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Despite such visions, Florence claims she is “not, like, a mystic person”, and that any ghosts in her lyrics – and there are lots on this album – are purely metaphorical. “I think it comes from being a really scared kid. I was always a worrier and possessed by guilt which gives you the feeling of being haunted constantly. I think it just comes from being the eldest child and having a stupid, overdeveloped sense of responsibility for stuff where you worry about messing stuff up, and you strive to make yourself better constantly. It’s the stuff that follows you around in the back of your head – mistakes you made two years ago that suddenly creep up on you from dark corners when you’re asleep.”
“It’s gotta be weird, right?”
Juli glances to Jr. as he takes a seat, leaving one bar stool between them so as not to crowd her. “Many things are, these days, so you’ll have to be more specific.”
“Being here.” Jr. nods to Adonis and rests his elbow on the countertop, the leather of his jacket sleeve providing slight traction against its smooth surface. “With us. After fourteen, fifteen years.”
Juli waits for Jr. to look up, and when he doesn’t, she returns her attention to her drink and takes a sip of wine. “If you’d asked me a while back, I never would’ve expected it, although maybe I should have. Reunions have a funny way of coinciding with other events coming full circle.”
“Right. Like we never get to move on, ‘cause we all keep getting shoved back in each other’s faces. Ready or not, here it comes.”
Adonis sets a bottle in front of him—red ale, low ABV—and easily twists off the cap. Condensation clings to Jr.’s fingertips as he touches the glass.
“It’s possible the universe is telling us to all take a hint, already.” Juli follows the hesitance in his movements, utterly unlike his moments on the bridge or in battle. “I am going to adopt her, if you were worried.”
“Yeah?” Jr.’s head snaps up, suddenly far more alert than apprehensive. “Thank fuck.”
There’s still uncertainty in his face, worry over how to approach her, whether he’s said the wrong thing; she can tell, from past history and tone, that it’s spoken with genuine relief and no intended offense.
Juli smiles and raises her wine glass. “Let’s toast to that, then, shall we? Before your beer goes flat.”
He hasn’t touched it, aside from literally doing so, and nearly startles as he raises it to match her. She hasn’t seen him this skittish since he was twelve, fumbling through music lessons or fidgeting during the funeral. But then, she hasn’t seen him much at all.
Juli clinks her drink against his and takes another sip, lowers her eyes to avoid staring at him, instead watching his feet seek stability on the footrest of the bar stool as he swivels it with restless energy. “Helmer’s told me so much about you, over the years. Jan as well, even in the short while he’s known you.”
“Yeah, well.” Jr. smiles against the lip of the bottle, self-conscious. “Helmer may not be the man who made me, but he’s the one who made me who I am. He was there when it mattered.”
“That he was.” Juli sets her glass down on the countertop and looks into the liquid, as if scrying for inscrutable answers. “You know, after all you’ve been through, you have every right to be angry.”
“Okay, you’ve definitely been talking to Ziggy. He’s said the same thing to me.”
“Anger with past events is something you and I both seem to... I don’t know if ‘struggle with’ is the phrasing I want, exactly, but I’m sure you understand my frustration with these circumstances we find ourselves in.”
Jr. lifts his eyebrows in acknowledgement, and finally drinks from the bottle.
She’s careful to deliberately use their chosen names, and never their model designations. “Despite all that, or perhaps because of it, you and Gaignun have grown up to be capable, kind young men. Everyone involved in whatever capacity should count themselves fortunate to work with the Foundation. What you do is crucial for so many who have suffered so much.”
“The Life Recycling Act made tools of us all.” He huffs out a laugh at his own expense and puts the bottle back down a bit too heavily, to punctuate the statement. “Dunno how much gratitude I deserve from you, though. Wasn’t capable of saving her.”
Juli frowns, unsure of how to proceed, and the dread of resurfaced grief threads through her as he mimes raising a pistol to the side of his skull, shrugs at her, and twitches his hand to faux-fire the fingergun.
On an impulse she takes his hand, gently pulls it away from that gesture, and lowers it from his head.
“We always knew there were limited options with only a small chance of success; even with the way things happened, you helped me find peace in it. I knew we’d truly done everything we could. I had to try.”
Jr. stays quiet, listening, fingers stiff and reluctant to flex whatsoever.
“I could not be more proud of you for what you’ve done and who you’ve become, even if it may not be my place to say so. I don’t hold any of it against you.” She shakes her head and squeezes his hand. “I don’t think Sakura would, either.”
He winces, flinches, but doesn’t pull his hand away.
“Jr., I have never blamed you. You were a child! You did so much more than anyone ever should have asked of you.” She rubs her thumb over his knuckles, as if force of will alone could ease any of this through such simple contact. “I never should’ve asked so much of you boys.”
With his head hung, with his chin nearly to his chest, with his voice nearly inaudible: “I’m sorry I couldn’t save her.”
“Sweetheart, there’s nothing to apologize for.” She touches his hair at his temple, light and fleeting, a low-gravity landing for only an instant. “But if you need to hear it, I forgive you.”
“I just feel like such a fuck-up. This shit haunts me.” Jr. rubs at eyes, then his forehead. “I won’t forgive myself if I fail twice.”
She returns her hands to the countertop, to the stem of the wine glass. “I know.”
“She’s just a kid, like we were.” He hesitates before speaking, until he can control his tone enough to get the words out. “Please love her the same. Like she’s yours.”
Juli nods firmly, with the promise of a parent, not a politician. “Of course I will. She is.”
“Sorry.” Jr. shakes his head, tries to stabilize his speech, but still it comes out shaky. “Didn’t mean to get all… like this.”
“Hey.” Juli puts her hands on his shoulders to steady him and waits to speak until he meets her eyes. “You have so much to be proud of.”
Jr. takes a deep breath and lets it back out, closes his eyes and reopens them, and nods. “I’ll try to remember that.”
“You’ll always be a good kid in my book.” Juli squeezes his upper arms, then pats him twice on one shoulder. “I am so glad my daughters have known you. Anyone would be lucky to call you a friend.” She holds his gaze to impart meaning, with a wordless sincerity. “Try to be as kind to yourself as you are to so many others.”
“With friends like these, huh?” He blinks a few times, and attempts another smile. “I’ll try. I promise I’ll try.”
“Adonis, I think we could both use some water, please.” Juli smiles, conspiratorially, and inclines her head towards the bar. “I’ll have him put it on my tab.”
“When, uh. Back then, when she needed someone to speak on her behalf? Trapped in her own brain like that.” Jr. fishes for the right way to say it, and goes with good enough. “I was glad I could help her communicate with you. Even if it didn’t last long.”
“I was, too.” Juli sips from the water instead of the wine, and sets it down when she’s cleansed her palate. “Maybe you can pass along another message for me, then, if you don’t mind.”
“Sure, yeah. What is it?” He’s grateful for the glass, maybe moreso, and all but chugs from it to soothe his throat.
“Tell Gaignun I say hello, the next time you see him, and pass along my gratitude once again. It was difficult to find a spare moment to talk during the examination.” Juli watches Jr. as he gradually regains his composure, but doesn’t call attention to it anymore. “Please let him know I regret that I didn’t always return his calls last year.”
“I’ll tell him.” He grins genuinely, fondly. “Telepathy makes it easy, y’know?”
“I wouldn’t, but I believe you.” She smiles back, more subdued, but only slightly. “Thank you for your help.”
“Hey, no problem.” Jr. lifts his glass this time, and waits for her to meet him halfway. “Here’s to not shooting the messenger.”
With ambient light from the bar reflecting red and amber from their prior drinks, Juli taps her water glass to his as if signing a contract, as if submitting research for review, forever uncertain of the future but confident they’ve all made the best decisions with the information they’d had available at the time.