Ican feel Julia’s eyes on me, and it takes every ounce of my self-restraint to keep my own eyes on the road. She’s probably still pissed off at me for accidentally insulting her at the wedding, and I’d bet just about anything that she’s actively planning her revenge.
Once, when I was eight and she was seven, I made the grave mistake of throwing a mud pie at her. She poured her gran’s perfume into my shampoo bottle. I reeked of Chanel for days. Then there was the time Javier and I wouldn’t let her play video games with us because she was a girl. She snuck into our house and replaced our sugar with salt.
In high school, she got into my gym locker while I was showering and stole my clothes and all my school books, replacing them with a pink ruffly dress and a black lace thong. I had to bum an extra gym uniform from my coach, who laughed so hard tears were streaming down his face. I don’t even know what I did to deserve that one, but she made me grovel before she’d give my books back.
Jules was a force to be reckoned with, even as a kid. I can only imagine the havoc she could wreak now. I make a mental note to double check the alarm system at home and then almost laugh at myself. Like that would do any good.
Julia sinks into the back seat, eyes glazed as she stares ahead. She bites her lip, deep in thought, and I’d give anything to know what’s rolling around in that pretty head of hers. She looks like a fucking beauty queen in my back seat, my jacket still around her shoulders.
I pull up to a three-way intersection with no option of going straight, but she doesn’t provide directions.
“Which way, Jules?” I ask, watching her in the rearview mirror. She doesn’t answer, doesn’t even appear to hear me.
My dad chuckles.
“Jules?” I ask louder. She starts, pulled out of whatever reverie she was in, and her big green eyes meet mine. “Which way?”
“Sorry, left.” Her voice sounds funny; tight and high-pitched.
“You ok?” I ask, genuinely concerned.
“Just tired,” she replies.
I’m feeling guilty for suspecting her of plotting something when she’s clearly just wiped out. It’s nearly 3 A.M. and I doubt very much that yesterday was relaxing with all the wedding stuff. Still, I don’t know if I would have been able to handle the hospital without her.
“Third house on the right,” Julia says, leaning forward again, her fingers brushing my shoulder. I pull into the driveway and watch in the rearview mirror as she arches her back, shrugs my jacket off her shoulders, and lays it neatly on the seat beside her before stepping out of the car.
Dad rolls his window down and she leans in, giving him a kiss on the cheek. “Love ya, old man. I’m glad you’re ok.” It takes every ounce of self-control in my body to not ogle the cleavage on display in that damn dress.
Dad scoffs and rolls his eyes. “I told you I was fine, but no one listens to me.”
“It must be terrible having people love you so much,” she replies dryly. “Speaking of which, you better take it easy for the next few days. You need to rest or you’ll never heal up. It will just get worse. No bakery.”
“Yes, Mother,” he teases.
“Thanks for the ride.” Julia’s wide eyes lift to meet mine, just briefly, before she straightens, heading for the front door. I watch to make sure she gets inside safely. At least, that’s what I tell myself. It has nothing to do with the way her hips sway, the streetlight catching the velvet of her dress, making her look like something out of a noir detective film. There’s a dull ache in my chest that deepens with every step she takes. It’s an oppressive and hopeless thud-thud-thud. One that I should be used to by now.
Julia turns in the open doorway, back lit by the foyer light. Her silhouette raises a hand, her fingers giving us a small wave.
Dad snickers softly as I back out onto the street and head for home.
“What’s so funny?” I ask, exhaustion and relief have blended together and now that Julia’s gone I’m feeling a special brand of surly.
“Nothing. It looks like you two made up.”
“What do you mean?”
“She can’t bethatmad if she could fall asleep on you.”
“Come on. You know Julia just as well as I do. There is no ‘making up’. She’s either going to let it go or she’s going to be a brat and torture me.”
“Do I need to send her your panty size?” Dad guffaws, wiping a tear from the corner of his eye. “Lock up the sugar?”
I grind my teeth in response.
“She’s grown up a lot in the last few years, you know. You’ve avoided her for so long, she’s practically a different person.”
“Don’t be ridiculous. I haven’t been avoiding her. I was enlisted. Important distinction.”