June

I have visions of you throwing this letter away, maybe not even opening it, just ripping it up once you see my handwriting on the front. Will you recognise my handwriting? I hope you do, and I hope you feel something other than bitterness when you think of me. It’s bittersweet to think of you. I wonder if my name still has negative connotations in your mind. It kills me to believe this might be so, when I remember all the times I watched you say my name and your face lit up.

I’m writing because I still care so much for you. You make an appearance in my mind in everything I do, no matter how menial the task. Everything was left unfinished, all up in the air, I can’t decide whether I’m waiting for you or if I should let go of you. Do you have the right to haunt my dreams? Or should you be unwelcome there?

I’ll be coming back to London for a project. I suppose while I’m there I can resolve the conflict in my mind, but I’ll need your help. My hand’s shaking while I write this. If there’s any chance for us, at all, please meet me at the café where we used to get breakfast on Sunday mornings, the one on the end of the high street. If you’re done with me, and you think I should move on, please don’t come. Don’t show up. I don’t think I could bear to see you just to hear you say no. 

My flight gets in next Friday, I’ll be at the café on Sunday at 10:30am.

June

No matter how many times Joe read the letter, he could not decipher his feelings. He couldn’t put it down. It had been written on a smooth, pale blue paper, her favourite colour. He wondered how long it had taken her to write this out. There were small doodles of flowers and scribbles down the margins, some of the black inked words had smudged on the right side of the page. He could picture her sitting at a desk, most likely dark wood if she had any say in it and a mess of things that didn’t belong on a desk. She would push them to the side so there was a gap to place the paper down flat, instead of cleaning them away. It was almost a fact that she would have made tea before settling down to write this letter. She’d set it down on a coaster to her right and chew on her pen in thought.

Joe frowned and gripped the paper so suddenly tight, it crumpled in his hand and slightly tore under his touch. He rubbed his forehead with his left hand and pushed his dark hair back, pulling on it slightly in frustration. He knew his infatuation with her was the reason they were in this situation in the first place. That he knew all the smallest and arguably insignificant details about her and her preferences killed him because they still dominated his mind even after what happened. And that was exactly why it happened. She consumed him. And he let her. 

In another rush of emotion he folded the letter more aggressively than needed and shoved it into the bottom draw of his desk, kicking it shut. 

Three months before that Sunday

“Don’t look at me like that,” Joe pleaded, his voice reduced to a whisper. Worn out from emotion, strained from yelling, tired with it all.

“Like what?” June wasn’t much louder. Her salty tears dripped over her lip as she spoke. She held her hands together so tightly her knuckles were white, nails sharply digging into her palm.

Joe didn’t reply right away. Though he wanted to fight against it, he couldn’t tear his eyes off of her. It hurt him to see her so upset but the memories that her presence brought with it hurt more, prevented him from closing the gap between them and holding her. He wanted to look away, but he also knew deep down that it might be the last time he saw her. He shook his head. 

“I can’t do this. I don’t know how many more ways I can say it. I miss her. I see her every time I look at you.” Slowly, like his body was finally giving up, he sunk to his knees. June rushed towards him, down to his level, made him flinch by the way she squeezed his forearms. 

“We’ll work through it,” she hiccuped then, emotion overwhelming her. “Please,” her puffy lip trembled. “Please, don’t give up on this.”

“I have to go.”

Two days before that Sunday

June popped a sweet into her mouth as the pilot announced they’d be making their descent into London. If this flight proved anything, it was that Joe was far more woven into her subconscious than she could have believed. She had put her music library on shuffle, songs she’d been listening to way before she even knew him. A potentially 13 hour long playlist, mostly reduced to the length of a 4 hour flight because she had to skip every song that reminded her of him. 

She had managed to secure a window seat. She peered into the darkness, the bright lights of a Friday evening in London shining through the thin clouds below her. The colleague she was travelling with for the project nudged her with her elbow. Raised eyebrows, a nod, small smile. You okay? June smiled gratefully, mouthed a yes, looked to the window and let her smile drop.

Almost a year before that Sunday

Joe turned when he heard a familiar voice cry, “catch me!” Very nearly dropping his oldest friend as she jumped into his tipsy arms. 

“I have finally brought along my favourite housemate for you to meet,” Emma slurred into his ear, and with a dramatic wave of her arm, revealed her housemate behind her. “This is June! June, this is Joe.”

It could have been the alcohol distorting his vision, but Joe could’ve sworn she was glowing.

“Nice to finally meet you. I can’t tell you how many times Emma will slip you into the conversation, I feel like I already know you,” June said, bumping her not-so-subtle friend with her shoulder. Emma feigned innocence, and then announced she had to talk to someone else and left them. Joe and June shared a look, a ‘that’s Emma’ look, and laughed. 

“So, what are you studying?” Joe asked, lamely.

“History. Don’t tell me,” she waved her fingers like she was summoning the spirits, “you’re studying...business?”

“Yes, that obvious?” She gave him a sly smile. “Of course. Emma told you.”

“Had you going for a minute though.” June glanced over Joe’s shoulder, towards the kitchen. “Want to keep me company as I get a drink?”

“What’s your poison?” Joe asked, weaving with her through the crowded house party. He could smell her perfume as he trailed behind and was surprised at how much it lured him in.

“Gin. Pink gin really, with lemonade, because clearly I’m not sweet enough already.” She flashed him a smile over her shoulder.

“Oh, you’ve ruined this thing before it even started,” he joked. She stopped and turned, reaching for a cup as she looked up at him.

“Let’s see if I can redeem myself, shall we?”

Ten months before that Sunday

Her eyes were bloodshot, the skin underneath shadowed by the lack of sleep she’d had recently. Fingernails bitten way too short on hands that shook almost all the time. In a hoodie that had stains on, and joggers too big, she sat in the corner of her bed surrounded by papers and pens and notepads full of messy notes. Joe found her furiously typing away on her laptop. 

She barely acknowledged him as he came in, but helped him move some papers over so he could perch on the bed too. 

“You might want to open a window once in a while,” he suggested. She pushed her glasses further up her nose and gave him a sideways glance, finally giving him some attention.

“Why?”

“Emma, it smells like stale coffee and sweat in here,” he said with a chuckle, but looked around the room with concern. Emma gave a hollow laugh.

“Time has got away from me a bit. Maybe it is time for a break,” she sniffed herself. “And a wash.” With a sigh she closed her laptop. “Nice of you to grace me with your presence. Surprised you didn’t make a beeline for June’s room,” she teased. He couldn’t stop the smile as he heard her name.

“You’re my best friend, I’m obviously here to see you.”

“Don’t worry, I’m kidding. I fully support this. She is just a big bundle of cuteness and sweetness and you deserve that. Don’t feel bad if I get swept under the rug a bit, lord knows I have enough work to occupy my time without you.”

“Well, what are you up to tonight?”

“Once I make enough of a dent in this essay I’m going out with Rebecca. It’s her birthday this weekend and she’s ready to go off the rails.”

“Haven’t you been out every night this week already?”

“Is that a tone of judgement?” Emma laughed. Joe tried to smile.

“A tone of concern.”

“Don’t worry,” she typed something like it just occurred to her, then refocused on Joe. “Got a bit of that good stuff to keep me energised at night, and coffee keeps me going during the day-”

“Where does sleep come into it?”

“Sleep is for the weak.” He didn’t return her grin. “I’m kidding! This week has just been hectic, I’ll settle down after these deadlines.”

Nine months before that Sunday

The sun was shining, the smell of roses floated on the gentle breeze. The good weather only heightened the sadness Emma felt. He would’ve loved the weather today. She held her aunt’s hand tightly, they leant on each other heavily. Her grandad, who stepped in as her primary caregiver when she was nine, had been ill for a while. It was inevitable, but knowing it was coming made it hurt no less when he was slowly lowered into the ground. 

Joe stayed close by her side the whole day. Noting how slender her shoulders felt when he hugged her, but putting it to the back of his mind for another day. June came to the wake, held Emma’s hand, fixed her a plate of food, squeezed her knee comfortingly when she got choked up again. 

“You guys are my best friends, truly.” Emma sniffed loudly and exhaled a deep, therapeutic breath. She mustered a small smile which her friends returned. 

“We’re here for you always, okay?” June told her, stroking her arm. 

“There’s nothing we wouldn’t do for you,” Joe agreed.

Emma nodded her thanks, and looked at them with eyes twinkling from unshed tears. “I’m so glad to have got you two together. You’re perfect.”

One day before that Sunday

Joe flipped through all the potential scenarios in his head. All the possible outcomes of him showing up, all the ways it could turn out if he doesn’t go. He even made a pros and cons list of seeing her again, which he ripped up and threw away, feeling even more unsure than before he wrote it. 

Was he angry at her? No, truthfully he was mad at himself. Did he project it on her? Yes, he’ll admit that, he’s had time to come to terms with that in the last few months and he does feel guilty about it. Is he ready, will he ever be ready, to see her again, and not see her? Despite the overwhelming feeling of dread and grief he gets when he thinks of her, he spent the morning on and off looking through his wardrobe, planning out what he might wear. She always loved me in red. She always loved me in blue. Even something as simple as picking clothes, he couldn’t get either of them out of his head.

Seven months before that Sunday

The old blanket was gently scratching June’s arm, the deck chair she was curled up in was digging into her hip, but she didn’t sit up straight. The arm around her, pulling her across into his warmth, was worth the slight pain. The misty rain was falling ever so slightly on her face, she could see the tiny droplets getting stuck on her eyelashes. The cool breeze touched her toes, so she tried to tuck them underneath herself further.

“I love being outside, in weather like this,” she smiled to herself as the rain fell a bit heavier, and took away another inch of their shelter.

“Do you know you say exactly the things that I’m thinking?”

“Purely coincidence.” June wiped her eyes on his shoulder and Joe kissed her forehead. “Do you know you’re always thinking the same as the things I say?” Joe’s shoulder jumped under her head with his laugh. The rain suddenly began lashing against the patio, splashing back up at them. June squealed with delight as the angle of the rain invaded their small sheltered area, and they scraped their chairs back. Thunder could be heard grumbling in the distance.

“I love storms!”

“You said exactly what I was thinking!” June teased. They stood up together and dashed for the safety of the back door, looking out at the storm from there. Joe squeezed her, pinning her to his chest. 

“I love you so much.”

Two months before that Sunday

June watched planes come and go for thirty minutes before she finally tore her gaze away from the window. She looked around the dreary gate, busy but not quite the hustle and bustle that will come later in the day. She looked at the screen. 4:50am flight to Athens, boarding at 4:30am. She looked at her watch. 4:28am. She was exhausted. Still struggling with her recent losses. Trying her best to be excited about where she was going, why she was going. She had been so thrilled to have landed a year long internship as a writer for an archaeological magazine in Greece. She had run to tell Joe as soon as she got the email three months ago. Now she felt deflated, lonely, just sad. Now boarding. She checked her phone once more, nothing, put it in her bag, took out her passport and boarding pass and wheeled her carryon suitcase towards the door.

Five months before that Sunday

“Joe, I’m not kidding, I need you to come over and kick this door in, she’s not answering me! I know she’s in there, she went in and locked the door an hour ago,” June gulped down a big breath of air. She banged on the door again. “Emma! Answer me!” 

Joe hung up. She tried to steady her shaky breaths. The music in Emma’s room was blaring, but there’s no way she wouldn’t be able to hear June yelling and bashing on the door. Waiting was excruciating, so she went downstairs and ran out the front door, eyeing up the outside wall, wondering if there was someway to shimmy up and get through Emma’s window. She put her hand to her forehead, took a breath. Please, let her have somehow fallen asleep to that music, let her just be sleeping. Just as she got a foot into a dent where a brick had fallen out, she heard Joe behind her.

“What are you doing?” he asked, coming through the gate, out of breath. He ran here.

“Nevermind, get upstairs, please!”

Heavy feet rushed up the stairs, June followed closely. Joe tried his luck yelling. Hitting the door with his fist. June whispered his name. He didn’t turn. Lifted his leg and kicked next to the handle. Again, again. The wood began splintering, he felt pain shoot up his calf. Finally, the door broke.

Four months before that Sunday

Joe stood at the top of the stairs. Frozen. Eyes glued to the door at his right. It hadn’t been opened in a week. He knew the room behind was empty now. He felt his chest constrict again, had to hold the wall and remember his breathing. The floorboard creaked. June’s door opened to his left. His heart broke. How many times had he looked into her green eyes, seen nothing but her, the love she had for him. Now he could only see Emma. Her deeper green eyes, shadowed by tired skin, pupils dilated by whatever it was she took to help her stay awake or help her sleep. He thought of June’s smile, thought of Emma and how many times she had described June’s smile to him, before they met. 

June looked at him sadly now, seemingly paler than usual, the black clothes didn’t help. He shifted uncomfortably in his suit. June came forward to take his hand. He flinched. She noticed but didn’t call him out. How many times had he said hello to Emma at her door and followed June into her bedroom. She said it was okay. She pushed for us to be together. She knew from the beginning she might get swept under the rug, forgotten. Joe told himself, told her, it wouldn’t happen. But June intoxicated him. He should’ve looked out for her better.

That Sunday

The bell rang above June’s head as she entered the cafe. She took a seat in the corner, back to the window, eyes to the door. Ordered a tea. Bounced her knee with nerves. Put her jacket on the chair next to her. Twenty minutes went by. She ordered another tea and a cookie. The mug grew empty. She read the same sentence in her book too many times. She put it away. The bell above the door of the cafe rang.