“What do you mean you’re leaving?” Layla asks, dropping her fork to her plate.

It feels like every person walking past our table on the sidewalk is now listening to our conversation.

“I’m moving,” I say, much quieter than her, hoping she takes my cue.

“Where?” Mia asks, confusion all over her face.

“Back to Middletown? I don’t really know. Haven’t thought it through that far.” I cast my gaze to my lap, fidgeting with my napkin, avoiding their glares. I didn’t think this through that far either. I knew Layla wouldn’t be happy about me moving, but I didn’t consider Mia being on her side. “Just not here.”

“Why would you want to do that, Harper?” Layla slips her hand across the table, getting me to look back up at her. “What’s in Middletown that’s worth moving back for?” I shrug because the answer is nothing, but I don’t know where else to go.

“I get that you moved here for your mom and she shit all over that,” Mia says. “But that doesn’t mean you have to leave.”

“It’s expensive to live here. I’m barely making it,” I tell them.

The three of us sit in silence for a moment. They know it’s the truth. They can’t tell me to find cheaper housing because let’s face it, I live in a closet above a Chinese restaurant. How much cheaper can you get?

“Maybe you could get a second job?” Mia suggests. “I have a friend who owns a fabric store not far from the library.”

I nod. “I’ve thought about that, but…”

“But what?” Layla interjects. “You can come up with all the excuses you want, but we’re gonna call bullshit.”

“I don’t want to live in my apartment anymore.”

“Did Mr. Chan piss you off?” Layla asks with a laugh.

“No,” I say with a smile.

“Did you just realize what a shit hole it is?” Mia asks.

I laugh, but the humor isn’t there. “Not exactly.”

“Then what?” Layla demands.

“Remember that guy I told you about?”

“Coffee date?” Mia asks.

“Yeah.”

“What about him?” Layla sits back in her chair and crosses her arms, and I know it’s time to come clean, so I do. I tell them every sordid detail.

When I’m finished, Mia has a twisted smile on her face, and Layla’s eyes are locked on me. Finally, Layla lets out a scoff and shakes her head. “So, you stalked him?”

“It wasn’t like that. Not at first. I just...wanted him?” I’m not sure how to explain it, and my face heats up with the embarrassment of admitting my actions and feelings.

“Wow,” Mia says. “This is like soap opera shit.”

Part of me wishes I could let them into my brain and make them understand, but the other part is selfish and wants to keep certain things about Luke to myself. They’re my memories, and that’s all I have left of him.

“I guess,” I reply. “I didn’t mean to cause him any trouble. And continuing to live that close to him is torture. I just want out.”

“I get it.” Mia nods her head. “You need some distance.”

“Yeah. I’ve gotta get my head on straight, and there’s no way I can do that living where I am.” The temptation alone would drive me insane.

“Move in with Connor and me,” Layla suggests. “We have a spare bedroom.”

“I’m not freeloading off you and Connor.” I shake my head and roll my eyes at the suggestion, because it’s crazy.

“I’ll charge you rent.”

“It’d be a good change of location,” Mia says. “Plus, we’d all live within a few blocks of each other. It’d be great.”

I let out a deep breath, still not knowing what the hell I’m doing, but something about Layla’s offer feels right. Since I don’t really have any other options and I never wanted to move back to Middletown, I finally nod my head. “Okay, but I’m paying for my share of the groceries, too. And you can’t mother me.” I give her a warning stare.

Her hands go up in surrender. “Fine, no curfew.”

I roll my eyes at her again and laugh. “I can’t believe I’m doing this.”

For the first time in over a week, the clouds above me don’t feel so dark.

I still miss him.

And I’m still sorry.

But I’m moving on.

§

The three boxes stacked beside the door are mostly full of books and a few odds and ends I’ve accumulated. My clothes fit in the two duffel bags I used when I moved here, and my bed is disassembled and leaning against the wall. I’m leaving the small table and chairs and the makeshift bookshelf. Mr. Chan said he would find someone who needs them or put them in the basement. Kyle and Connor are going to be here in an hour to move my things.

The box sitting beside me contains the two items I found when I moved in: the book and the binoculars. Part of me wants to take them with me, but the other part knows I need to leave them behind, along with him. I thought about walking the box down to Mr. Chan, so I won’t be tempted at the last minute, but I decide to leave the box right where I found it.

As I sit on the bare floor of the now empty room, it takes on a completely different feel. Without my few belongings, it feels foreign, but maybe it’s more than that. Maybe it feels so different because the fantasy I allowed myself to dream about while I’ve lived here is gone. I take a deep breath and let it out, watching the dust particles float through the air, reflecting the sunlight coming through the window.

A knock at the door pulls me from my thoughts.

“Harper?”

“Come in,” I call from my spot on the floor as I push myself up.

“You ready?” Connor asks, peeking his head in the door.

“Yeah.” I dust my hands off on my jeans, taking one last look around the room.

“Is this it?” He points to the stack of boxes and my two bags.

“Yeah, and my bed.”

“Okay.” He nods, checking out the space. “Damn, this place is tiny.”

“Don’t start. I’ve heard enough about what a shit hole it is from Mia and Layla.”

He laughs and shakes his head. “I can imagine.” He takes one of the boxes off the stack. “I’ll carry this one down, and then Kyle should be here. We can probably get all this in one load.”

“Okay.” I grab one of the duffle bags and follow him down the stairs.

Thirty minutes later, all my things are packed into the truck. I stop Connor before he gets in the driver’s seat. “Do you mind waiting a few more minutes? I need to turn in my key and say goodbye to Mr. Chan.”

“Sure, Harper. No problem.” His smile is genuine, and I’m reminded of how fortunate I am to have such great friends in my life.

As I get closer to the restaurant’s door, my feet start dragging. I hate goodbyes, and this is one of three I’ve had to endure lately. Although I technically didn’t tell Sadie goodbye, in my mind and in my heart, I did. We’re not doing either of us any good right now, and we need to keep our distance. Watching Luke walk away from me and then later cover his window hurt me like nothing I’ve ever experienced, but I accepted it because I deserved it. Now, I’m leaving the man who has looked over me like a grandfather since I moved to the city.

When I step inside, Mr. Chan is busy and doesn’t look up at me. I walk to the end of the counter and gently set my key down.

He stops his work but keeps his head down. “Are you sure this is good idea, Harper?”

“Yes, Mr. Chan. I need to move, but I won’t be far. I can visit you, if you’d like.”

“Every Wednesday, seven o’clock, you come here for food. No argument.”

I can’t help but smile at the generous man and accept his demands. “Yes, sir. I’ll be here. Thank you, Mr. Chan...for everything.”

He finally looks up at me and gives me a single nod of his head. “You’re a good girl. Now, go. Damn onions make my eyes water.”

“Okay. Bye, Mr. Chan.” I back away from the counter after glancing at his chopping board and seeing that it does not have onions anywhere near it. I’m going to miss him so much.

“See you Wednesday, Harper,” he calls out as I reach the door.

“I wouldn’t miss it,” I tell him before letting the door close behind me and heading off to Layla’s.

§

Later, after unloading and unpacking my few bags and belongings, Layla and I are sitting on my bed, relaxing and sharing a pitcher of mojitos.

“I’m so glad you’re here, Harper.”

“I don’t want to wear out my welcome, Layla. When you’re tired of me, tell me. Promise?”

She rolls her eyes at me. “Whatever. It just makes sense. You need a place to stay, and we have room. If we didn’t have room, I’d make you share a bed with me and Connor!”

I’m laughing but can’t quite cover the look of horror on my face at that particular mental image. This is why friends shouldn’t share intimate details of their sex lives.

Layla just laughs harder. “Hey, it’d be better than going back to Middletown!”

I stop laughing and let out a deep sigh. “Would it, really?”

“Fuck, yes, Harper. If you go back, you’ll still be the sad girl whose dad died. You’ll still be the daughter of a junkie. But even worse, you’ll now also be the girl who couldn’t hack it in the city, who couldn’t make a life for herself and is stuck living in the past.”

Even though I know she’s right, I don’t say anything, choosing instead to crush the mint leaves in my drink with my straw and watch the tiny bits float around in my glass.

“But if you stay here,” she continues in a softer tone, “you can be whoever the hell you want to be. You can reinvent yourself every day until you find you. There’s a freedom here that you can’t have in Middletown. You can hide if you want to, but I’m really hoping you’ll embrace this new start and finally start living.”

“Sometimes I wonder if I even know how to do that.”

“You do. I remember the girl who used to daydream about getting the hell out of Middletown. You’re still that girl. I see her.”

I look at Layla, really look at her, and it’s funny because I can still see the girl who understood me, who had a similar life to mine, similar struggles...my best friend. The fact that she still sees me gives me hope that maybe I can find myself.

“Thanks for seeing her.”

She leans over and kisses my cheek. “You see her too.”

We sit there for a few minutes, sipping the last of our mojitos, staring out at the city below. Layla and Connor have a nice view, but it’s not...Stop, Harper.

“Maybe you’ll meet a nice guy,” she says after a moment of silence.

“I think I’ll give that a rest for a while.”

“One day, you’ll meet the perfect one when you least expect it, and he’ll sweep you off your feet. You won’t know what hit you.” Layla gets a dreamy look in her eyes as she leans over, resting her head in her hand. “Your Connor is out there,” she says wistfully.

“I don’t know about that.” I shake my head, laughing humorlessly at myself. “Maybe I’m defunct. I mean, look who I came from. What if I end up like her?” I don’t know if it’s being in Layla’s company or the pitcher of mojitos, but I let my biggest fear breathe life. I give it wings and let it fly out of my mouth and into the inky night sky. “I don’t want that, Layla. I don’t want to be like her.”

“You’re not. You never could be.”

“How do you know?”

“I told you. I see you. I know who you are, Harper Evans, and you are not Sadie. You are so much like your dad,” she says, her hand resting on mine. “He’d be really proud of you, you know.”

I wipe a tear away and smile weakly. “I miss him so much.”

“Yeah, I know.”

“He was so good. His only fault in life was loving her.” I laugh. “I guess I am like him.”

“You can’t help that, and neither could he, but you have a chance to be happy in life, leave all of that shit behind. He would want you to take it. You’ve done all you can do. It’s okay to let go.”

I nod and let more tears fall, leaning over on Layla’s shoulder, absorbing her words and her acceptance. It feels good to not be alone.

§

“You wanna stop for a coffee on the way to work?” Layla asks, peeking her head in my door.

“Sure.” I just finished getting dressed, so I step into my flats and grab my bag.

On our way down the sidewalk, I pull my damp hair back and twist it around into a bun.

“Damn, it’s hot,” Layla groans. “Only seven in the morning, and it already feels so humid.”

“I know. I guess that’s the joy of August. I think Mother Nature does it on purpose, makes us beg for cooler weather. Then, by December, we’ll already be bitching and complaining about the cold.”

“She must hate us.”

We’re both laughing as we step into the coffee shop, our new regular stop on the way to work, or my new regular. Layla has been coming here for a while. This new change of scenery is good for me, but I do miss seeing Mr. Chan every morning on my way out the door. I’ve kept my promise and been by for dinner the last two Wednesdays.

I thought it might be a bad idea, being that close to Luke’s apartment and all. The first Wednesday was a little weird, but the second I saw Mr. Chan and he greeted me in his familiar way, all the weirdness left. Last Wednesday, I ended up staying over two hours and helping him clean up a little before I left. He told me if I kept it up, he’d have to pay me, which is crazy. I owe him so much. He has no idea.

“Two lattes?” the friendly girl behind the counter asks.

“Yep,” Layla answers. “And it’s on me this morning.”

“No, you paid yesterday.” I put my five-dollar bill down on the counter, not leaving any room for argument. Layla and Connor both drive me crazy with not letting me pay for things. The truth is, I’m doing so much better financially. Staying with them is saving me two hundred dollars a month in rent, so I don’t need her buying my damn coffee.

“No,” Layla says forcefully. “You,” she continues, taking the money and shoving it into my bag, “bought everything to make tacos last night, so coffee is on me.”

“Whatever.” I roll my eyes and walk to the end of the counter to wait on our order. She’s impossible sometimes.

“So, are you still thinking about taking that part-time job at the clothing store?” Layla asks, grabbing sugar packets and stirrers and sticking them in her bag.

“Yeah, I think it’d be a great way to make some extra money. I can’t live in your spare bedroom forever.”

“You’ve only been there three weeks. Stop trying to leave me so soon.”

I laugh and grab my coffee off the counter. “You’re going to get tired of me. I promise.”

Layla loops her arm in mine, and we start off down the sidewalk toward the library. Just before we get to the front doors, my phone rings in my bag and startles me. It hardly ever rings anymore now that I live with Layla and see Mia all the time...and Wyatt finally quit calling and texting.

“Hello?” I say, pressing the phone to my ear, trying not to spill my coffee.

“Yes, I’m calling for Harper Evans,” the lady on the other end says.

“This is she.”

“Ms. Evans, this is Fremont Rehabilitation. Can you say your identification code, please?”

Great. Sadie’s facility is calling, and they won’t give me any information unless I say the code number I was given when she was admitted. Part of me wants to claim they have the wrong number and hang up, but I won’t. It has to be important if they’re reaching out to me, right?

“E-V-A-N-five-eight-three-six.”

“Thank you. We’re calling to let you know your mother, Sadie Evans, has been moved to a halfway house.”

“Okay.” I don’t know what she expects me to say, but that’s all I’ve got. I don’t care. They could send her to the moon, and it’d be fine by me.

“You, uh, don’t need to do anything,” she says, stumbling over her words a bit, probably expecting more of a response from me. “It’s just our requirement to notify the next of kin. I can give you the telephone number and address of the house, if you’d like.”

“No thanks.”

I hang up, not giving her a chance to say anything else. I don’t want to know where they’re sending her. I’m afraid I’ll cave and go to her, and I don’t want that. She doesn’t get to make me feel bad about my life anymore. She doesn’t get to make me feel sad and helpless. She can continue being the martyr, but I’m done being the victim.