Page 52 of Someone Just Like You

Chapter Twenty-Four

By the time we returned to the dining room, it was empty aside from Laura and Randy, Alison and Dana, and Eddie and Sienna. Jude had left, which I took as a sign that my weird thirst for his comfort should go unquenched, at least for now. I hugged Laura and Randy goodbye. Ignoring the sympathy, doubling as pity, now worn freely on their faces, I said, “Here’s to another forty years.”

Randy began counting on his fingers. “That would make us—”

“Please don’t do the math,” Laura joked, but then her eyes narrowed at me. “Are you okay?”

My lips quivered. The answer was no, but I wasn’t about to rain on their love parade. Notwithstanding my sadness over my own parents’ separation—a status my optimistic spirit refused to accept as permanent yet—the enduring passion between Mr. and Mrs. Stark filled me with joy. Randy’s heart had already been literally broken and sewn back up the year before. He should at least be spared a figurative heartbreak.

I said goodbye to my parents last, doing my best to maintain a stiff upper lip. I was a grown woman, after all, and didn’t want to add to their stress. But when they smoothed down my hair and assured me everything would be all right—like they did when I was little and had a booboo—the tears fell…like they had when I was little.

“Are you okay to leave? Timothy will make sure you get home safely, yes?” Mom asked.

The tears came faster, not because Timothy had already left with Charley, but because Mom’s concern was another throwback to all the times she and Dad had stood on the porch to defend against an attempted abduction or bear attack when I took out the garbage at night.

“Sure,” I said, wiping my eyes. There’d been enough relationship drama for one night. I didn’t need to throw the weird doppelgänger quartet into the mix. Mom had been the only family member not to comment on the double resemblances.

“I can’t get over how much he looks like Jude,” she said, ending her exception status with one sentence.

I grumbled, “You don’t say,” kissed them both one last time, and headed out.

The temperature had dropped about ten degrees since I’d left for the party, so when I got home a half hour later, I switched out my denim jacket for a pale blue hooded windbreaker and sat on my balcony with a glass of wine. The private outdoor space was the best part of my apartment, and yet I didn’t take nearly enough advantage of it as I should. It was Saturday night in New York City, in a residential area crammed with bars and restaurants, and the noise coming from the cars and people driving and walking along Second Avenue made me feel less alone.

I stared into the distance. Although too many other buildings blocked Jude’s apartment only six blocks away, I was well aware of its proximity. Was he home? Was he upset about Charley? Did he already know about the separation? Had he known before I did? I sipped my wine. Why was I asking myself these questions and not him?

I balanced my phone on my palm. I could text him. Mom, Dad, Randy, and Laura practically raised all six “siblings” as a unit—soliciting hugs and doling out life lessons, and even the occasional punishment, freely. Besides me and my sisters, Jude was one of the only people who might remember my parents’ first separation. Maybe he could help make sense of their second one. And seeking his opinion and advice had become a habit of late. Venting to him now would simply continue the ongoing trend and shouldn’t come as a surprise. Maybe he was even awaiting my call.

Let’s not go crazy, Molly.

I slumped against my clear hoop-shaped porch chair. It was safe to say Jude wasn’t staring at his phone willing me to reach out. Still, my doing so wouldn’t be that strange or unexpected in our new normal asfriends, unlike in our old normal as enemies, and it wouldn’t have tomeananything. Jude was my first-ever play date. He knew my parents…was emotionally attached to them. His picture was prominently displayed in their—make thather—house, for heaven’s sake. It was possible he wasn’t taking their separation well either. We could comfort each other. I groaned. I was ridiculous and pathetic, and he’d be the first one to tell me so.

I imagined him staring at me, his unusual shade of hazel eyes dilating with desire and his full lips parting as he leaned in to kiss me. I tried to shake the vision out of my head like an Etch A Sketch, but it was no use. Once you fantasized about the buildup to a first kiss, it couldn’t be unseen. I touched a finger to my lips remembering the feel of his finger there the first time he’d come over to my apartment to discuss the party. Did he use his hands to cup a woman’s face when he kissed her? I squirmed in my seat.This has to stop.

I stood and went back inside, locking the balcony door behind me. After placing my dirty wineglass in the kitchen sink, I grabbed my purse, turned off the lights, and stepped into the hallway.

My logical side whispered warnings to abort the mission. It wanted to protect me from opening a Pandora’s box filled with destructive matter. But its opposition had the louder voice.

One way or another, this had to stop.

Chapter Twenty-Five

When the elevator door opened to the lobby, I pulled my jacket tight to my chest, and waved goodbye to the doorman on duty. I stepped out of the revolving doors leading outside and gazed upward at the dark starless sky, not quite black thanks to cars driving by and lights on in the surrounding buildings. Then I remembered I didn’t know what floor Jude lived on or his apartment number.

Maybe I’d overhear one of the many twentysomething tenants, who were always loitering at the entrance this late on their way in or out of the building, talking about him and casually mentioning his apartment number.Did you hear about Jude Stark, in 14B? He’s secretly lusting after his ex-nemesis while dating her lookalike.

Becausethathappened all the time.

It also dawned on me I had zero clue what to say once I found him. And it was late. Booty-call late. These were all signs our talk should wait. It made sense to prepare my opening statement before I told him I was coming over…in case I changed my mind.

Then I saw him. My heart leaped into my throat, and I stopped short, causing a traffic jam on the pavement. I muttered awkward apologies and cleared the path. He was standing on the sidewalk with his hands jammed into the pockets of his olive green bomber jacket and looking up at my building.

“Jude?” I said his name like a question—as if it might not be him—like maybe it was his double, Timothy, coming to apologize for ditching me at the party.

Jude jolted and dropped his gaze to my face. “Oh, hey.”

“What are you doing here?” I smoothed down my hair, like my appearance suddenly mattered, and I hadn’t already been on my way to see him.

“I was just walking Yogi.”

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