Page 22 of You Met Me There

Maybe that’s where I picked up the habit.

“I can’t—I don’t—” She laughs at herself for her loss of words.

Attempting to squirm away from her scrutinizing gaze, I raise one of the coffees in the space beside us. “I brought you this. From Le Fou.”

She looks at the coffee and my wet hand dripping water on the stone pathway, and her brown eyes soften.

She nods. “That’s very kind. Thank you … Natalie.” She pauses right before saying my name, and that pang of worry throbs in my chest again. My name is an afterthought now. It’s like a bad word.

Jules takes the iced coffee from my hand and wipes some of the water away from the side of the cup. She turns toward her lovely house. “Would you like to come in?”

I nod eagerly. “Yeah. I would like that.” She smiles softly, but I can tell she’s unsure of something as her eyes remain guarded.

My sister leads me into the house, and I’m immediately met with sunshine from the back windows, which overlook the lake. The living room spans out to my left, and I take in the large blue L-sectional couch before the fireplace, the fishing decor on the walls, and a big dog bed on the floor near the wooden coffee table.

Straight ahead from the front door is a staircase leading to the second floor, but I follow Jules as she walks through an archway to the right that leads through a dining room and opens up to the kitchen. She grabs a paper towel from beside the sink and hands it to me before taking another and wiping the side of her wet cup. She doesn’t taste the coffee, placing it on the countertop instead. Then she crosses her arms and leans her hip back against the counter.

“So,” she says, “how are you?”

I twirl the straw in my coffee to have something to do with my hands. “Good. I’ve been busy. I live in Florida now.”

“I know.” Jules nods along like she’s heard it all before. She’s putting up her own emotional walls, and I can understand why.

I blink. “How did you know?” I ask.

Blocking my family’s phone numbers and changing all my social media accounts to keep them from changing my mind or dragging me home wasn’t my best choice. But it’s what I did.

She shrugs. “I found one of your new accounts online. I couldn’t see much because it was private, but the information I did see said something about Florida. That was a long time ago, though.” She puts her hands in her pockets.

My head nods slowly. In the silence that follows, I look around the kitchen, taking in the decor of my sister’s home. In some ways it reminds me of our childhood home—the way Mom styled the kitchen with yellow walls and flowing white curtains over the sink window. But it’s also completely Juliet. Photos of her with two kids and a man I assume is her husband spread from the kitchen wall into the attached dining room, and green plants drape down from shelves on every wall.

I point to the pictures. “Your kids are cute.”

And they are. They’re more than cute actually; they’re adorable. Like, baby-model-on-a-magazine adorable. I would trade my Max Mara Hodeida ribbed pointelle-knit wool and cashmere-blend sweater to take photos of them myself. It looks like they could use an updated family portrait, judging by the way Juliet’s hair is at least seven inches shorter in the most recent photo.

She scans the hanging frames with a smile. “Yeah, they are. Thanks.”

There’s a wedding photo on the far end of the wall. A slightly younger Juliet in a white dress with a very tall brown-haired man in a suit. “How long have you been married?”

“Six years. We had our oldest son that same year and our youngest two years later. They’re six and four.”

My lips stretch into a small smile. I can’t help it—I have nephews.

“What’s your husband’s name?” I ask. I don’t want to come across as the crazy new aunt who just learned she has nephews, or seem too overhyped. But this is all new to me, and the tension in the room calls for tranquil stoicism. I’d even go with peaceful fortitude. Not crazy and overhyped.

“Cameron,” she says. “He was actually Tyler’s best friend when they were teens.” She watches me, her face showing no sign of what she’s thinking.

At first, the name doesn’t ring a bell. But once she mentioned Tyler, the name seemed to flip a switch in my memories. “Wait. Do you mean Cam, as in, the kid who helped you with math stuff?”

Her countenance relaxes into an easy smile. “That’s the one.”

“I thought he moved away,” I say, tilting my head and remembering how bummed Tyler was for months when he left.

She fidgets against the counter, crossing her arms again and looking over at the microwave, then back to me. “He did, but he moved back. He’s the math teacher at the high school.”

The high school, because every single student in Maple Lake goes to the same place: Maple Lake High. That’s how small this town is.

A welcome wave of relief runs through me. Maybe it’s because Jules is taken care of. Maybe it’s because she has the kind of life I want. I’m happy for her; it sounds like she’s doing extremely well.