Takes place March 13th
Julian knew something was wrong the moment the phone rang. He'd been feeling off all day, blaming it on fatigue, or maybe a cold, but the moment the phone rang, he knew.
He answered pleasantly, despite the pressure lodged in his throat.
Julian didn't sound right. But she didn't sound right, either.
Too quick, too antsy.
She asked if either of his guardians were home, so he said yes. She said she'd be over in half an hour. He couldn't remember what he said, but he'd hung up. He was probably supposed to tell Zac she was coming over, but he couldn't remember if he did. He'd gone into the living room, and waited.
Before her call, he'd last spoken to his caseworker four days ago. She didn't have the answers he needed, but she promised to look into things and get back to him soon. She'd never lied to him, not as far as he could tell, and he liked her. He trusted her.
His days had been spent between dread and anticipation, and every emotion that lived between the two. Adrenaline came in waves, sudden and unyielding. There was nothing to do but wait it out. Sometimes it lasted for a few minutes, sometimes hours.
In the morning when he woke up. On the ride to school. At his desk. Eating lunch. Talking with his friends. Washing dishes. Out with Maxim. Lying in bed.
He couldn't shut it off. There was no trigger, so there was no relief, either.
Even knowing that she was on her way over had brought him no comfort. She either had answers, or she didn't. But whatever she had to say, she wouldn't say over the phone.
So Julian expected the worst.
Or, he thought he expected the worst. He would learn, not for the first time in his life, that things can always get worse.
She arrived twenty seven minutes after her call. Julian caught himself counting the seconds more than the minutes.
Zac asked him to answer the door, and it was only then that Julian realized he might not have mentioned Terry was coming, or else Zac might have chosen to intercept her. Everything was so blurry already, like his mind was already unthreading itself from his body, and his body just stayed still and let it happen.
Julian was, in his own way, stubborn. He felt like a kid trying to hold a balloon in a storm. Or maybe he felt like a balloon in the storm.
He went from the couch, to the door, to the table, but it didn't feel like walking. One second glitched into the next. He smiled, but Terry didn't return it. She left her purse in the car but brought in a grocery bag, which he'd thought was strange because it looked so cheap. She was always so well-dressed and put together, and whatever she was carrying was important, because she kept the bag pressed to her chest when she sat down at the dining room table with him.
He remembered being cold. Not his usual cold, but a bone-deep cold. A chill that sunk into his marrow, and deeper. She was wearing a light sweater, though. And when Zac came in, he was wearing a t-shirt.
Zac looked annoyed, like he knew something was wrong, too. He kept looking at Julian, sneaking quick glances when he thought it would go unnoticed.
Julian noticed. He just pretended like he didn't.
Zac stood, hovering behind him with his arms crossed and tapping his toe impatiently. Julian sat perfect still, neatly groomed like he was any time Terry came to check-in. He didn't remember brushing his hair, but the action was mechanical and thoughtless. He wore his nicest sweater, one with sleeves that almost fit, instead of his preferred, oversized sweaters. Julian put on his sneakers before she came over, but he couldn't remember why.
Had he thought he might run before she got there? He hadn't grabbed his to-go bag. He hadn't taken Maxim outside.
But his shoes were on, and his feet were pressed flat to the ground with such force that his legs were numb up to the knee. His fingers were laced together in his lap, and he gave the illusion of calm, like his stomach wasn't full of acid burning its way through every internal organ, eating him away from the inside out.
Terry tried to make small talk. Julian had smiled, but couldn't remember how to speak. Zac didn't care for it either.
Neither rushed her.
She was having a hard time speaking. Julian didn't want to hear what she had to say. Nothing good would come from this. She'd never looked so stressed. Not the days-old stress of worrying about something you knew was coming, not like him. He had dark circles under his eyes, and his lips were red from where he'd been chewing them. He had a tired sort of distress. After carrying it for so long, it had simply worn him down into this sorry state.
Her stress was acute. Twitchy fingers, darting eyes. She kept swallowing, kept licking her lips, kept drawing in quick, deep breaths. Kept making small talk, like she was trying to work her way into the right introduction.
It was cruel to let her stay in such a state. Even if Julian didn't want to know what was upsetting her so much. She needed an opening, so he gave her one.
He asked her what was in the bag.
Terry's shoulders slumped, like she half-collapsed into herself. It was part relief, and part dread, but she sucked in a slow, steadying breath–the same way he would have, if he'd been asked something uncomfortable.
"I'm sorry," she said. She meant it. Sometimes people said it as a courtesy, because it was the socially appropriate response to something unpleasant, but she didn't say it prettily. Her voice cracked.
She pulled out a stack of envelopes. Then, a second one. Three inches tall each, held together with faded blue rubber-bands.
'Dad', and 'Mom', written in sloppy, childish handwriting.
His handwriting.
Or, it used to be. He remembered more clearly how important it had been to him to perfectly center their names on the first envelopes he sent than he did whatever Terry said when she pulled them out. It came to him in pieces. It was important to listen, and he did, but everything was delayed.
Like a bad phone connection.
Her voice was staticky and shrill, fading in and out.
He didn't look at her. Just the envelopes.
"I think someone was supposed to tell you a long time ago. I don't know what happened. I think they wanted to wait until you had settled in more."
Julian nodded without knowing what he was agreeing to. Terry took it as a good sign and kept speaking, but he couldn't hear her any clearer, and what sense he could make of things came a while after she spoke. He didn't want her to think he wasn't listening, so he kept nodding.
When she said, "I didn't realize no one told you." When she said, "I thought it was just part of your plan." When she said, "Nobody meant to hurt you," and "The system loses track," and "I'm sorry."
She looked at him like she was waiting for him to say something, so he did.
"None of them got sent?"
"No, Julian. I'm sorry."
Zac was behind him, a heavy presence. Julian might have asked more if it had been just him and Terry. He still wasn't sure why Zac needed to be here for this, but Terry had specifically asked to make sure he had someone home. Just to make sure he was okay? What was Zac supposed to do–help him mail the letters?
Terry didn't look relieved to have told him. In fact, she looked worse now.
But Julian had nodded. "Okay," he said. What more was there to say? If he stayed quiet, maybe that would be the end of it.
Terry drew in a deep breath. She squared her shoulders.
Julian braced, and so did she.
"There's something else," she said, testing her voice. Resolute, firm. Not to tear him down, to build herself up. "I need to explain this part." Not unkindly. Neutral. "About your mom."
Julian didn't look up. His eyes were still fixed to the envelopes on the table.
Zac said something. Julian didn't hear it, despite their proximity. Terry said something. He didn't hear that, either.
They weren't whispering. He should have heard. He felt so far away, and coming back to them, to this moment, was like fighting against the current of a raging river–and Julian didn't know how to swim.
The weight of Terry's gaze was heavy enough that it pulled him back to the conversation. She must have said something that demanded his attention, so he lifted his eyes to hers.
"Your mother has a very specific idea of how this is going to go for her. She's asked the court to set up some boundaries for her."
"Okay," Julian said. The air shifted behind him, thick and electric. Zac, tense.
Terry drew in another breath, torn between mechanical bluntness and sympathetic apology. She'd looked at Julian's face for long enough to realize it didn't matter which he heard. He just needed to hear it. "She doesn't want contact moving forward. She doesn't want the letters. She's requested a no-contact order."
Julian nodded automatically, but then there was a long pause, like there should have been more to the sentence and she just hadn't finished. His brows knitted faintly while he waited.
Terry didn't break the silence, but Zac did. Gruff and guarded. "A no-contact order," he repeated slowly. "Against herself?"
A beat.
"No," Terry answered slowly.
Which didn't make sense to Julian, but it must have been bad because he could feel Zac's hand gripping the back of his chair. He heard wood strain, or joints pop, or something.
"Against him," Zac said dryly.
...Against him? Against who?
Julian's face was trained for neutrality. He'd abandoned the usual smile he kept in place; it was too much to hold it there. He nodded, automatic, before the words clicked a second too late. His lips dropped into the slightest frown.
...Wait, not him. She wouldn't–
Terry looked at Julian and nodded once. "Yes."
Something in his chest dropped, sharp and sudden.
Against him?
But that didn't make sense. She wouldn't–she wouldn't.
"For what reason?" Zac demanded. Loud, above him, but far away, too. Julian didn't like loud noises, but he didn't flinch. He didn't really even feel like he was there at all.
Terry exhaled. She crumpled the plastic bag smaller into her lap. "She stated she was concerned about future contact. Given the history, and the nature of the situation, the court approved it."
"Approved?" Zac snapped. He stayed behind Julian but gripped the back of the chair with both hands. "Then why is this the first time we're hearing about it? He's got legal counsel. Where's his guardian ad litem in all of this?"
Agitation flickered across Terry's face. Julian didn't think he imagined it. But she didn't seem frustrated with Zac. She opened her mouth to say something but snapped it closed and took a second more to choose her words. They came out tense, but not combative. "He reviewed it," she said. "He agreed it was appropriate. He didn't file an objection."
"So what?" Zac asked, leaning forward. The joints of the chair cracked under his weight. "What does this mean?"
"It just means there can't be any interaction. No calls, no messages, no trying to reach her. It also means she can't reach out."
"What–just until he turns eighteen?" Zac asked, like he was trying to make sense of this, too.
Terry hesitated, just for a second. "It's got nothing to do with his age. Not like that."
Zac let out a sharp breath, somewhere between disbelief and anger. "Okay," he said slowly, dragging the word out. "So...Is there some way we can contest it?"
Terry hesitated. "I don't know if that's a good idea. I'm sure, legally, there's a way, but..."
She didn't say it. Zac didn't ask her to.
Her attention returned to Julian, and her voice softened. "An officer will be here to formally serve the order. I asked them to wait so I could talk to you first."
"Are you serious?" Zac asked. "Is that necessary?"
"It's just procedure," she tried to reassure, but she didn't sound fond of the idea, either. "It won't take long. Just a minute or two. He might want to go over things. But I'll stay the whole time."
Julian felt numb.
Terry was sort of speaking to him, sort of speaking to Zac. He didn't want to interrupt, but he didn't know what he'd have said, anyway.
It felt like there was a mistake here, somewhere. He just couldn't figure out where.
Everything felt wrong.
The conversation continued around him. Zac asked a few questions, Terry answered. He heard their tone, their cadence, but it felt like they were speaking a foreign language.
At some point, he stopped trying to piece it all together.
Zac's frustration boiled over and he asked Terry to step away with him for a minute, so they left the room, maybe for a few seconds, or a few minutes, or a few hours.
The light of the setting sun filtered in from the back window. Julian sat with the letters but he didn't touch them.
Terry and Zac's whispered voices from the other room registered vaguely, but he couldn't make out what they were saying. He wasn't really listening, anyway. At some point, they went outside.
When they returned, a police officer had joined them. That sobered Julian up a little. He'd started slouching at some point, so he straightened immediately. The officer introduced himself as Officer Cordone, but he seemed distant and unhappy to be there, like it was somehow beneath him. Julian said it was nice to meet him, anyway.
Officer Cordone spoke for a moment, without preamble. He jumped right into things. Julian hadn't been prepared, but he nodded dutifully. The officer explained the order, the expectations, the rules, the law, the consequences.
Julian only heard the blood rushing in his ears, but he kept nodding, even when Officer Cordone asked if he understood.
And then, there were papers in front of him. His copy. He couldn't read any of it, the letters all twisted together. Even if he'd remembered what they were supposed to look like, there were too many pages to read in one sitting, and the wording was dense and indirect. He was overwhelmed by the first line, but he stared down at it and tried.
Everyone was talking around him. Zac was texting, shaking his head and snapping. Every word he spoke was biting–short, furious. Terry was strained, stuck between professionalism and sympathy. She wasn't really trying to console Zac, and descalation seemed impossible. They talked in hushed tones. Officer Cordone needed him to sign a receipt.
"It's just acknowledging you received it," he said. "You're not agreeing to anything. It's already in effect."
He accepted the pen but didn't know where to sign, so Officer Cordone pointed to a blank line.
Everything was moving so quickly. Julian looked up at Terry, half expecting her to also announce he wasn't allowed to stay here anymore. Zac wasn't dangerous, but he was short and clipped, and Terry already looked so tired.
The officer loomed over him, different from Zac. He didn't feel like it was someone guarding his back. He felt like a criminal, like he was being boxed in so he didn't run.
Zac hated strangers in his house, and now there were two here, because of Julian. Of course he'd be stressed. This wasn't how he wanted to spend his Friday night. And now he had to live with this under his roof?
Maybe Zac wouldn't even want him around anymore.
Julian just wanted it to be quiet. He wanted to undo all of this upset. No one looked happy to be here, and the longer he dragged this out, the more miserable he made everything.
He pressed the pen to the page and signed. His hand didn't shake at all. It moved like someone else was doing the work for him.
Officer Cordone collected the paper but lingered.
Terry turned to face Julian again, and asked if he had questions.
He did, a thousand of them. But Zac was red in the face and clenching his jaw so tightly that the vein in his forehead looked ready to burst. He texted like his thumbs were punching the screen, and it was a miracle he hadn't cracked it. Officer Cordone looked like he wanted to leave and had checked his watch twice already. Terry looked drained, like this had taken a year off her life.
Julian didn't want to keep anyone waiting. He didn't really want to be down here, anyway. He wanted to go to sleep, and wake up, and find out this was all just a dream. It felt like one, anyway. A bad one.
Warm, cold. Here, there. He was floating, and sinking. He could feel his heart in his chest, and then he couldn't feel anything.
And everyone was still looking at him, waiting for an answer he didn't have. He shook his head–no questions.
"Okay," Terry said, like she was giving up. She wasn't satisfied with this but she didn't push. "You have my phone number. You can call me any time. Or text. If you need answers, I can get them."
But asking for answers had caused this, hadn't it? If he hadn't asked her to find out what was going on with his mother, maybe–
"I'll be back in about two weeks, I'll still be here for our usual meeting. So if you'd rather talk then..."
Julian nodded. Like most of this conversation, he didn't really know what he was agreeing to.
But Terry looked a little relieved, like she was ready to get out of there. He wanted to leave, too. The room was suffocating. Everyone was still looking at him.
Officer Cordone shifted towards the door. Terry stood by the table.
Zac was radiating a quiet, barely contained fury.
Julian didn't know if he was supposed to say something but the silence stretched onward. Awkwardly, he forced himself to do something, so he gathered the papers on the table. He folded the protective order up neatly, and stacked the envelopes together. Half a foot tall, they were almost too big for him to hold between thumb and index finger. He held them with both hands, just in case.
And everyone was still watching him.
He would have stayed here, sitting in silence, for as long as he needed to, but it seemed like everyone was waiting on him. Like him being here was holding them all back.
He didn't look at Zac. He just asked, "Can I go to my room, please?"
It sounded normal, almost. Like asking to leave the table after dinner.
Zac waited to answer, giving himself time to exhale, to breathe out the anger so Julian would know it wasn't directed at him. "Yeah, go ahead." Calm. Strained. As gentle as Zac could make it.
The room was loaded with emotions, heavy and sickening. Julian felt like he should throw up, like there was something awful inside him that needed to be purged. Like he still had a chance to stop the poison from spreading.
It was too late, and he knew it.
It wasn't a poison in him, he was the poison.
He wasn't the one at risk, everyone else was.
Julian pushed himself to his feet quietly. Everything he did was measured–slow, and deliberate. He tucked his chair under the table, lifting it so it wouldn't scrape across the floor.
He didn't run despite how badly he wanted to be gone.
He had to walk past Terry and Officer Cordone, but it felt rude to ignore them.
"Thank you," he said, pressing the stack of papers to his chest with both hands, like they might have fallen otherwise. "I'm sorry for the trouble."
They might have said something back. Terry's lips moved, but all he heard was an absent ringing. Zac said something, too. Beneath the anger, he looked worried.
Julian nodded, which must have been the right answer, because nobody stopped him when he left.
