malls, the cemeteries, hotel lobbies, what was he looking for, what was he searching for? Yes, he was grabbing ideas for his newsletter, photographs, flowers, phantoms of life. But was that it, really? For ten years he’d been scouring L.A., in a roam not just of the body but of the soul. Was he searching for someone? Staring into the face of every woman he met, the question behind his eyes ever present. Was she the one?
One thing Julian knew for sure—and had known from the beginning. Gwen was not the one.
“We’ve been together so long!” Gwen said. “Don’t I deserve better than this?”
“You do,” Julian said. “Better than me.”
“But why waste three years of my life?”
“Sometimes,” Julian said, “when you’re on the wrong road, you have to get off, go back, start again.”
“You’re calling me the wrong road? Fuck you!”
“No. I’m the wrong road.”
“I thought your mother raised you better than this,” Gwen said.
“What am I doing?” Julian said. “I’m trying to do the decent thing, the honest thing.”
“The decent thing would be not to break up with me.”
“Not the honest thing.”
“The decent thing would be not to hook up with someone else!”
“I haven’t hooked up with anyone else. It’s brand new.”
“But you want to!”
“Yes,” Julian said. “I want to.”
HAVING FALLEN OVERBOARD, JULIAN SWAM THE REST OF THE night in a sea of Josephine. His morning newsletter reflected this. It was a hodgepodge framed by an odd Joseph Conrad quote (was there any other kind?).
It was his turn to open the store, and Julian got to Magnolia Avenue before nine. To his surprise, Ashton was already up and inside. Usually on the mornings Julian opened, Ashton slept in. And granted, his friend looked barely awake and barely dressed, but still. Ashton kept a buzz cut so he wouldn’t have to fuss with his hair, but had not yet shaved, his dirty-blond stubble darkening his face.
Riley stood next to him. That was a bigger surprise. Riley tolerated the store like everything about Ashton—with fond resignation. But she didn’t show her face on weekdays when she had to be at work. Riley was the organic-produce regional supervisor for Whole Foods. Early morning was her busiest time.
Ashton and Riley both stood at the glass counter by the register, glaring at Julian, their arms crossed. Of course Ashton, who took nothing seriously, was glaring at Julian mock critically, and his arms were mock crossed. He was mimicking Riley to present a supposed united front and hiding from her his persistent yawning.
“What’s up.” Julian rattled his keys.
“Why don’t you tell us,” Riley said, her skirt suit without a wrinkle, her honey blonde hair blow-dried glass-straight, her makeup impeccable, her posture like a ballerina’s. She stood in fine contrast to her slumped, torn-tank-ripped-jeans-and-half-awake boyfriend. “Did you end it with Gwen last night?”
“Ah.” Julian should’ve known Gwen would call Riley immediately.
“Why did you do it?”
“Do I have to explain everything to you?” He was being glib. Gwen and Riley were best friends. He knew he’d have to explain himself. He just didn’t want to.
“Gwen’s very upset, Jules,” Riley said. “She says you wasted her time, made her believe things that weren’t true. She doesn’t understand what happened. She told me you were planning to propose in Cabo next month!”
Julian shook his head. That was Gwen wishcasting.
“Breaking up is bad enough,” Riley went on, “but why did you lie to her?”
“I didn’t lie—”
“Yes, you did. You told her you met someone.”
Ashton was shaking his head, too.
“What are you shaking your head for?” Julian said.
“Who could you possibly meet? I saw you Monday night, and you hadn’t met anyone,” Ashton said. “But suddenly yesterday you met someone?”
“That’s how it works,” Julian said. “That’s why it’s called meeting someone.”
“Yeah, ‘kay,” Ashton said. “Look, if you want to lie, fine, but why be so bad at it?”
Riley twisted to Ashton, her shoulder-length bob swinging. “Do you mean it would be okay for him to lie if he was better at it?”
“That’s not what I meant.”
“What did you mean, then?”
“Hey! This isn’t about me. He’s the one who’s lying and breaking up and shit. What are you getting on my case for?” Ashton threw Julian a wait-until-I-get-ahold-of-you glare.
Julian rubbed his chin with his middle finger in reply.
“Look, Jules,” Riley said. “I don’t have time for this. I was on the phone with Gwen until two in the morning and had to be at work today at seven. We have a shipment of uninspected cherry tomatoes coming in from Arkansas, and yet here I am with you instead of my tomatoes because of the mess you’ve made. Bottom line is, Gwen and I talked it over, and she said she’d be willing to make some changes—if that’s what you need.”
Julian shook his head. “It’s not what I need.”
“You know, Julian”—and here Riley used her slow, wise high-handed tone—“if you thought your relationship needed work, why didn’t you just talk to her? You two have been together a long time. You don’t think she deserved a conversation?”
“We had a conversation,” Julian said.
“But you didn’t have to make things up if all you wanted was to shake things up.”
“That’s not what I want, and it’s not what I did.”
“Really?” Riley stuck her hand on her hip in a kettle pose. “You didn’t lie when you told Gwen that you and Ashton flipped a coin—for her!—and you won? Why would you say a thing like that?”
“Yes,
