“Are we in the same Philosophy class again this year?” I’d gotten the seat behind Berk last semester in Political Philosophy.
He shrugged. “No, Ethics, but that’s not what this is about.” His gaze turned razor-serious. “This is about The Letter Girl.”
Like a T-Rex had wandered into the kitchen, I stood stock still. Breathe, Jules. Breathing would be good about now. The Letter Girl.
The girl I’d volunteered to help him find.
The girl who had been writing him filthy, flirty notes last semester starting with one after a drunken winter break bout of insanity—and had continued for months.
The girl he’d never have a real crush on, if he saw what she looked like.
The girl who was standing in front of him in her too-warm kitchen in some too-warm clothes getting way too warm with each passing second.
“What about her?” I sure hoped he liked my Minnie Mouse impersonation.
“Have you thought up anything else on how we can find her once the semester starts?”
“Maybe she doesn’t want to be found.”
His eyes went wide and he shook his head with a steely look of determination. “That’s not an option. The things we talked about…”
He wanted to find the woman who’d described doing all kinds of confident, sexy things to him. Things I wanted to do to him, but here I was, covered up like I was staving off frostbite. “The sex stuff?”
The corners of his mouth turned down. “Not just that.”
The notes had started off as an exercise in expressing my sexuality in a safe environment just like Dr. Schuller recommended. Who am I kidding? They started because I was a drunk coward. There was no way I could walk up to Berk and say the things I had anonymously written, but over the months, things had changed and we had started sharing more of ourselves in the letters beyond what we wanted to do to each other’s bodies—not that there wasn’t a heaping helping of that as well.
“She was—is someone I need to meet in person.”
I opened my mouth to throw out nine hundred reasons why that was a terrible idea. Then the front door creaked open as someone knocked.
“Told you you needed to lock it.” Berk stepped up like he was ready to throw down in case someone from the street had actually decided to show up and cause trouble. We’d only had one drunk party-goer wander into the house, and that had been fairly anti-climactic. We’d woken up to find them passed out on our living room floor. Okay, it was three times, but who’s counting?
“Julia?” The soft and sweet voice drifted in from the entryway.
Yeah, I’d much rather face down some post-apocalyptic motorcycle-riding cannibals right now than answer the door. An attack was incoming, but only my feelings were in danger.
“Stand down.” I dropped my hand onto his shoulder. “It’s my sister.” Giving him a barely-there smile, I walked out of the room. I was hoping that maybe after all these years I’d misremembered her voice and it wasn’t her, but there were a handful of people in the world who called me Julia.
I rounded the kitchen doorway and was nearly blinded by her brightness.
The pale pink blazer with sleeves pushed up just below her elbows.
The pristine white t-shirt—that probably cost more than my rent—and perfectly-ripped jeans that hugged her legs made her look like she’d stepped out of the latest influencer campaign.
Throw in some pale pink heels that I couldn’t even pole dance in, her Hermes purse, and tastefully simple jewelry accents, and Laura was the picture-perfect replica of our mother, aged down to twenty-eight—although Mom told everyone there were only twenty-one years between them.
“Hi, Laura.” I crossed my arms over my chest. My earlier bravado slowly leached out the open door.
“Is that any way to say hello to your sister?” She held out her arms as she stepped into my house, not for a hug, but like she expected roaches to scurry past and carry her away.
I wrapped my arms around her and matched actual contact to her air hug.
“Why are you so sweaty?” The undertone of censure rippled through her words.
I dropped my arms and stepped back. “I was working out.”
Her eyes widened, the hint of a smile skittered across her lips. The kind that was at home with a group of mean girls laughing at someone finally finding the courage to go to the gym to jumpstart a healthier lifestyle and maybe shed some pounds. “That’s great, Julia.”
“Why are you here?” I crossed my arms like they’d shield me from whatever strike she had planned.
“Can’t I drop by to visit?” Her gaze swept over my place. It still wasn’t much, but at least she hadn’t seen it last year, before it had taken the turn from barely habitable to you-probably-won’t-catch-a staph-infection-here levels of sketchiness.
“You haven’t in the past three years.”
“There’s a first time for everything. And Mom wanted me to make sure you were coming to the engagement party this weekend. You haven’t replied to her messages.”
More like chosen to avoid them, hoping that perhaps a meteor would crash into the planet or I’d come down with bubonic plague and have an excuse not to come.
“I have a lot going on, and three full days away is tough at this point in the year. Classes are starting. I’ve got to start the job search.” I dragged my hand through my hair, acutely aware of how my messy bun contrasted with her every-strand-in-its-place mussed perfection.
“But this is my wedding.”
“It’s your engagement party. Most people don’t have three-day engagement parties.”
“But this needs to be special. An amazing trip no one will forget to celebrate the love between Chet and me.”
It took everything in me not to puke. I pinched my lips together tightly.
She rushed in close and held my hands. Her fingers were freezing cold even though it was ninety degrees outside. “You’re my only sister, Julia, and this is my wedding we’re talking about.”
“No, it’s the engagement party.”
“What would everyone say if you weren’t there?”
“I’m sure they’d get over it.”
“Dad would want us to be together during these special times, sharing them.”
I fought against my wince. Bulls-fucking-eye. So practiced and routine. After all this time, I should be able to keep myself for falling for these manipulations. Dad would’ve wanted us all to be together, but when he’d been here it hadn’t felt like someone was standing over me with a ream of freshly-printed paper and a gallon of lemon juice ready to slice me to ribbons.
“Mom wants you there. I want you there.” Laura touched the back of my hand like she was trying to reassure me. “And Chet wants you there.” Her brightest smile was turned up to eleven.
Chet. I should’ve known from the moment we met that he was trouble—just from the name alone. My sort-of ex and now my sister’s fiancé. I’d met the insistent requests from my mom and Laura to bring around the boy I’d been seeing with every kind of dodge I could think of, until he finally did meet them and the inevitable happened.
In the ninth grade, I’d gotten one candygram for Valentine’s Day. Laura had gotten over twenty, and she made sure to carry them in her arms so everyone could see. She was the homecoming queen as a sophomore, something unheard of at our school, and prom queen after getting invited by a senior. The family measuring stick had always been just a few inches too tall for me. Once she’d graduated, I’d breathed a little freer, thinking I wouldn’t be compared to her anymore. And then Chet came to town without the baggage of twelve years of school with the same people. For a sliver of a school year, I’d had a glimpse of what it was like not living in her shadow—and then the lifelong eclipse circled right back around.