Alice leaned back into the sofa with her legs crossed and fingers drumming a steady beat on the cushion beside her. It was her third attempt at seeming casual in the confines of her living room, having decided against pacing across the floorboards and drowning her thoughts out with the humming of the stereo. She thought it best to appear as calm and collected as possible, despite the absolute frenzy occurring in the place where her otherwise rational brain used to be. She knew why seeing Jules would put her on edge, but this was borderline maniacal. Why was she so nervous?
 
She had called her over there with the simple intention of seeking advice from the woman. Granted, it was advice that she was quite sure the musician had no desire to give, especially since it involved her intense feelings for another woman. Still, something seemed natural about running such an incredibly important feeling past the one person who never judged and always managed to put things into crystal clear perspective. 
 
But before she could fully consider just how complicated the current situation was becoming, the intercom sounded announcing Jules’ arrival. Alice quickly, if not haphazardly, buzzed her in and not more than a minute later there was the inevitable knock at the door. The writer briefly closed her eyes and exhaled slowly in hopes of regaining some composure. After all, it was just Jules. Sweet, generous, compassionate Jules—she couldn’t feel that acrimonious if she agreed to come over here, right?
 
Alice opened the door and gave a smile that had every intention of being full and bright, but somehow managed to fall flat. "Hi," she said with obvious timidity.
 
"Hi, Alice." The musician said plainly, unwavering in her desire to remain cool and collected, determined that her tone not betray her. And Alice, of course, was tapping into her best journalistic instincts to garner some sort of read on where she stood with the blonde.
 
"Come in," she quickly offered, opening the door wider for Jules to enter. "Would you like a drink?" Again she made her best attempt at sounding light and cheery, but the tension quickly filling up the air between them seemed to get the best of her. "Coffee, tea…Absolute?" She let out a nervous laugh and kept her eyes glued on the back of the musician’s head, hoping that Jules would turn to face her so the chilly exterior she wore would soon melt away. 
 
"No thanks, I’m good." She finally turned around.
 
Alice nodded slowly, rocking back onto the balls of her feet while looking desperately back at Jules without a clue as to what to say next. For her part, the blonde made sure to limit any and all eye contact, feeling herself unable to stay focused on getting on with her life if she had the opportunity to stare into the deep, sultry pools of brown before her.
 
She cleared her throat suddenly and glanced down at her wristwatch. "So, what’s up Alice? Why’d you want to talk to me?" The query seemed cordial enough, but to Alice, the words were delivered as if dowsed in ice water.
 
The writer was taken aback by the blunt question. Surely she’d have more time to prepare a coherent answer than this. No doubt that by Alice’s watch there was about five more minutes of awkward small talk left before they had to delve right into the complicated stuff. She knew there must be some resentment lying underneath Jules’ somber exterior, but she hoped it wouldn’t be manifested so early on in their shaky encounter.
 
"I—uh…I…," Alice’s mind reeled with thoughts of what to say next. It seemed as if a million answers were simultaneously bombarding her, and yet, for the life of her, she couldn’t come up with one coherent thing to say. 
 
"Alice, listen. If you just invited me here today to make sure that I haven’t crawled into the fetal position and given up on life after you dumped me, then you can rest assured…," she paused to take a deep breath, "for the most part, I’m just fine."
 
Alice was dumbfounded. Surely the blonde didn’t think she was that selfish that she would just call her to ease her own conscience, could she? The writer shook her head with bemusement. "Jules, no! I mean, of course I’m glad to see that you’re okay, but I’m not that self-absorbed to think that you’d just give up on living because you and I didn’t work out." She searched the blonde’s eyes for some sort of recognition, but all she found was dubious suspicion. "Please, I know I can get a bit stuck in my own head sometimes, but I never thought your world revolved around me like that."
 
Jules hesitated for half a second before giving her a sideways glance and stating, the irony clear in her tone, "It could have you know."
 
Again Alice was at a loss for words. "Jules…," she trailed off, looking away to lessen the awkwardness.
 
The blonde took a step closer to Alice, closing most of the space between them. "I know. It’s over. Your heart belongs to someone else and always will." She declared the words as if her heart had been reciting it for a week’s time. And this was partly true in that every time she found herself growing weak and devising new ways to try to get the writer back, she forced herself to remember that Alice was never really hers to begin with. Despite the illogical part of her brain, which hoped against all odds and without abandon, that the writer would suddenly take her up in her arms and confide the she realized she’d been mistaken and that her heart actually belonged only to Jules, not Dana after all. It was a nice fantasy, of course. But the reality was painted all over Alice’s sullen face, which was only able to look down at the floor, as her guilt had disabled her from saying a word or even looking the blonde in the eye. 
 
"Right," the blonde smiled wrly, slowly giving Alice a once over while determining that this may have not been the best idea. "So I think I’m just gonna go before I say something we’ll both regret."
 
"Jules, wait." Alice faltered, reaching out and holding the blonde’s arm to stop her from opening the front door. "Please, I’m…I’m so sorry."
 
Jules sighed and garnered up enough resolve to look Alice in the eyes once more. This time she boldly reached out to touch Alice’s cheek, brushing the loose strand of hair away from Alice’s left eye and successfully tucking it behind the writer’s ear. She wanted to be able to take her hand away, but somehow it seemed to find its way back to the same cheek. "I know you’re sorry, Alice. And so am I…probably more than you’ll ever know." By this point a single tear was falling down the writer’s cheek as she watched Jules’ own eyes begin to well up. "But Alice," she began, "if I’m not the one you want to be with, why the hell am I the one who’s here?"