Page 128 of Goodbye Again
“What the hell, Julia? It’s two sizes off,” Lena adds. I can see the steam billowing out of her ears. “Why do you let her treat you this way?”
A cold drench of shame washes over me. “We’ve actually gotten to a much better place and I don’t want to ruffle any of her perfectly placed feathers.” They both stare at me as I pull my sweater on. “Trust me. Sometimes it’s easier to just keep the peace.”
I throw on my clothes and rush out of the changing room just as I see my sister.
“Julia, can you watch Alyson for a minute?” Emily asks after we emerge from the dressing room. I look at my eldest niece seated on the tufted cream couch, legs swinging over the ground while she looks through a picture book.
“Of course I will,” I say with exaggerated jubilation. Emily disappears toward the back where the powder rooms are located while Lena and Claire follow, and I plop down next to my niece.The slight bounce makes her look up at me with a shy smile—which is unlike her.
“Whatcha reading?” I ask.
“Spreading Sprinkles,” her voice squeaks, and I peek over her bright blonde hair. She’s barely five years old and I’m continuously impressed by how much and how well she can read. The pages are brightly colored with animated donuts—each one with a face that screams donut commercial of the nineties in the very best way.
“What’s it about?”
“Being a donut and giving people a bite,” she says, her voice even. My brain twists in a way that adults’ brains do when presented with child logic.
“Hmmm,” I muse, snuggling closer. “Can I read it?” I’m truthfully quite curious.
Alyson shifts the book to my lap and I flip to the beginning. Mrs. Donut is a shiny pink donut with even pinker sprinkles and is determined to share her sprinkles with all the other donuts around her. Sprinkles make everyone happy and she is the star joy spreader the more sprinkles she sheds. But then people start taking too much—some even take a bite out of her—and slowly she starts to disappear. All the other donuts are so sad, crying, wishing they loved Mrs. Donut better and cherished each of her sprinkles more. It isn’t until the last page of the story do they realize they still have the sprinkles she shared with them—little pieces of their beloved Mrs. Donut that they get to take with them for the rest of their donut lives.
“Are you crying, Auntie Julia?” Alyson asks, and I swat at my wet cheeks.
“I guess so,” I realize then add, “Who wrote this? It’s... deep.” I flip to the cover and see the title,Spreading Sprinkles. I smile then lose all the air in my lungs as I read the author’s name.
Jacob Preston Chapman.
Tears flood my eyes and I flip to the back of the book, reading his quick bio that contains everything anyone who has ever met him knows. Then I read his dedication.
This one is for the people grieving the loved ones they lost—no matter the circumstance—not realizing how much of them they get to take with them.
The room grows warmer, and the oxygen is scarce as I tug at my sweater, suffocating my neck. I can’t breathe. I can’t think. I can’t... I can’t...
“Are you okay?” Alyson asks, and I manage to snap out of my panic. Though, I’m fully aware panic is a dramatic word. But the sight of his name, his words, and how deeply and unapologetically they affected me, make my heart shift into a rhythm of unrest.
“Yeah,” I smile, tears drifting down my face. “This author...” I say, ignoring my heart palpitating in my throat. “He’s one of the best people I’ve ever met.”
“Better than Uncle Donny?” she squeaks. She already calls him uncle, more so out of convenience and understanding for a young mind. But now that she says it and poses the question, it makes me feel inexplicably wracked with guilt.
I don’t want to wedge anyone against JP. Not because we spent years together. Not because he was my almost. But because every memory with him is like a brand on my skin that I look at every day as I try to scrub the importance of him off my skin. It doesn’t make sense. I know that. It never did. It still doesn’t.
“Sometimes being good doesn’t need to be a competition,” I answer, finally, and kiss her forehead.
My breaths are shaky because I want to cry. I want to take this book, go home, and read it over and over and over again. Iwant to call him. Tell him I’m so proud. I even open my phone and hover over his name.
“Oh, shii-ooot. You saw her book,” Emily says, reentering the vicinity. My gaze snaps from my phone to my sister.
“He wrote another book.” I force a smile that makes my teeth hurt and will myself not to cry. “It’s beautiful.”
Emily chews her lip. “It is,” she agrees and turns to walk away, grabbing Alyson by the hand to walk with her, but I stand and approach her.
“How is he?”
“Don’t do this, Julia,” Emily begins as she drifts out to the front of the store. I grab her by the elbow.
“Why not? You brought the book. You must have known I’d see it. Why can’t I know how he is?”
She hushes me, side-eyeing her own daughter and I try not to roll my eyes. Instead, I double down. Hands on my hips and eyes that scream,just tell me. I visibly watch her swallow then, reluctantly, she grabs my arm and pulls me outside.
