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“Yup.”
“Makes sense. I assumed the sex was bad or something—”
I choke on a laugh, and Lily gasps.
“Ahh! It was good?”
I can feel the heat blooming across my cheeks.
“Great?” she squeaks.
“I refuse to talk about this with you.” Mainly because there is nothingtotalk about. Julian made sure of that during a five-minute call that destroyed any hope of us having a future together.
You’re a distraction I don’t need, he told me over the phone after I offered to put the semester on hold and come back to Lake Wisteria after his dad died.
It was only a kiss, he spoke with a flat tone, making me feellike the dumbest girl in the world after I wanted to help him with his dad’s company because I was passionate about design too.
I’m sorry I don’t feel the same way, he said once I poured out my heart and admitted I cared about him in a real, raw, and scary kind of way.
I need time, he replied before ending the call.
It was the last time I spoke to him over the phone. All my other calls went to voicemail, even after I helped Oliver pack up his dorm.
Funny how confidence can take years to build and only a few interactions to destroy.
My sister cuts through the memories by speaking up. “Fine. I can respect your wishes. I’m just happy the two of you can be in a room together again.”
“Me too,” I admit.
“Josefina and Mom never said anything, but I know they missed having everyone under one roof. Things were never the same once you—” She catches herself.
“Moved to San Francisco?” I finish the thought for her.
She flinches. “Yeah.”
“I thought you liked spending holidays there?”
“I did, but I won’t lie. Nothing beats all of us getting together for Christmas, and no number of big-city holidays could replace how it feels to be home.”
My head drops. “I’m sorry.”
She walks around the table and pulls me into a tight hug. “I’m glad you’re back. For now, at least.”
“Likewise.”
My mom and sister drop me off near the cemetery with a promise to come back in thirty minutes. The three of us have visited this dreary corner of town plenty of times over the years, although it’s been a while since I last stopped by.
The bouquet of yellow roses trembles in my hands as I walk past the main gate.
Few people love yellow roses as much as my father did, and anyone who knew him heard the story of how he met my mom while searching Rose & Thorn for flowers before his date with another woman.
His memory makes my heart heavy with sorrow. Losing a parent is never easy, but being present at the young age of sixteen when mine flat-lined in an ambulance was devastating.
Luckily, I had a school counselor who cared enough to help me through the grieving process, and I poured the rest of my energy into getting a full ride to college like my dad and I always talked about.
I bend down and place the bouquet in front of his tombstone.
Hector Muñoz. Devoted husband. Proud father. Beloved friend.
