A Song for Julia

guess I was okay with it. The place was about half full when we walked in, a low murmur of conversation layered over music from the jukebox, “Where is the Love?” The music in here tended to stay Top 40 most of the time. I didn’t hate it. Willard led me to a booth in the back, of course, and sat with his back to the wall, of course, which left me unable to see anything but him. This was all in character.
    “So … how have you been?” he asked.
    I kept my smile plastered across my face. “I’ve been good. Still trying to decide about grad school, but otherwise, things are going well.”
    “I still think you should consider Stanford,” he said. Willard was planning on attending there.
    “I don’t know. That’s a little too close to my parents for my comfort.”
    He shook his head. “Are they all that bad? They seemed nice enough to me when we met.”
    Of course they did. That’s because he was just like them.
    “They’re not that bad,” I said. “But that doesn’t mean I want to live next door to them either.”
    “Seriously? It’s like an hour drive.”
    I blinked. Why was he pushing this so hard? “I’ll settle for a five day drive and stay on the East Coast, thanks. Why are you pushing so hard on this, anyway?”
    He looked away from me a moment, then back, meeting my eyes. “I was hoping maybe you’d forgiven me.”
    Forgiven him? There was nothing to forgive—I was the one who broke up with him. “You’ve done nothing wrong, Willard. There’s nothing to forgive you for.”
    “Except asking you to marry me.”
    I sighed. “That wasn’t wrong. It just … clarified things.”
    “Clarified what things? I still don’t understand. One day everything’s fine, we’re in love. The next, I ask you to marry me. And then … you break up with me.”
    Oh, God. He was going to make me do this to him.
    “I knew this was a bad idea,” I muttered.
    “Why? Because you’d have to tell me how you feel?”
    Yes. Exactly.
    I was going to have to cut to the chase. There was no easing him down, no making him feel better. I won’t lie … I felt awful about it. But at this point? Not much choice.
    “How I feel … is that I don’t love you. We were never in love, Willard. Maybe you were in love with the idea of who you think I am … I don’t know. But there is no we . There never will be.”
    He froze. Actually, his eyes bulged out a little, and it immediately brought to mind some of those very unpleasant moments of sex with him. Which was never much fun for me. Honestly, it felt like a chore, which should have been my first clue that this was the wrong relationship. But what do I know about right relationship? Nothing. Nothing at all. I just knew this was an unfortunate reminder of him huffing and puffing on top of me, and me feeling … like a blow-up doll. Like I wasn’t really expected to participate, other than to just lie there. And that made me feel ill, just thinking about it. I looked away, because for a second I couldn’t stand to see his face. Last fall, he accused me of being frigid. I don’t know … maybe I am. Maybe Harry ruined that for me too, like he did everything else.
    “It wasn’t all that bad, was it?” he asked, his tone desperate.
    Come on, Jules. You know you want to. Harry’s voice.
    I shuddered at the voice in my mind and tried to stay in the present.
    “Of course not,” I said. “We had a lot of fun together, Will. Please … let this go. Let me go.”
    I’m not ready , I’d said to him.
    Of course you’re ready. You love me, don’t you?
    Yes .
    “I have to go,” I said, fighting to clear my head. I paused and looked at Willard. His face was downcast, eyes looking everywhere but at me. “Willard … you’ll find someone. You’re a good guy, and you’ll find someone a lot better for you than me.”
    I slid out of the booth, and he stopped me with his next words.
    “What if I don’t want anyone but you?”
    I took a breath and looked him in the eye. “Then I guess you’ll be alone.”
    And then I walked away.

    I don’t do relationships (Crank)
    All right, I’ll admit I was curious.
    Julia made it clear on the Saturday night we met that she wanted nothing to do with me. Maybe she was lonely, or needed … something. I don’t know. But it wasn’t me.
    Still, I was fascinated, and it was starting to bother me that I didn’t know why.
    Let me be clear. I don’t get hung up on girls. They get hung up on me. I know that sounds all sexist