Page 48 of The Hundred Loves of Juliet
Juliet dies a lot—and it sounds like always tragically, and often young.
Sebastien also claims that Juliet’s soul is reincarnated endlessly, although she doesn’t realize it.
Until me. Those short stories I wrote correspond with some of the paintings. Supposedly, my made-up adventures are actually memories.
And if I’m Juliet, then am I also doomed to die?
No, I refuse to even consider that last point. All of this is utter nonsense. From my experience as a journalist, I know therehasto be a reasonable explanation for what’s going on.
Even if that’s completely at odds with how I felt when I saw Sebastien in The Frosty Otter.
I drain the entire cup of coffee and brew another. This time, I pour in a shot of Bailey’s, which Sebastien must have left for me after wrapping my ankle last night. I sort of resent that he can predict what I’ll want before I even know.
But I also kind of love it. And that terrifies me. Never in my life have I been this confused.
I need to talk to Mom and Katy. They’ll know what to do.
I message them to convene an emergency family meeting.
Five minutes later, we’re on a video call. Trevor is behind Katy, half eating his lunch in his high chair and half painting everything within reach with ketchup. Mom is in the back office of her folk music store. They’ve both dropped whatever they were doing to hop on this call for me, and I love them for it.
“You okay, Hel?” Katy asks. I messaged them last night to let them know I was snowed in at Sebastien’s, but we haven’t talked since I got here. (I left out the part about totaling my rental car; Mom would have worried endlessly and called the National Guard to extract me and bring me to a hospital.) So the concern on Katy’s face now isn’t about the car crash. She glances at Trevor, who’s preoccupied with decapitating his dinosaur-shaped chicken nuggets, then leans closer to her screen and says in a low voice, “Are you safe? Is Sebastien…?”
“Oh! Don’t worry about that. I have my own room. Actually, Ihave my own wing of the house. Sebastien’s not a creep.” As I tell her, I realize I believe it. Despite the gallery being full of paintings of my stories, Sebastien doesn’t seem like a stalker. After all,hewas the one who tried to distance himself frommeboth at The Frosty Otter and outside of Shipyard Books.I’mthe one who went down to the harbor to try to find him, and I’m the one who showed up at his door in the middle of the night, uninvited. If one of the two of us is a creep, it’s definitely me.
“Glad you’re safe,” Mom says. “So why did you call an emergency family meeting? Is it about Merrick?”
“Why would it be about Merrick?”
Katy belts out a dramatic groan. “Your ex has been calling my cell nonstop, trying to get ahold of you.”
I set my coffee down with a clunk, and it sloshes all over the table. “Merrick’s been doingwhat?”
“Don’t worry, I haven’t picked up or anything. He’s probably just frustrated because you haven’t answered your phone. It’s, like, the world’s greatest insult to Merrick Sauer if he calls and people don’t jump up to do his bidding right away.”
“Yeah but he shouldn’t be harassing you. I’m so sorry, Katy. Block his number, okay?”
She shrugs and smirks. “I took your lead and changed his name in my phone. Now instead of ‘Merrick,’ my phone says ‘Little Penis calling.’”
Mom grins. “Good thing my grandson can’t read yet.”
