Page 138 of The Illusion
Then everything fell apart and I watched her world shatter. Now, three months later, she's finally home. And I don't know what will happen next.
I don't see her for two days. Jamie texts me updates.She's sleeping a lot. Jet lag is brutal. But she seems better. Lighter.
On the third day, Julie texts me herself.
Coffee? I need to see a friendly face.
We meet at a café in Fremont. When I walk in, she's already there, sitting by the window with a latte and a book she's not reading. She looks different. Her hair is sun-streaked. Her skin is tan. She's wearing a loose linen shirt and jeans, and there's something softer about her. Less guarded. When she sees me, she smiles. It's not the carefree smile I remember from before Asher. But it's real. And that's enough.
"Hey," I say, sliding into the seat across from her.
"Hey." She closes the book and pushes it aside. "You look good."
"So do you."
"Liar. I look like I've been on a boat for three months."
"You look amazing, and like you've been healing."
Her smile falters, just for a second. Then she nods. "Yeah. I guess I have."
We talk for an hour. She tells me about the cruise—the ports, the food, the people she met. Her mom's terrible karaoke performances. The way the ocean made everything feel smaller and more manageable.
"I needed the distance," she says. "From Seattle. From everything."
"I get that."
"But I missed it too. Missed the shop. Missed Jamie." She pauses. "Missed you."
My heart does something stupid in my chest. "I missed you too."
She looks down at her coffee. "I don't know if I said this enough, but... thank you. For everything you did. For helping me get out. For—" Her voice cracks. "For not giving up on me."
"Julie." I reach across the table and take her hand. "I will never give up on you."
She squeezes my hand, her eyes shining with unshed tears. "I know," she whispers. "And that means everything."
We fall into a rhythm over the next few weeks. Movies on Thursday afternoons because she loves a matinee. Coffee on Sunday mornings. Dinners at my place or hers, nothing fancy, just takeout and conversation. It's easy. Comfortable. Like we're rebuilding something that was always supposed to be there. But there's a fragility to her that wasn't there before. A hesitation. Like she's waiting for the other shoe to drop. I don't push. I just show up.
One Saturday, Jamie mentions that she's looking for a new place. The condo she's been renting is going up for sale, and she wants to buy something of her own now that she has the money to do whatever she wants.
"You should come with us," Julie says. "We're going to look at a few places this afternoon."
"You're looking too?"
She nods. "Now that Jamie is ready to move, so am I."
So I go with them. Jamie falls in love with a luxury condo in Belltown. Floor-to-ceiling windows, a chef's kitchen, a rooftop terrace with views of the Sound. It's sleek and modern and very Jamie, now that she’s got money.
"This is it," she says, spinning in the middle of the living room. "This is the one."
Julie smiles. "It's perfect for you."
"What about you?" I ask. "See anything you like?"
She shakes her head. "Not yet. But I will."
Two weeks later, we're standing in front of a Craftsman in North Capitol Hill. It's a disaster. The absolute lemon of the neighborhood. The paint is peeling. The porch is sagging. The yard is overgrown. The price is just over two and a half million dollars. Even in it’s current condition. Which is horrific.
