Part 8
Julian felt the floor beneath him again.
Not physically. Something deeper. A place inside him where the future had been arranged without much question.
He and Elena were supposed to leave the house after the engagement dinner. They were supposed to go back to the city. They were supposed to talk about paint colors for the apartment they had not bought yet. They were supposed to argue about whether a dog needed a yard. They were supposed to become ordinary in all the ways that had begun to feel miraculous.
He had not known she was scared.
Or perhaps he had known, and chosen the version of her words that was easiest to carry.
“Elena,” he said.
Tears slipped from the corners of her eyes into her hair.
“I didn’t want to leave you,” she whispered.
“I know.”
“You don’t.”
He flinched.
She was right.
Again.
Vivian watched them from the stairs.
“You see?” she said. “This is what she does. She makes you feel like she’s the only person who ever tells you the truth.”
Julian looked up slowly.
“What did you tell her?”
Vivian’s face went blank.
“Elena said you came to her apartment. What did you say?”
“It doesn’t matter.”
“It matters.”
“I told her she didn’t understand what marrying into this family would cost.”
Elena’s mouth twisted.
“You told me I would ruin him.”
Vivian looked away.
“You said he would hate me eventually.”
Vivian’s eyes returned to hers.
“I said he would have to choose.”
The word settled into the foyer.
Choose.
Julian felt Elena’s fingers close around his shirt.
He remembered their argument three nights ago. Elena had been standing at the kitchen counter in his apartment, staring at the coffee maker while it hissed and sputtered.
“She wants you to choose,” Elena had said.
Julian had been tired. He had spent ten hours negotiating a merger that had fallen apart at the last minute. He had wanted quiet. He had wanted Elena to stop bringing Vivian into every conversation.
“She doesn’t want me to choose,” he said.
“She does.”
“You don’t know that.”
Elena had turned then.
“You always think people are kinder when they’re hurting you.”
He had gone silent.
She had apologized later, though she should not have.
He had told her they would talk about it after the dinner.
Now, beneath the chandelier, he understood how often “later” had been his favorite way to refuse a truth.
Vivian’s voice came down from the stairs.
“She climbed onto the railing because she was trying to leave.”
Julian looked at her.
“She was trying to get away from you.”
“She was trying to get away from this conversation.”
“No,” Elena whispered.
Vivian’s face twisted.
“You think I wanted this?”
Julian stared at her.
The question did not deserve an answer.
She took one more step down.
“You think I wanted to watch her fall?”
“Then why didn’t you call?”
Vivian stopped.
The silence that followed was different from the others.
It had weight.
Julian watched his sister’s face.
Watched her try to decide which version of herself could survive the next answer.
“I panicked,” she said.
Elena’s fingers tightened.
Julian’s mouth went dry.
“About what?”
Vivian looked toward the envelope in his jacket.
Then toward Elena.
Then back to him.
“I thought if I left, she would say something you would believe.”
He felt the words enter him like cold water.
“She’s hurt,” he said.
“I know.”
“She could die.”
“I know.”
“And you were worried about a letter.”
Vivian’s eyes filled.
“I was worried about losing my brother.”
Julian’s anger did not arrive all at once. It came in pieces.
First at the sentence.
Then at the years behind it.
Then at the fact that a part of him still wanted to understand her.
That part made him angrier than anything else.
He looked down at Elena.
Her skin was cold.
He could feel it through the satin.
“Julian,” she whispered.
“I’m here.”
“She didn’t mean to…”
He looked at her.
The words trailed off.
Vivian’s eyes widened.
“No,” she said.
Elena’s brow furrowed as though she were struggling to catch hold of something that kept slipping away.
“She didn’t mean to what?” Julian asked.
Elena swallowed.
The chandelier light moved across her face.
“She didn’t mean to let go.”
Vivian made a sound that was almost a cry.
Julian stared at her.
His sister had not pushed Elena.
Elena had said that.
But Vivian had held her.
Vivian had been afraid.
Vivian had let go.
The distinction was suddenly so small it felt monstrous.
“You had her,” Julian said.
Vivian shook her head violently. “I was trying to pull her back.”
“You had her.”
“She pulled away.”
“You had her.”
Her face broke.
May you like
“I was scared.”
Julian looked at Elena.
