Julia only cried harder when Jamie offered to give up his dinner, but just for a minute.  It was a little burst of hiccupping and gasps and she crushed her bunched up sleeve over her nose until she managed to swallow what remained of it.  Julia didn’t like to cry – especially not in front of others, even Jamie.  She dug her fingers harder into the corners of her eyes, pinching the bridge of her nose and brushing away the tears that made it through anyway.  

“You’d think,” she ground out through her tense throat, “that after four years it wouldn’t be such a . . . a thing.”  Julia didn’t know how else to explain this.  She didn’t even remember how this had gotten started.  She’d been gloomy off and on – mostly on – all week, and as much as she kept trying to dance away from it, somehow she’d finally landed smack in the middle of the heart of her despondency.  At least it was Jamie here with her, and not a room full of other students who she wouldn’t trust to put their arms around her and hold her up.  

“It was this week,” she explained.  “The anniversary.”  She didn’t come out and say what anniversary it was.  She hoped that was self-evident.  Four years since her mother was murdered in cold blood while taking her evening tea on the sofa beside her husband.  It had been yesterday, in particular.  Her father had sent Julia a flower in a little box, the way he always did on this week in November.  She’d worn it in her hair without explanation, and kept mostly to herself that day.  Today the flower was wilted, and she’d stiffened her neck and set out to conquer the world, but somehow she’d fallen down already, and it wasn’t even dinner yet.  

Julia turned her face into Jamie’s shoulder, drew a heavy, deep breath, let it out slowly, deliberate.  He felt warm and solid and she twisted until she could curl both arms around his middle and up behind his shoulders.  He might not have been a big sort of teenage boy, but he was bigger than her anyway, and she felt all wrapped up in him.  Having admitted what was on her heart, Julia felt calmer, somehow – cleaner.  

“I’m sorry,” she told him again.  “I shouldn’t be such a baby.”



Life unfolds in proportion to your courage.