Satellite Heart

Chapter 4 | Nightcall

A few hours earlier...

Juliette's POV

Knead, mix, shape into a sphere, repeat. Knead, mix, shape into a sphere, repeat.

Humming along to "On My Own" from Les Misérables, I carefully and robotically make little balls out of the chocolate chip cookie dough I whipped up. I decided I wanted to jazz things up a bit, so I added some pecans, hoping that the result will be both crunchy and soft. The perfect cookie, if there is even such thing.

It took me a while to find everything in the kitchen. It is hard to say if I forgot where all the things go, or if my dad had moved it all to a different spot. There was a certain unfamiliarity in a kitchen that had not really changed, like an old song you remember the tune of, but not the lyrics. I suppose this is how it feels to move back in your parents' house. Actually parent, singular. It didn't take long for Mum to move back to England after we had crossed the Atlantic. She always said it had nothing to do with my dad, Emma, or me, and that's true: It was all about Robert and how he needed her more than we needed her. This used to keep me up at night, but now it only invades my thoughts during the day if I let it. My very own Pandora's box.

"Oh no, come on, not Les Mis again!" I hear Em moan behind me. I hadn't realised she joined me in the kitchen. I chuckle, remembering how much she used to hate hearing me constantly sing at the top of my lungs. It would push me to do it even more, just to piss her off.

"Honestly though, why such a sad song Jules?" She half-asks, now closer to me, leaning on the counter top, one of her elbow touching my arm.

"I wouldn't say it's a sad song. Sure, Eponine sings about the love that she holds for Marius and how it is unrequited..." I take a moment to comb the bottom of the bowl with my fingers to make sure I got the last of it. Then I continue, a small smile forming on my lips. "... But there is a certain beauty in how she dedicated herself to him, until her very last breath. It's poetic"

I inspect the bowl for the last time with my hand, making sure I haven't forgotten anything, then go to reach the tap in order to wash my dough-covered fingers, when my little sister speaks "So what you're saying is, love is only worth living if it makes you sad and depressed?"

Although she's not mocking me, she definitely sounds sceptical. I pass my hand under the tap, now equipped with a motion detector. A pretty neat upgrade my Dad installed: for me but also because as a DIY-er that's the sort of things he loves doing around the house.

I take a deep breath, and ask her "Before I answer that, can you grab some cling film for me so I can cover these cookie dough balls?" I had presumed it would be near the stove in one of the drawers, like it used to be, but my search was unsuccessful. I hear some shuffling beside me, before Emma exclaims "I don't think there is any, actually. Just put it in the fridge like that, what's the worst that could happen?"

After this is done, I untie my hair from the bun I had trapped my hair in while baking and sit back down at the table. "And to answer what you just said: there's nothing wrong with a nice love story, free of drama and complications. But when I read a book or listen to a song, I want some hardships, some drama, for things to not always go the way we want it to go. It's way more entertaining, don't you think?"

I put my hands on top of the old round oak table, tapping my fingers to the rhythm of the song still stuck in my head. I hear the foot of the chair beside me screeching, indicating that Em is sitting down next to me. A few seconds pass before her hand grabs mine, and she responds "I think you idealise the bad side of romance and it's not good."