only gives him more power over me. But Makis isn’t in control of my life. I am. It’s time to act like it.”
Jules pulled the blanket over one of her feet, which were notoriously always cold.
“That’s my girl.”
“Remind me to listen to you next time you give me dating advice.”
Jules laughed. “Which specific piece of advice are we talking about?”
“The one about not having to try so hard to make it work. If he was meant to be in my life, he would be.”
“Sound advice.”
“That gem is from Pia, who knows a bit about the subject.”
Jules nodded. “She does. It’s hard to imagine now that she and Mason had any rough patches. Clearly they were meant to be together.”
“I’m happy for her,” I said sincerely.
“Same. Speaking of Mason, he does have two single hot men living with him. If you really are over the asshole Makis hump?—”
“First of all, no way. And second of all, no way.” I took a sip of wine, wishing I could be transported back to Sonoma.
