Page 63 of June
Am I really this person? I asked myself again and again. Cold, vindictive, arrogant? Is that what I've become because I can't seem to forgive Aaron? Because the cracks in my trust feel too wide to ever bridge?
I was still reeling, my mind spinning with thoughts I couldn't quite catch. Without even realizing it, my fingers kept tracing the delicate curve of the North Star bracelet, over and over, as if the familiar weight and cold metal could anchor me. Each gentle rub, each small press against my wrist, brought a flicker of calm, a momentary stillness in the storm swirling inside me.
Chaper Twenty-Five: Memories in Motion
The kitchen was warm with the smell of coffee and toasted bread, though the toast leaned dangerously toward burnt. January sat across from me in a pair of pale champagne-colored silk pajamas that costs more than my groceries, the fabric catching the morning light like water. Her hair was pulled into a sleek, perfectly tight bun—not a single strand out of place—and, as always, she looked effortlessly put together, like someone who could step out the door and land a magazine cover without trying.
We were already halfway through breakfast—her with a strong black coffee, me with tea—while I recounted my confrontation with Mora in detail. Every word Mora had thrown at me, I gave to January, unedited. I could see it building in her face, the faint arch of her brow, the tightening at the corner of her mouth. She didn't interrupt, but the longer I talked, the sharper her gaze became.
"What the hell is wrong with that bitch?" she yelled, "Seriously, June, who the hell does she think she is?"
"I've known her for years," I said, sighing. "We were never close, but now suddenly she goes off on me about Aaron!"
" So you have known her for years in passing, but suddenly she thinks she's the Queen of Versailles? Going off on you about Aaron like you should begratefulhe's still in love with you? "You should end her."
"Jan..."
"No, June. I mean it. She crossed the line. You have every right to make her go. I'm talking full stop—she shouldn't have a single place left in your studio. She needs to feel the consequences for what she did."
"I told Leo," I said, "and he said we need her. Deadline's close." I sighed.
She froze mid-step, turning toward me slowly like a villain in a soap opera. "Are you serious right now? Who the hell owns this studio?"
"I do, but it's always been more of a family thing. Especially me and Leo. He started with me back when we both had nothing."
January stared at me in a stunned silence that was somehow louder than her yelling. Then she blurted, "Do you hear yourself? You are the freakingowner! This is your kingdom, babe. You could evict her, repossess her tap shoes, and ban her from buying tights within a hundred-mile radius."
I opened my mouth to argue, but she was already softening—slightly. "Okay. I get it. You're a sweet, kind soul. It's cute. But there are limits. Boundaries. And in business?" She tapped her temple. "Family doesn't exist. She's making a toxic work environment, and that's a cancer that spreads fast. Want me to take her down?"
I shook my head. "No need. You're right. I just... always try to avoid confrontations. Honestly, what bothered me most was that it made me question myself, and then—" My voice dropped. "When I remember how Aaron kept complaining to her, I get angrier."
January's lips curled into a shark-smile. "Good. Stay angry. Use it and set boundaries with Aaron and the bitch." She got up, "I gotta go to work. Tell me you'll be fine."
"I will. Love you."
She made a face. "Yeah, sure." She didn't say "love you." She never does; claims it's cursed. But when she left, the kitchen felt like she'd dropped those words on the table anyway, somewhere between the coffee and the silk.
I rinsed my plate, the clink of ceramic loud in the quiet kitchen, and after a while, replaying her words over and over, I finally called Aaron. I'd promised myself I'd keep it calm, collected and professional and I told him what happened.
"So," I said evenly, "you may want to avoid talking—or complaining—about me and my inability to forgive you to my employees. Okay?"
" I didn't," he said immediately. "We had drinks with Leo, Mora, and Alice. Alice left early, and I stayed with them. They asked why I was feeling down, and I said it was because you rejected my dinner invitation but I never told her the details of what happened."
"Then how the hell does she know?"
"I don't know—maybe Leo told her. I mean, he was there—"
"When you left me forthe one that got away?"
"Sheis not the one that got away."
"Whatever. I'm going to start looking for another stage manager. Thanks a lot, because I didn't already have enough going on."
"I'm so sorry. I was just venting. I swear I said nothing about you. But..."
"But what?"
"She... did ask me out a few weeks ago. I turned her down. Told her my heart belongs to someone else. Maybe she kept asking Leo or other people and they told her."
