A Song for Julia

the Eastons, then said, “Julia, didn’t you go to school with Harry?”
    I couldn’t answer. I was paralyzed with shock, a wave of confused emotions running through me, clashing with each other. I could almost feel blood rushing through my ears, and I wanted to back away, run away—do anything to get out of being in this room right now.
    Harry, in his characteristic Eton accent that he shared with his father, simply said, “Julia and I are … acquainted.”
    Carrie stepped up next to me and shook hands with Harry. He put his hand out to me to shake, but I couldn’t move, and not in a million years, under any circumstances, would I ever touch him again. My stomach was turning. Right in front of me was the man who had ruined my life. And the irony? I’d loved him when I was fourteen, I’d been utterly obsessed with him, even after he’d treated me like I was worthless, and looking at him now? I couldn’t figure out what the attraction had been. He was shorter than I remembered, though still very handsome, if you liked cold-blooded assholes.
    After a moment of him standing there with his hand out, Harry stepped back, looking uncomfortable. Both sets of parents had fallen silent. I suppose my behavior was discourteous enough that it caught their attention. I didn’t care. I just wanted to vomit. Or run. Or hit him. I was shaking, and when Carrie stepped away from Harry, she stepped back to my side, leaned her head close to my ear and whispered, “Are you all right?”
    I shook my head, very slightly. Part of me wondered if I would ever be all right again.
    That’s when Alexandra stepped forward to be introduced. Ambassador Easton and his wife both cooed over her, and then she shook hands with Harry. He attempted to be charming, giving her a smile, bending over her hand. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Miss Alexandra.”
    It was all I could do not to kick him. Rage flooded through me that he was even speaking to my little sister, who was barely younger than I’d been when I met him.
    The woman who had led us up here said, “The President and First Lady will be down in a few minutes. In the meantime, please feel free to have a drink.” She gestured to a bar set up on one wall. A white-jacketed bartender stood behind the bar.
    I promptly moved to the bar, Carrie trailing behind me. “Gin and tonic, please,” I said.
    Both of my parents’ heads swiveled in my direction, my mother looking alarmed, my dad puzzled. And that’s when Harry decided to approach Carrie and me at the bar.
    “Hello, Julia,” he said in a low tone.
    I whispered, my voice shaking just like the rest of me, “Don’t come close to me, Harry. Don’t talk to me. Don’t talk to my sisters.”
    He froze in place. I tossed back half my drink at once. Carrie looked back and forth between us and then whispered to me, “I guess I don’t need to ask if this is the Harry you told me about.”
    I shook my head.
    I was puzzled by my reaction. I didn’t feel grief or sadness. Just anger, rage, disgust. By this time, everyone in the room was staring at us, and Harry backed away, nodding his head at us in an ultra-polite manner. I remembered that look. It was his ‘What did I do?’ look, and I’d seen it a hundred times when we were teenagers. His look that squarely placed the blame for any situation on me. His look that said he was responsible for nothing, cared for nothing; that said I was nothing.
    I turned away from him, finished off my drink and ordered another. Carrie’s eyes grew wide as I took the second drink. “Are you sure that’s a good idea?” she whispered.
    “Nothing about being here is a good idea,” I muttered.
    A moment later, I felt a familiar and unpleasant presence by my side. My mother.
    “I don’t know what you think you’re doing, Julia, but your behavior is inexcusable.” Her voice was quiet but urgent.
    I gave her a sideways glance, and responded, equally quiet. “So what’s new, Mother? Everything about me has always been inexcusable.”
    She blanched, and I turned and walked away from the bar, positioning myself with my back to the wall, where I could see everyone in the room and sip my drink. My father was chatting up Ambassador Easton, oblivious of the undercurrents in the room. Harry had returned to his father’s side, undoubtedly trying to preserve his precious standing in his parents’ eyes. My mother held Alexandra’s hand clamped in her own, standing next to Carrie, as Mrs. Easton spoke