A Song for Julia

on her loving me. I counted on her presence. My dad and I were at war—especially by the time I turned sixteen. We fought, we yelled. He would scream at me to get myself under control. I’d push and provoke and pull until he had no patience left. But my mother always calmed us down, always got things back under control, even while she struggled with trying to help Sean.
    But then one day, not long after my sixteenth birthday, she was just … gone. And I didn’t see her again until I was almost twenty years old.
    Sometimes, deep down, I know that her leaving? It was my fault. Like I said to Dad, I’ve done a fair amount of growing up since then.
    That’s why, even though I’d been refusing to call her, I smiled at my mom and gave her a hug when she arrived at the front door.
    “I’ve missed you,” she said. “You look so … larger than life now.”
    I told I’d missed her, which wasn’t true. I didn’t say a word about her appearance. She looked much more together than the last time I’d seen her, but my mom still looks a good fifteen or twenty years older than Dad does, which doesn’t make a lot of sense, because he’s a lot older than her. Her hair went grey years ago, and she has deep creases around her mouth and forehead. I don’t think I can remember the last time I saw her smile.
    “Hello, Sean,” she said. He was on the couch, still reading his book, and didn’t look up and acknowledge her.
    I was used to this. Sean just didn’t engage people the way the rest of us do. But my mother’s face fell, and I could tell she was hurt and disappointed. I hoped he’d say something to her before the night was over.
    I was still standing there, awkwardly, with my mother, when Julia walked up to the front door. She wore a knee-length black coat and scarf, with gleaming black boots with heels that looked none too safe. Her hair was done up in some kind of fancy braided up-do thing, and the only spot of color on her was a bright pink scarf. I took a deep breath as she approached. Her cheeks were slightly red from the cold, and the color inevitably led to speculation of what she’d look like in bed. I wanted to know, very badly.
    She didn’t meet my eyes, which was a shame, because I really wanted to get a closer look.
    “Hey,” she said, a little breathlessly.
    “Mom? This is my friend Julia.”
    Julia’s eyes widened a little, and my mom turned to her and said, “Well, hello, Julia. I’m Margot.”

    Just Like Always (Julia)
    “So where are you from?” Margot asked as Crank closed the door behind us. The usual awkward question, which I never have a prepared answer for, though I should, since I’ve been asked a thousand and one times. One strategy, which I used this time while pulling off my coat, was to intentionally misunderstand.
    “Oh, I live in Cambridge, I’m a student.”
    Crank reached to take my coat and I said, “Wait—” and reached in the huge side pocket and took out my gift for Sean, then passed it to him. “Thanks,” I said, as he took both his mother’s coat and mine and hung them up. Weird. You don’t expect punk rockers to be so polite.
    Margot stopped near the couch, looking at Sean, and the look of sadness and longing on her face was indescribable. But she didn’t say anything.
    My heart nearly shattered for her when Sean said, “Hey, Julia.”
    I didn’t know why Sean and Crank hated their mother, but what had just happened was heartbreaking. I wanted to start crying, but instead, I mumbled, “Hey.”
    Margot and I followed Crank into the kitchen, and there I saw what was probably the strangest scene I’ve ever seen between a separated couple. Because Jack turned around, and his eyes lit up when he saw Margot. The two of them stepped close, a little hesitantly, and then embraced in a long, uxorious hug. His arms wrapped around her waist, tight, while hers went around his shoulders. She rested her head in the crook of his neck, and I saw her shoulders lower slightly as she let out a long, quiet sigh.
    A tall man with salt and pepper hair was sitting at the kitchen table. When we walked in, he stood, smiling hesitantly, then when Jack and Margot finally stepped back from each other, he said, “Margot, it’s good to see you.” Then he turned toward me. “And you must be Dougal’s girlfriend.”
    Crank muttered something, probably seriously obnoxious, and I said in as sweet a tone as I could muster, “Actually, we’re barely even friends. I’m