THE ALLY
1126 Words
Julian was waiting for me when I got back to the studio.
He was sitting at my desk, which was unusual. Julian never sat at my desk. He had his own workspace in the back, surrounded by fabric samples and sewing machines and the quiet order of his life. My desk was my territory. He knew that.
But he was sitting there now, his hands folded on the blotter, his face calm.
"How did it go?" he asked.
"You heard about the police report."
"I heard Marcus Sterling filed a complaint against you." He stood up. "Lena told me. She's been pacing the back room for an hour."
I set my bag down. "It's closed. Nothing happened."
"Nothing happened?" Julian's voice was quiet, but there was something underneath it—anger, maybe, or fear. "Marcus Sterling walked into your studio, threatened you, and then filed a false police report against you. That's not nothing."
"Julian—"
"That's the second time he's been here. The second time he's come to your place of business to intimidate you." He stepped closer. "What happens the third time?"
I didn't have an answer.
Julian ran a hand through his hair. He was usually so composed—his hands steady, his voice calm, his movements precise. Now he looked like a man trying very hard not to break something.
"You should have called me," he said.
"You were across town."
"I would have come back."
"I know."
"Then why didn't you call?"
I looked at him. Julian Park, who had been at my side for three years. Who had never asked for anything. Who had held my hands yesterday while I shook, and then walked me to my car, and then gone home without expecting anything in return.
Because he was kind, and I didn't know what to do with kindness.
Because Daniel had been kind too, at the beginning.
Because I had learned, the hard way, that kindness was just another transaction waiting to happen.
"I'm not used to asking for help," I said.
Julian's expression softened. "I know."
"I don't know how to be someone who needs people."
"I know that too."
He took a step closer. We were close enough now that I could see the calluses on his fingers, the careful way he held his hands, the quiet intensity in his eyes.
"You don't have to need me, Maya. You just have to let me be here."
"Why?" The word came out before I could stop it. "Why do you care what happens to me?"
He was quiet for a moment.
Then he said, "Do you remember the first day I came to work here?"
"You showed up with Lena. She said you needed a job."
"I needed a job," he agreed. "But I didn't need this one. I had other offers. Better pay. Better hours. A shop in Gold Coast that was going to give me my own studio."
I remembered. Lena had told me about the Gold Coast offer. I'd told Julian he should take it.
"Why didn't you?"
"Because you were sitting at this desk," he said, "with a stack of invoices you couldn't pay and a list of clients who'd stopped returning your calls. And you looked at me like you were waiting for me to walk out."
"I was."
"I know." He smiled, just a little. "So I decided to stay."
"That was three years ago."
"Yes."
"You've been here three years because you felt sorry for me?"
"No." His voice was steady. "I've been here three years because you built something from nothing. Because you're the most stubborn, brilliant, impossible woman I've ever met. Because you never stopped fighting, even when everyone else would have given up."
I felt something crack open in my chest.
"And because," Julian said, "I've been in love with you for three years."
The words hung in the air.
I stared at him. Julian. My tailor. My friend. The man who had held my hands while I shook.
"You're in love with me," I said.
"Yes."
"You never said anything."
"You were married."
"I'm still married."
"I know." He didn't look away. "That's why I never said anything. But now Marcus Sterling is coming to your studio, threatening you, filing false reports. And you're standing in front of me, looking at me like you're waiting for me to leave."
I didn't know what to say.
I had spent five years building walls. Five years telling myself I didn't need anyone. Five years learning to be alone.
But Julian had been there the whole time. Quiet. Steady. Waiting.
"I don't know how to do this," I said.
"Do what?"
"Trust someone. Let them in." I looked down at my hands. "I thought I trusted Daniel. I thought I trusted my father. They both left."
Julian reached out. Took my hands. The same way he'd done yesterday, when I was shaking.
"I'm not them," he said.
"I know."
"I'm not going to leave."
"You don't know that."
"I know that I've been here three years. I know that I'm not going anywhere." He squeezed my hands gently. "You don't have to trust me today, Maya. You don't have to trust me tomorrow. I'll wait. I've been waiting this long."
I looked at him. His face was open, honest, nothing like Daniel's practiced charm.
"You're not what I expected," I said.
"What did you expect?"
"Someone who wanted something."
He smiled. "I want plenty of things."
"Like what?"
"Like for you to let me make you dinner tonight. So we can talk about something that isn't Daniel Sterling or Marcus Sterling or void clauses." He let go of my hands. "Like for you to let me be here, even if you're not ready for anything else."
I thought about it. Dinner. Julian's cooking. A conversation that wasn't about revenge.
"I don't know how to be normal," I said.
"I don't need you to be normal. I need you to eat."
I laughed. It surprised me—the sound of it, the way it came out without my permission.
"Okay," I said.
"Okay?"
"Okay, you can make me dinner."
Julian smiled. It was a real smile, warm and easy, nothing like the careful expressions I was used to seeing on men's faces.
"Good," he said. "I'll pick you up at seven."
He walked toward the back of the studio. Then he stopped. Turned back.
"Maya?"
"Yes?"
"Marcus Sterling is wrong." His voice was quiet but firm. "You're not alone. You never were."
He disappeared into the workroom.
I stood at my desk, my hands still tingling where he'd held them.
For the first time in five years, I let myself wonder what it might be like to trust someone.
- Writer
