Julia swirled her glass of pinot noir. The dim lighting in the bar flattered Sam’s angular face and blondish hair. Julia took a sip and pushed the gold-rimmed glasses up the bridge of her nose. Sam stirred his straw in his old fashioned, now a glass of khaki-colored ice and a cherry stem. A comfortable silence sat between them after Julia showed Sam photos from her trip to Maui. Julia’s phone was still lit up in the center of the table, displaying a photo of a dolphin kissing Julia on the cheek.
Her Apple Watch vibrated on her wrist – a text from Peter. “On my way home! See you soon!” with a kissy face emoji. Julia swiped the notification out of the way. Shit, she had to stop at Magnolia to pick up the cake before she went back home. Julia gulped the dregs of her wine and dabbed at her mouth with the cocktail napkin.
“I have to run. I have to make a stop before I go home,” Julia said, wrapping her scarf around her neck and pulling her coat on.
“Sounds good. I should probably get home too. I have an early morning on set tomorrow.” Sam pulled his own coat on, albeit at a reluctant pace.
“Thanks for this. It was good to see you again,” Julia said, placing cash on the table.
“Let’s try not to make it another five years,” Sam said, still seated. Julia was already out of her chair, pulling away from the table.
“Definitely not another five years. Get home safe, okay? Thanks for making the trek to Manhattan for me,” Julia said. She rushed out of the bar, dodging the squall of happy hour patrons and away from the din of glasses clinking and finally-Friday chatter. Outside, horns blared and the wind whistled through the tunnel of trees and buildings. A gust ruffled her hair and scarf and Julia smoothed both down as she oriented herself. She hustled down the street toward Bleecker. She hoped the bakery had candles too; otherwise, Peter would be getting a Bath and Body Works three-wick candle on top of his cake to make his birthday wish.
Julia, wired and eyes wide, rolled over in bed and looked at the clock on the bedside table. 1:30 AM. She rolled over the other way to look at Peter, waiting for his chest to rise. The first night she had slept in his bed, over four years ago, and she had spent 15 minutes watching him sleep. He breathed so slowly and shallowly that she thought he died.
Once Julia got home (with candles for the cake, the last box the bakery had), she and Peter had ordered Thai food, opened a bottle of prosecco, and eaten the birthday cake straight from the box with forks. They had rolled into bed two hours ago and Peter had fallen straight asleep. Julia had tried melatonin, lavender oil, meditation, ocean noises, and breathing exercises.
Julia slid out and pulled on the sweatpants and hoodie she had thrown at the foot of the bed. She padded to the kitchen, plated a piece of leftover cake, and brewed a cup of chamomile tea. She made her way to the couch and turned on the TV, keeping the volume low. Not that anything could wake up Peter – he slept through an earthquake that happened while they were in Maui. The resort guests were buzzing about it the next morning at breakfast while Peter munched on his French toast and scrolled through Reddit.
Julia flipped through channels until she found a rerun of 90 Day Fiance. She pulled the faux fur throw over her as she balanced the plate of cake on her chest.
Peter would propose soon. She could feel it. They had started talking about marriage six months into their relationship. But Peter had been quiet in the past few weeks. No more joking about which family member they would offend by not getting married in a church.
It could only mean that Peter was going to propose soon or he wanted to break up with her. Julia chuckled out loud at the thought.
She was Peter’s first girlfriend. The first girl he had seriously liked, the girl he lost his virginity to, the one he’d brought home to meet his parents. Peter adored her. He would walk over coals for her. He had moved to the city – away from his family and friends and a tiresome NJ Transit commute away from his job in medical engineering – so that she could pursue her dream job as an art curator.
Julia wouldn’t do the same for Peter. Maybe once, years ago. But not now.
It’s not that she didn’t love Peter anymore. She did. As cliche as it was, she couldn’t imagine her life without him. They made the same jokes at the same time and stayed up late into the night having conversations about the validity of astrology. She loved his cookie-cutter family with a white picket fence (literally). Julia thought that her family loved Peter even more than her.
But the night she met Peter, she hadn’t been whole. She went from raging at Sam and his inconsistency and his unpredictability to finding solace and comfort and egality with Peter. And she wanted all of that with Peter, but the break she had with Sam was jagged and splintered. She thought time would buff the edges, but instead, she found that the edges were still sharp and poked her more and more. What had been a niggling thought that would arise when she was making tea in the morning or getting the mail would keep her up at night and make her get on the wrong train to work. She had texted Sam innocently enough – she thought that one last time seeing him would give her closure, whatever that even meant. But she was stuck in the mire now more than ever.
Sam and Julia stood in the corner of the cramped apartment that the owner tried to claim was in Tribeca but was most definitely in Chinatown. The floor was sticky with sloshed beer and Julia’s flannel was wrapped around her waist, exposing her shoulders in her black tank top.
“I still can’t believe you’re going,” Julia said, taking a sip from her vodka and limeade concoction.
“It’s just six months,” Sam said, exasperated. They’d had every iteration of this conversation over the past few weeks.
“Fuck you, ‘it’s just six months.’ That’s a long time. And you’re going to be in the Australian outback. It’s not like it’s going to be easy to keep in touch.”
“I thought we were on the same page. This is going to be good. It’ll give us a chance to really think about who we are and what we want.”
“I know what I want. It’s you, here, with me.”
“Jules, please. Not again. You’re just doing this because you’re drunk.” Sam put a hand on her shoulder and Julia yanked away, backing into another partygoer.
“Don’t touch me right now. You’re abandoning me.”
“I’m not abandoning -”
“Oh, really?” Julia’s voice was at a yell now, straining over the indie rock playing from the nearby speaker. “You unilaterally made the decision to leave for six months to the middle of nowhere and not even invite me so that we could ‘get in touch with our true selves,’” Julia said, air-quoting the last statement. “This is your way of dragging out a breakup. I’m at least going to have some balls and do it now. Have fun with your goddamn kangaroos. I hope a koala gives you chlamydia.”
Julia attempted to throw her drink at Sam – but it was more like a shove in his direction, her rage and range restrained by the throng of partygoers. His t-shirt was soaked through and without waiting for a response, Julia pushed through the mass of bodies. She grabbed her jacket from the pile near the front door and sprinted down the rickety metal staircase into the street. The air held the anticipation of fall and Julia left her arms bare to let the sweat dry. She tugged her hands through her hair and pulled her phone out of her pocket. It would be a pain to find a cab home in this neighborhood; Julia decided she would treat herself to an Uber as a breakup consolation.
“Hey, are you okay?” A tall, lanky guy with tortoiseshell glasses and messy hair approached her cautiously like she was an unbroken horse.
“I’m fine. What would give you the idea that I’m not?” Julia retorted.
“You’re crying,” the stranger said. Julia reached up to touch her face and felt that it was wet.
“I’m fine. Just trying to get a car home. You going up there or leaving?”
“Just getting here. Rob’s my old roommate.” The stranger shifted his weight. Julia noticed his Converse, worn-out but clean.
“Do you want me to wait with you?” he asked.
“No, I’m fine. You should go up there.”
“How about I just happen to stand on the stoop until you get into an Uber and then I’ll go upstairs. Completely coincidentally. I won’t even talk to you. You won’t notice me. Two ships in the night.”
Julia stared at him for a second, then nodded. He stood up on the top step of the stoop while she waited at the bottom. Julia kept her eyes on her phone, following the animated car icon on its way to its destination.
“What’s your name?” the stranger’s voice said. Julia looked up and laughed.
“So much for no talking. I’m Julia.”
“Nice to meet you, Julia. I’m Peter.”
The angry hum of the street cleaner outside woke Julia. She blinked her eyes open to the yellowish morning light coming in through the gauzy white curtains. The plate, empty save for errant chocolate crumbs, had slid off her chest onto the area rug. The TV was playing an infomercial and Marie Osmond’s plasticky face was assuring her that she too could lose 20 pounds in six weeks with Nutrisystem. Julia placed the plate on the coffee table, next to her cold mug of tea, and turned the TV off. She patted around on the couch for her phone. Not entwined in the blanket, not between the couch cushions. She snuck back into the bedroom and checked on her nightstand – no phone. Her handbag, her coat, her jeans in the laundry basket – still no phone.
Julia returned to her bedroom and got her iPad. She was already planning a run to the Apple Store and calculating how much she would need to rack up on her credit card to buy a replacement phone. But as she turned her iPad on, there was one notification.
From Sam.
Hey, I’m assuming you’ll see this on your computer or something. You left your phone at the bar last night. I have it with me. I’m on set all day until 6 or 7 but we can coordinate a hostage exchange afterward. Let me know if you get this.
A sigh of relief doubled Julia over. She typed out a response.
Oh my god, thank you so much. Sorry for the late response, didn’t even realize it was missing until this AM. I’ll prob be around for most of the day. Let me know where you’re going to be and I can meet you.
As she turned her iPad off and brought the plate to the kitchen to hide the evidence, Peter shuffled in from the bedroom, rubbing his eyes.
“You’re up early,” Julia said, unsure of the exact time herself. She looked at the oven clock: 6:50 AM.
“Just woke up. No rhyme or reason,” Peter said. “Nothing to do with the crazy lady coming in and out of our bedroom 17 times.” He walked over to where she stood at the sink and put his arms around her from behind. She turned around in his arms and went onto her tiptoes to kiss him, then grimaced from his morning breath.
“That bad, huh?” Peter pulled away and put a hand over his mouth.
“You’re lucky I love you,” Julia replied, the words tasting a little like a lie. Sam was still in her head.
“Do you want to go uptown today, maybe go to the Met? We’re not doing great at our New Year’s resolution to leave the house more.”
“It’s March. Isn’t it a universal acceptance that resolutions don’t exist anymore?”
“I’ll take you to Sistina,” Peter goaded, dangling her favorite Italian spot in the city in front of her.
“You’ve convinced me.”
Julia and Peter ambled hand-in-hand down 5th Ave on their way to the Met from Sistina. Their stomachs happily strained with pasta and bread and harsh weather had broken and ushered in a pleasantly sunny and mild day. They climbed the steps of the Met, which were bustling with mostly tourists and a few old-guard New Yorkers.
Even though Julia was surrounded by art every day at work, she never tired of the greats. Julia and Peter made their way through their favorite exhibits: Peter was partial to the Dutch old masters and they always ended up in the wing featuring Shaker furniture without knowing how they got there.
Finally, they made it to Julia’s favorite painting: Degas’ The Dance Class. She had a print of the painting in her room as a child and she would spend hours dissecting the painting, making up stories for each dancer. A nostalgic came over her as she looked at the painting.
She turned towards Peter. But Peter’s face wasn’t where she expected, about a foot higher than her own. Instead, he was about two feet below her.
On his knee.
And pulling something out of his pocket.
The almost-warm day had turned to a brisk, windy evening and Julia’s worn army jacket wasn’t warm enough to withstand the change. She could hardly believe that a few hours ago she had been sweating climbing the steps of the Met. Julia threw herself against the revolving door of the midtown studio where she was meeting Sam. She collapsed onto a white leather ottoman, breathing deeply after the confrontation with the door. Did that door need WD-40 or was she that tired? Julia looked down at her watch: 6:03 PM. Sam said 6:00, though he never was one for punctuality. At that moment, Julia snapped her head up to the groan of the studio door opening. Sam bounded towards her, her phone in hand. Julia rose from the ottoman, wishing she had another minute to catch her breath.
“Hey,” he said with a broad smile. “I believe this belongs to you.” Sam held the phone out to her and she reached for it with her left hand, their skin brushing and buzzing. A glimmer caught Sam’s eye and he looked to Julia’s hand, then her eyes.
“I guess congratulations are in order,” he said, the smile dropping almost imperceptibly.
“Oh. Yeah,” Julia said, almost forgetting the new weight on her hand. She pocketed her phone and shoved both hands in her pockets.
Sam looked down at his scuffed boots. Julia pulled at a loose thread on the inside of her jacket pocket. The wind rattled the windows, interrupting the droning beats of the atmospheric lounge music that emanated from the studio.
“I should get going,” Julia said. “Thanks for the phone. I owe you one.”
“No, I was long overdue on owing you. We’re even.” Sam’s eyes didn’t leave his feet.
Julia walked towards the door. She turned around at the sound of footsteps on the marble tiles. But Sam walked away from her and back into the studio. She held her breath and waited to see if-
The studio door groaned closed, then secured itself with a slow click.
He hadn’t looked back.
