DANICA: hi.
Juliet felt shivery with anger and a lack of control.
Years ago, when she and Alvin finally decided to let Danica get a cell phone, they set up a service so they could see everything she did on it. This way, they could monitor what Danica saw, what she was involved in, and whether she was being bullied by kids at school. (This was a big fear Juliet had, especially after watching a documentary on teenage bullying and how out of control it was in the digital age.)
But in the wake of the separation, Juliet had neglected watching what Danica was up to on her phone. Alvin had pulled all the way back, parenting-wise, and Juliet had been reeling from her job loss, so Danica’s online habits had fallen out of her mind.
Now, with the boundary between Danica and Juliet thickening, Juliet found herself itching to peer into Danica’s mind again. Who was her daughter? What was Juliet doing to Danica in bringing her to Bluebell Cove?
Juliet pulled up the app on her phone. She immediately entered the world of Danica: a world of googling bands Juliet didn’t know about, of reading horror-adjacent short stories, of reading blogs from rich and famous girls from across the world, and of texting Mary. Juliet forced herself not to read over the dialogue between Mary and Danica, although she did catch something like can’t believe this is happening to me.
But it didn’t take long for Juliet to discover Danica’s blog.
It was titled Manhattan Girl in a Trash World.
Juliet’s head rang with fear. Danica hadn’t listed her own name or any links to who she really was, which meant that she wasn’t necessarily putting herself in danger by publishing this. But it also meant that Danica really didn’t think her mother—or anyone—could read it.
It meant she could be really and truly honest online—with strangers.
Case in point was the most recent blog post, published that morning. It was titled “Why I Think My Mother Gave Up.”
So shocked at what felt like a violent title, Juliet threw her phone to the other side of the desk. Her breathing came in rapid bursts. Danica thought she’d given up. Danica thought Juliet was such a loser that she wanted to broadcast this—poetically—on the internet.
Juliet didn’t know what to make of it. She felt foolish and achy and so terribly sad.
Perhaps because she’d heard the clatter of the phone, Celia came into the lobby, her smile curious. “Everything okay out here?”
Juliet pocketed her phone again and smiled back. The last thing she wanted was for Celia and Ivy to learn about Danica’s true, thought-out feelings about Juliet.
“It’s nice to be back,” Juliet said sweetly.
Celia let out an ironic laugh, then sipped her coffee. “I wanted to tell you,” she said. “A friend of mine is moving and offering up her house. The rent is cheaper than cheap, and it’s just down the road.” She tilted her head. “Two bedroom? Kitchen, porch, living room? Just enough space. And a lot bigger than that apartment you had back in Greenwich.”
Juliet had mentioned the square footage of the Greenwich Village apartment. Celia and Ivy had been in shock at how tiny it was.
“Oh, that’s nice. But we’re only going to be here for the summer,” Juliet said primly. “That Greenwich Village apartment is ours for the time being, at least until I can find us something better.”
Celia leaned against the front desk. She looked on the verge of demanding what was really going on. “I can’t remember a time when you didn’t complain about working at the inn,” she said tentatively.
“You hated working at the inn, too,” Juliet remembered. She could count back hundreds of arguments between their father and Celia. She remembered how solemn and angry Ivy had been when Celia had left Bluebell Cove, never to be seen again.
“Sure. Yeah, I did. But I was young and naive, and I really didn’t understand the world. I didn’t know what I was leaving behind.” Celia inhaled sharply. “A thing I’ve been thinking about since I got back is that Dad was never honest with us, you know? And it meant that we could never really be a family. We could never live in love. We didn’t know how.”
Juliet wanted to laugh at that. She wanted to point out how sappy it was. But she could see from Celia’s expression that she fully believed what she said.
“Can I ask you something?” Juliet asked, surprising herself.
“Of course.”
“Did Sophie think you had, like, given up? When you came back here?” Juliet immediately cursed herself for being so open, for letting Celia see this inner ache.
Celia blinked a few times, as though she were burrowing back through time. “Sophie forced me to reckon with who I was. She forced me to see that I was still that person, regardless of whether I lived in Washington, DC, or here in Bluebell. And because of that, I’ve done more good than I ever could have done back in the city. I’ve grown, I guess.” She laughed at herself. “I’m still growing. You should hear how often Ivy and I get into little spats.”
“But that was always your way,” Juliet remembered.
Celia raised her chin. “It’s hard for me to accept that you remember anything from your time in Bluebell. You were always on your way out.”
“I was following after you,” Juliet said.
