He Crossed the Ocean for Her, Never 90 Miles for Me Chapter 01

He Crossed the Ocean for Her, Never 90 Miles for Me Chapter 01

Three days before Valentine’s Day, Julian Mercer texted me.

Julian: [You’ll have to spend Valentine’s Day on your own this year. Something came up.]

There were only about ninety miles between New York City and where I lived. In eight years, he had never made the trip once.

I’d asked him nineteen times to come with me to the restaurant at the aquarium to see the whale exhibit. The twentieth time, I sat alone by the floor-to-ceiling windows while a server told me the story of the 52-hertz whale.

They called it the loneliest whale in the world. Every call it sent into the ocean went unanswered.

In that moment, I felt no different from it.

I still went to Julian’s office afterward, only for the receptionist to tell me, “Mr. Mercer is in London. He flies to London every week, without fail.”

I went to his apartment instead. In one of the bedroom drawers was a neat stack of printed flight itineraries.

Every one of them was for the same route: New York to London and back.

More than 3,400 miles. Eight years. Hundreds of trips.

That was when I finally understood. Ninety miles hadn’t been too far, and eight years hadn’t been too short.

He had simply never really heard me at all.

For someone else, he would cross the Atlantic again and again. For me, he couldn’t be bothered to travel ninety miles.

This time, I was done waiting.

…

After leaving Julian’s apartment, I walked into the middle of the square. A digital screen nearby had begun a countdown.

Couples were everywhere, leaning into each other, all of them looking happy. I felt like a forgotten extra in the background.

Three days earlier, I had wanted to surprise Julian. He was busy, and he always turned me down, but it was only a ninety-minute train ride. I figured I could go to him for once.

But I had forgotten that Julian didn’t do surprises. Or maybe the problem wasn’t surprises at all—maybe it was me.

I opened our message thread. It was just a long string of messages from me.

Me: [Your assistant said you went to London. Is that true?]

Me: [Are you hiding something from me?]

Me: [When are you coming back? I want to talk.]

Me: [Please text me when you see this. I’m worried about you.]

The most recent one had gone out two hours ago.

Me: [Happy Valentine’s Day. Where are you?]

There was no reply.

I gave a rueful laugh and locked my phone.

When I looked up, the countdown had reached ten. The whole crowd began counting in unison.

“Nine! Eight! Seven!”

Caught up in the noise, I found myself counting with them.

That was when I saw Julian.

He was across the square, about a hundred yards away, holding a girl close with his head bent toward her.

My heart clenched. I opened my mouth, but no sound came out.

The countdown reached three, then two, then one. Fireworks burst overhead. Everyone looked up.

I kept looking at him.

Then Julian’s gaze found mine through the crowd.

He didn’t look surprised. He looked at me like I was a stranger.

The girl in his arms noticed his attention had drifted and darted off playfully. Julian hesitated for a beat, then actually smiled and chased after her.

A moment later, he caught her hand, spun her around, and they started dancing.

I had known Julian for twenty-five years. Not once had he ever danced with me.

When we were kids, Mrs. Mercer used to make him practice ballroom dancing with me. He would rather hide for an entire afternoon than be my partner.

I’d always assumed he couldn’t dance.

The truth was, he had simply never wanted to dance with me.

A guitarist nearby slipped into a love song, as if on cue. Julian looked at her with a warmth I had never seen before.

People cheered them on. Phones came out to record them.

They looked perfect together.

I only wished Julian weren’t my boyfriend.

I watched them make their way toward me. Julian’s expression stayed perfectly calm, as if he intended to pretend we didn’t know each other.

But the girl spotted me first.

Her face lit up, and she hurried over. She threw her arms around me, her excitement completely genuine.

“Hi, Leah! I’m Caroline Avery. Just call me Caroline. I’m so glad we finally get to meet. You’re gorgeous!”

I stood there without returning the hug.

“You’re Leah, right? The girl Julian grew up with? He talks about you like family. He’s lucky to have a friend like you in his life.”

Julian came over without a word and steadied Caroline.

“Slow down. You know your blood sugar runs low. You were feeling sick just a few days ago.”

Caroline gave him a mock-annoyed look.

“I’m fine now. You should be worrying about Leah, not me. Look at what she’s wearing. Leah, aren’t you freezing?”

Only then did Julian look at me. His eyes rested on me for a second before sliding away.

“She’s fine. The cold doesn’t bother her. You’re the one who gets cold. Keep your coat on.”

I looked down. Somehow, it didn’t even hurt anymore.

Maybe after all these years, I’d gotten used to his coldness.

Caroline seemed to sense the tension.

“Leah, let’s go shopping! There are a bunch of cute little stores up ahead.”

Before I could say no, she was already pulling me along. Julian followed a few steps behind at an easy pace.

Caroline kept picking things out for me.

“This clip would look so cute on you!”

“You’d look amazing in this dress!”

She considered each one carefully, as if she knew my taste better than I did.

Finally, I asked, my throat dry, “Have you and Julian… been together long?”

She paused, then smiled.

“I wouldn’t say so. He’s just used to taking care of me. My health hasn’t been great, so he’s always keeping an eye on me.”

She said it like it was the most natural thing in the world.

I turned and saw Julian standing beside a rack of clothes, a scarf in his hands. He was frowning slightly as he tested the fabric between his fingers.

So this was who he could be.

He could remember that she got cold easily. He could take the time to choose something soft. He could do thoughtful things for her when she wasn’t even looking.

Caroline pulled me into a shoe store next.

A sales associate greeted us with a smile. “Hi! What sizes can I grab for you?”

Caroline had barely opened her mouth when Julian answered as if it were second nature.

“She’s a six and a half.”

He nodded in my direction. “I have no idea what size she wears. You’ll have to ask her.”

The air went still.

The sales associate’s professional smile faltered for a fraction of a second.

That was the moment I finally stopped lying to myself.

Julian knew Caroline wore a six and a half. He knew her perfume brand, her coat size, and the flavors she liked.

But Julian and I had grown up together.

He had never once asked about any of those things when it came to me. He had never cared enough to notice.

I caught the sales associate’s sympathetic glance.

“Just bring me the next size up.”

When Caroline went to try on another pair, Julian stood a few steps away, looking down at his phone. Under the store lights, his profile was almost unfairly handsome—and just as cold.

I walked over and said quietly, “Julian, let’s break up. You’re free now.”