She wished she had Blake there to take care of her sometimes.
“I take it that’s a no.” Liz’s voice cut in. “So I guess we’re stuck with the usual, dark jeans and something cute on top. At least go for flimsy cute, not teacher cute—okay?”
“Sure,” Julia said. But she’d stopped paying attention. Automatically her hand had strayed to the soft fabric folded in the back of her closet. She hadn’t been able to get rid of the white skirt and shirt. She’d never wear them again, obviously, so they sat hidden. But even though she’d washed them, she swore they still smelled like salt water and champagne.
“You’re moping,” Liz said into the silence.
Julia drew her hand back quickly, as though caught. “I’m not. I’m just…tired. Everything was nuts wrapping up at school.”
“Aren’t you supposed to be celebrating? It’s summer, the only time I’m jealous of your job.”
Julia laughed, making herself pull away from the outfit she couldn’t believe she’d actually worn.
“I’m serious,” Liz said. “Tonight is to make sure you start your break right. You have these months off and you should take advantage of it. Sleep until noon. Go swimming every day. Have an affair or three.”
Julia snorted over the phone.
“Or if that doesn’t work, you could finally buy that goddamn plane ticket to Australia I know you keep thinking about.”
Julia groaned. “I am not going to Australia.”
“Why not?” Liz said, and Julia wished they could go back to her wardrobe crisis instead of rehashing this whole conversation again. Ever since the postcard arrived, Liz hadn’t been able to let go of the ridiculous idea that Julia had an actual future with Blake. One in which they weren’t running around for a week, but were together. All the time.
A couple, even though Julia couldn’t wrap her mind around what that would look like for them.
Whenever she brought up that minor detail, Liz would conveniently fall silent. I don’t know, you’ll figure it out, she’d scold, like that was the easy part. Like Chicago to Sydney was a distance that could be easily bridged.
But it couldn’t. And so when the postcard came, into the closet it went, alongside the clothes from New Year’s Eve.
It wasn’t even much of a card. On the front was a picture of an enormous waterfall. On the back he’d written simply: Thinking of you. Not much from someone who was—she knew from re-watching The Everlastings more times than she’d care to admit—extremely capable with words.
And yet as much as Julia complained to Liz that Blake hadn’t said a thing, she’d known what he’d been trying to tell her.
Because it wasn’t just any postcard. The picture showed Victoria Falls seen from the Zimbabwean side. Massive, churning, the spray misting across a chasm flanked by green. Julia wasn’t sure whether to feel good that something had made him think of her, or whether it hurt all the more knowing that he could gallivant anywhere, seeing whatever he wanted, and there was nothing special about the fact that for a few days, he’d done so with her.
She hadn’t written him back. What was she supposed to say? I love you, don’t fuck anyone else under the waterfalls?
Liz was wrong. A postcard didn’t mean anything. The only option was to move on.
“I’m not going to Australia,” Julia repeated emphatically. “There’s nothing there for me. All we did was have a good time for a week and everybody knows that’s not what a relationship is.”
Liz groaned. “I hate to break it to you, Julia, but relationships don’t have to be suffering. It’s supposed to make your life better, not hold you back.”
But Julia already knew there was no use wondering about something more with Blake. Besides, there were plenty of men who didn’t live 9,238 miles away—she’d Googled it—and who would actually say they wanted to be with her instead of bail without warning, send a cryptic postcard, and leave it at that.
She just hadn’t met any of them yet.
She was about to remind Liz that she was supposed to be rooting for what’s-his-name, the guy Rob was setting her up with that night, when the buzzer to her apartment rang.
“Hang on,” she said, dropping the shirt she’d pulled from her closet and going to the intercom. “The door buzzed.”
“Package?” Liz asked.
“I didn’t order anything.”
“Ooh, end of school year present?”
“I hope you got me something good,” Julia said with a laugh. She pressed the button on the intercom.
“Hey,” came the voice from the sidewalk, and for the split-second before Julia registered what was happening she had the strangest sensation that everything was tingling from her fingertips down to her toes, so that she was more worried about what was wrong with her than about what was to come.
Her “Hello?” came out barely a whisper, so that he had to buzz again and ask who it was.
But Julia didn’t have the same question. Even with the static from the intercom there was no mistaking that voice, the accent light and buoyant, so distinct she could practically hear him running his hand through his curls.
“Julia?” he said. “This is—”
“Oh my God.” Julia squeezed her eyes shut, the phone still pressed to her ear.
“What is it?” Liz asked, at the same instant the intercom buzzed again.
“Oh my God,” Julia repeated.
“Jules,” Liz said urgently. “Are you there? Is everything okay?”
“It’s him,” she whispered, staring at the intercom.
“It’s who?”
Julia could barely form the word. “Blake.”
Liz gasped over the phone. “What?”
The intercom trilled again.
“It’s him. Liz, what do I do? It’s him!”
Julia turned away from the intercom, taking in her apartment strewn with papers, the morning’s dishes left in the sink, the clothes she’d just now dumped all over the floor. How many nights had she lain awake fantasizing that she hadn’t heard from him because he was on his way over right that second, so desperate to see her that he couldn’t settle for the phone or email or any way in which his true intentions might be misconstrued?
But now that it was happening—or something was happening, she couldn’t say what—she had no idea what she wanted. How could she run to him after all the silence and distance between them?
On the other hand, how could she not?
Liz’s voice cut through her panic, so loud Julia had to pull the phone away from her ear. “What do you mean, it’s him? Downstairs? Now?” Liz inhaled sharply. “Are you going to tell me what the hell is going on?”
“The door buzzed, I said hello, he said hello…” Julia couldn’t remember what came next.
“And?” Liz prodded.
“And now I’m freaking out talking to you!”
“He just said, This is Blake?”
“No. He just said, Hello.”
“But you know that it’s him?”
Julia didn’t want to say that she’d know his voice anywhere. That she heard it at night in her dreams, whispering to her. That she imagined him mouthing the words as he wrote The Everlastings. That no matter what she said about moving on, she would have given anything—everything—for the chance to hear him say her name again.
“And now he’s downstairs?” Liz asked.
“Uh huh.”
“Okay.” Liz paused. “So explain why you’re still talking to me?”
“Because I don’t know what to do!” Julia cried.
“Inviting him in would be a good start.”
Julia gripped the phone. “I can’t.”
“I’m hanging up now.”
“No! Don’t go.”
“You have things to do.”
“I know—what time are we meeting for dinner?”