Harper

“Fremont Rehabilitation. How can I direct your call?”

“Uh, this is Harper Evans. I’m calling to speak with Sadie Evans.”

“Identification number, please.”

I give her the number and wait. The elevator music is practically putting me to sleep when she finally comes back on the line.

“Mrs. Evans is not taking phone calls at this time.”

“Oh...uh, okay. Well, can you tell her that her daughter called?”

“I can leave a message with her counselor.”

“Thank you.”

I hang up and sit down on the step outside of the library. Did she choose to reject my call? I called once last week, and they told me she couldn’t have calls until she was moved to a regular room, which would happen this week. I guess I could go see her, but I’m not sure if I want to. I just want to make sure she’s okay. Does that even matter anymore? I don’t know. Letting out a sigh, I stand and walk back into the library.

“You look like you just spilled your latte,” Mia says as I sit in the chair beside her at the front desk. “What’s up?”

“Nothing,” I say, shaking my head. “Just tried to call and check on Sadie, but she wouldn’t take my call.”

“Her loss.”

“Yeah.”

“Seriously, Harper. You’ve gone above and beyond for that woman.”

I begin working on a stack of books that need to be scanned. I don’t expect Mia to understand. Hell, I don’t even understand. I’ve let the guilt go, or I’m trying, but it doesn’t mean I don’t care. For all the same messed up reasons as before, one of those being the fact that she’s still my mother, I need to know she’s okay.

So, what’s up with you and your love triangle?” Mia asks without looking up from her work.

“It’s not a love triangle.” I snort, shaking my head, because it is so not a love triangle. There’s no love involved. No one has said anything about love except Luke, when he alluded to the fact that he was falling for me.

Was. Past tense.

“Okay,” Mia says, sliding her glasses to the top of her head and swiveling around in her chair. “How are you dealing with Luke being back in the picture? Are you still seeing Anton? Do they know about each other?” She arches one of her well-groomed eyebrows and crosses her arms over her well-endowed chest, waiting for me to answer.

“Luke and I are talking. Or... we talked. He wanted a chance to explain his actions, so I listened. We both apologized for the shit we did and the damage we caused, and that’s it.” With an exhale, I lean back in my chair before continuing. “Anton is a good friend. And no, they don’t know about each other. Well, Luke did overhear a call I took from Anton, but that’s it.”

“So, you were starting to have feelings for Anton, and you’ve never stopped having feelings for Luke. Am I right?” she asks.

“Yeah, I guess.”

“So, you’re going to have to decide what it is you want...or who, rather.”

I turn back around and busy myself with books. I know Mia is right, but honestly, I’m not used to having a choice. And is it really my choice? I don’t even know if Luke still feels the way he once did. During our conversation, all he said was that he was falling for me and that he wanted another chance, but that could just be a chance at friendship.

And Anton...I don’t know. I like being around him, and he makes me feel better, but I don’t know if that’s enough.

Do I love him?

No.

Could I love him?

I don’t know.

Do I love Luke?

No.

Could I love Luke?

Yes.

I don’t even have to think about it. That answer is yes.

§

On my way to Mr. Chan’s, I feel a few flutters in my stomach when I think about Luke possibly being there. He didn’t say he’d come this week. But he knows I’ll be there, so I guess I’m hoping he’ll come. Okay, no guessing about it...I’m hoping he’ll come.

When I get to the corner where I can see his building, for the briefest moment, I glance up. I can’t see his floor from here. The building between his and Mr. Chan’s blocks my view, but I wonder if he’s there.

The light turns green, so I hurry across the street and into the restaurant. As I open the door, I scan the room, looking for the mess of dark hair, but it’s not there. Not at the small table by the window. Not at the counter.

There’s a man and a woman sitting at the table closest to the door and a guy ordering, but that’s it.

My heart sinks a little.

“Come in, Harper,” Mr. Chan demands from behind the counter. “You let heat out.”

“Sorry,” I call out, letting the door close behind me. I didn’t realize I was still holding it open.

“You need soup today,” he says, scooping up a bowl without asking.

“Yes,” I tell him, smiling at his old man ways—always so bossy, saying exactly what he’s thinking. “It’s freezing out there.”

“You need gloves.”

Now that he mentions it, my hands feel like ice cubes. It turned cold so fast I haven’t had a chance to dig through my box and look for the old black pair I’ve always used. I blow on my hands to warm them up.

“You need hot tea too.” He hands me a tray with a bowl of soup, extra wontons, and a piping hot cup of tea.

“Thank you, Mr. Chan.”

He smiles. “How’s classes?”

“Good,” I tell him, remembering the sheet I printed out from my computer. I pull it out of my bag and hand it over to him. “All A’s. See?”

His round cheeks push up to his eyes, nearly closing them all the way, and his mouth twists into a tight smile. He pauses for a moment, looking over the paper. “Very good, Harper.” Mr. Chan nods. “Very good.”

“Thanks.” I can’t hide the smile. It feels good. The first nine weeks were a hard adjustment, but these grades prove that hard work pays off.

I sit down in my usual spot and begin eating my soup. It’s hard for me not to dwell on the fact that Luke didn’t show, but maybe he had things to do...or maybe he forgot.

After I finish eating, I pull out a book and begin reading. Lately, I’ve had so much school work that I haven’t been able to read for the fun of it. So I decided to reward myself for my good grades by bringing a book instead of school work to Mr. Chan’s.

I’m lost in prose when a figure standing close to the window catches my eye.

I do a double take, realizing Luke is standing there, watching me.

He smiles.

I smile.

He motions with his head for me to come out.

I look around and see that the restaurant is empty. It’s already dark outside. Mr. Chan is whistling while he cleans in the kitchen, and I feel bad for leaving him. I usually stay to help clean up. Gathering my bowl and mug, I pick the tray up and carry it to the counter. “Mr. Chan,” I call out.

“Just leave it on counter.”

“Do you need some help tonight?”

“No, too late. You hurry home,” he says, peeking his head around the corner. “See you next Wednesday.”

“Okay.”

He goes back to cleaning, and I go back for my book and my bag.

Luke is still standing outside the window when I walk out the door.

“Are you stalking me?” The words are out before I even have a chance to think about what I’m saying. I cover my mouth with my hand, and my eyes grow wide.

Luke’s face cracks into a wide smile, and then he’s laughing so hard his head is thrown back, exposing his neck. I laugh too, uncontrollably.

“I’m sorry,” I finally manage to say. “I...I didn’t mean it like…”

“The look on your face,” Luke huffs out a final laugh. “Cutest damn thing I’ve ever seen.”

“Sometimes, I wish I could take the words that leave my mouth and cram them back inside.”

“Please don’t.” He shakes his head and wipes his watery eyes. “I love the way you say things without thinking.”

I clear my throat and bite down on my lip to keep from smiling. “Yeah, well, it makes me look like an idiot sometimes.”

“Who cares?” His eyes narrow in on me and I feel my stomach flip. He smiles, but this time it’s different. It’s like he’s smiling just because he’s really happy. It’s one of those smiles people give when they’re in the exact place they want to be.

“Yeah, who cares?” I reply a little breathless. Luke has always had this effect on me.

“Can I walk you home?”

“What? No, you don’t want to do that. It’s a long walk.”

He locks me in with his gaze, before replying. “That’s okay. I’ve got time.” The words are slow and intentional.

“Okay,” I tell him. I want to say more, but okay will have to do for now.

We walk down the sidewalk, leaving a few inches between us, except for when a group of guys crowds us and forces us into each other. Luke’s hand goes to the small of my back, and even through my jacket, I can feel the heat from his touch.

Once we’re on a less crowded portion of the street, we begin making small talk about the weather and people we pass. It reminds me of how easy it is to talk to Luke, and I’m grateful he’s here.

“This is the boutique I work at on Tuesday and Thursday evenings,” I say as we pass by Mrs. Jackson’s.

“You have two jobs?” he asks, pausing to look inside the window.

“Yeah, living in the city isn’t cheap. And I’m trying to save money for my own place one of these days. I can’t live with my friends forever.”

“So, that’s where you moved?” he asks, and I realize there’s a lot he doesn’t know—people he doesn’t know. I want him to know them.

“Yeah, Layla and Connor gave me a sweet deal on a bedroom.” I look over at him and smile.

Luke looks back at me with a smirk. “Look at you, Harper Evans...working two jobs, going to school.”

“Yeah,” I sigh, thinking about stopping there, but continuing. “I thought about leaving, you know.”

It takes me a second to realize that Luke has stopped in the middle of the sidewalk. I turn around to see him standing there with a somewhat shocked expression on his face.

“What?” he asks, looking at me intensely.

“Yeah, um...After what happened at the therapy session, and then that day at the church...I just felt like my life was out of control, and I didn’t know how to take it back. I wanted out...of everything—the city, my life.”

“But you stayed. What made you change your mind?”

“My friends, Layla and Mia. They convinced me to stay; that there wasn’t anything left for me back home. They were right.”

“I’m glad you stayed,” he says with relief evident in his tone.

“Me too.”

We begin walking again, and I suddenly feel the need to tell him about Anton, due to the new ‘No Secrets Policy’ and all. But I don’t know how to tell him without sounding stupid. I just want him to know. I don’t want to be on this path of reconciliation and make a mistake before we can even get very far.

“I’ve been seeing someone.”

Luke slows but doesn’t stop, and I watch him from my peripheral vision, trying to gauge his reaction. I swear I didn’t just blurt that out to get a response from him, but damn if I’m not feeling a surge of hopefulness by the way his jaw tightens.

He shoves his hands down into the pockets of his jeans and continues to walk a slow, steady pace beside me.

“That’s good, Harper,” he finally says. The same tightness I can see in his jaw reflects in his voice.

He’s trying.

“His name is Anton.”

We’re trying.

We don’t talk much after that admission. We just walk. And when we get to Layla and Connor’s apartment building, I slow to a stop, letting him know we’ve arrived.

“Thank you for walking me home.” Thank you for showing up tonight. Thank you for being here...for making an effort. Thank you.

“Thank you for letting me.”

I smile and pull my jacket tighter. Let him...It sounds so funny. There was a time I would’ve begged him.

“Would you meet me for dinner tomorrow night?” he asks. “As friends, of course.” The twinkle in his eye and the smirk on his lips nearly force me into a trance. I’m almost ready to say yes when I realize what day it is.

“I can’t.” It’s abrupt, and his expression shifts. “I work. On Thursday nights, I work.”

“Oh, right. The boutique.” He nods and takes a deep breath. “Well, I guess I’ll see you around, then.”

“Yeah, I’ll see ya around.”

He backs away, hands still in his pockets, smirk back on his lips, and I watch him until he gets to the corner.

I watch him take a deep breath.

I watch a silent word pass his lips as he shakes his head and finally turns around.

When I can no longer see his retreating form, I make my way up the steps and into the building.

§

As I walk through the store, running the feather duster over shelves and racks, I can’t help thinking about Luke and the fact that he’s probably at Mr. Chan’s right now eating dinner. I wish I could be there with him—just as friends, of course. I’ve missed his company...missed talking to him and feeling like there’s somebody who really understands me. I’ve missed him.

The chime on the door and the cool breeze that follows bring me out of my thoughts. A lady in a bright blue trench coat and matching gloves walks into the store. Her dark hair is sleek and short, setting off her olive complexion and deep brown eyes. She’s beautiful.

“Can I help you?” I ask, setting the duster behind the counter and meeting her in the middle of the store.

“I’m Chelsea Bertolini,” she says, taking her gloves off and tucking them into the pocket of her coat. “I believe you know my son.”

Of course.

“Anton.”

“Yes, Anton.” I can tell by the way she says his name that he hung the moon and stars in her world. The couple of times Anton has spoken of his mom, it’s been with nothing less than the utmost respect and admiration. The fact that she’s here, in the store—alone with me—makes me nervous. Making good first impressions isn’t really my strong suit, especially with someone like her—crisp lines, color coordinated everything, not to mention the mother of someone I’m...what? Interested in? Seeing? What are we exactly?

“It’s so nice to meet you,” I tell her.

“Likewise, dear.” She leans in and squeezes my shoulders, placing air kisses on both sides of my cheeks. “I’ve been telling Anton he needs to bring you home so I can meet you properly, but apparently you’re a very busy girl.”

I blush, feeling like I already have a strike against me, and I’ve only just met her. “Uh, well, I am working two jobs and taking a full load of courses.”

“So I hear. How much longer do you have before you graduate?”

“Oh, I just started. I’m taking my gen ed courses through City College.”

“I see. Do you know what you’d like your major to be?”

I feel like this is the Spanish Inquisition, and there’s no one here to rescue me.

“Maybe something in Literature or English?” I really don’t know. I know a few things I’d like to do, but I’m crossing that bridge when I get there.

She hums and begins to peruse the racks. I know she’s a regular, but she’s never been in here on the evenings I work. “Anton will be by in a little while. He’s taking me out for dinner. I just closed on a seventy-million-dollar real estate deal.”

Seventy? Did she say seventy million? As in real dollars?

“Wow.” I try to keep my voice even and not show my shock, but it’s damn hard because seventy million dollars. “Congratulations. That’s amazing.”

“Have you ever thought about going into real estate?”

I know that’s what Anton does. He’s told me a little about his job, but we usually tend to stick to topics we both enjoy, like coffee, books, and music. I didn’t realize real estate was a family business.

“No...No, I’ve never thought about real estate.”

“Anton’s father worked for Sotheby’s.” She says that like I’m supposed to know what or who that is, but I don’t.

One thing Anton and I have in common is that both of our fathers have passed away. His died from a heart attack at seventy-eight. Mine died in a car accident at thirty-eight. There’s a fifteen-year age difference between his mother and father.

Even in our similarity, there’s difference.

About that time, the bell above the door chimes again, and in walks Anton with a bright smile on his face.

“I see you two have finally met.” He walks over to his mother and kisses her cheek, and she kisses his back.

“Harper, sweetie. Do me a favor and bag these up. I’ll send my driver over tomorrow to pick them up for me. Just put them on my account.” She picks half a dozen things haphazardly off the rack and practically throws them into my arms. “It was lovely meeting you, and I look forward to seeing you again. Anton, darling, I’ll wait for you in the car.”

He smiles at her and nods. I can’t help but wonder if I’ve been set up somehow, like Anton planned this whole encounter.

“It was nice meeting you as well,” I say a bit robotically, trying to wrap my head around the whirlwind that is Chelsea Bertolini. I place the items on the counter and feel Anton walk up behind me. When the door chimes with his mother’s departure, he leans in and brushes his lips against my cheek.

I turn my face, and he’s only inches away. “She wants you to come for dinner this weekend.”

“Okay.” His proximity forces me into agreeing with him before I can think about what exactly I’m agreeing to.

“Yeah?” he asks, backing up and raising his eyebrows in question.

“Yeah.” I lean against the counter, and he places his hands on either side of me.

“Thank you.” He smiles brighter and leans his forehead into mine. “This will make her very happy.”

“And what about you?” I ask, trying to figure him out.

“It’ll make me happy too.”

“Good.” I smile and nod, but inside, I wonder if she’d really be happy if she knew everything about me. Something tells me Chelsea Bertolini has a very specific idea of who Anton should be with, and I’m not sure if that person is me.

§

On Sunday evening, I’m standing in my bathroom, overanalyzing the outfit I borrowed from Layla. I only have a few dresses that I wear during the summer, so she loaned me a deep purple sweater dress, black tights, and heels.

My phone buzzes on the counter, and I pick it up to see a message from Anton.

Anton: My appointment is running late. Can you take a taxi there, and I’ll drive you home?

The plan was that he would swing by to pick me up after the appointment he had this afternoon. His mother lives uptown, and it would take me forever to get there on the bus. Not to mention, there is no way I’m walking very far in these shoes.

Me: Yeah, that’s fine. Just let me know the address, and I’ll meet you.

A minute later, the address comes through, and I take a deep breath before putting on my jacket and grabbing my purse. It doesn’t go with what I’m wearing, but it’s the only one I have, so it’ll have to do.

“Have fun,” Layla calls out as I walk out the door.

On the ride over, I think about the interaction with Anton’s mom the other day in the store and try to think of things to talk to her about, imagining how the evening will go.

Fortunately, when the driver stops and lets me out near the curb, Anton is there waiting for me, which is good, because I had no plans of going up without him.

He smiles and immediately apologizes for not picking me up. After handing the driver money through the window, he takes my hand and pulls me to him. “Thanks so much for doing this.”

“I’m happy to...really.” I think I’m still trying to convince myself when he bends down and places his lips on mine. There’s no rush, no intensity. It’s nice and soft.

He lingers for a moment and then pulls back and continues walking toward the door, where a man greets him by name. He opens the door for us and ushers us into what looks like a hotel.

Maybe his mother lives in a hotel?

On the ride up the elevator, Anton removes his hand from mine and rests it on the small of my back. The gesture reminds me of Luke, and I force myself to push him out of my mind. I’m here with Anton. I can’t be thinking about Luke. That’s not fair.

“Deep in thought?” he asks as the elevator smoothly stops at the sixteenth floor.

“I guess so.” I smile to try to put him at ease.

The minute the door opens, his mother greets us both in her usual manner.

Anton takes both of our jackets and hangs them in a closet by the door. We haven’t even sat down to dinner yet, and it all feels so formal already. The space is beautiful, like nothing I’ve ever seen before outside of movies and my imagination. The windows of the living room wrap around the entire space, and Mrs. Bertolini boasts that you can see both the east and west side skylines. After walking close and taking a look myself, I also notice that she has a perfect view of the park. I’ve only been there a couple of times since I moved to the city, but I love it.

Mrs. Bertolini and Anton fall into comfortable conversation about their recent business transactions and Anton’s meeting from today. She coaches him, prodding him on what to say and how to handle the people he’s working with. When she puts on this hat, I can see that she’s probably really good at what she does. I’m sure Anton is too.

When we finally sit down at the elegant dining room table, I feel myself wanting to fidget. The napkin in my lap feels heavy. The china feels too fragile. The wine looks too expensive. Anton glances over and places his hand on my leg. I didn’t even realize I was moving it. I smile an apology, and we begin to eat.

“Anton, dear,” Mrs. Bertolini begins, and I hope it’s not more real estate talk. I don’t mind not having to hold a conversation, but I think I’ve heard all of it I can take for one night. “Did you hear about Paula and Sam Winters’ daughter? What’s her name?” She tilts her head and cuts her eyes like she’s pondering.

“Olivia,” Anton says after taking a sip of his wine.

“Yes.” Mrs. Bertolini’s voice takes on a conspiratorial tone.

“I heard she’s doing charity work in South Africa,” Anton says, cutting a piece of steak with his fork. With. His. Fork. Because this steak is probably the best I’ve ever had. I continue enjoying it while they gossip.

“Yes, well,” she says, her voice dropping lower, “I heard she’s really at a rehabilitation center in Australia. Apparently, she’s been using her inheritance to fund a fairly substantial drug problem.” She looks at Anton with raised eyebrows and pursed lips. “I always knew that girl was trouble.”

“Her only problem was that her parents gave her anything she wanted.”

“Thank God you never had a penchant for illegal substances.”

Anton chuckles and rolls his eyes.

“Harper.” Her smile is more forced. “Tell me about your parents.”

My face instantly heats up and my palms begin to sweat. This is the one question I wanted to avoid. I think about feigning a coughing fit or an illness or excuse myself to the bathroom, but I’d eventually have to come back.

“My father passed away eight years ago, and my mother is currently in a rehabilitation center.”

I can see Anton put his fork down and turn slightly in his chair, but I can’t bring myself to look at him. I don’t want to see his face right now.

“Oh, dear. Is she ill?”

“Yes, she is...ill.” It’s not the whole truth, but it’s not a lie. I know you can lie by omission, but I’d rather not air my dirty laundry on Mrs. Bertolini’s gorgeous tablescape. It would crush the peonies.

Thankfully, she doesn’t ask more about her, keeping me from more lies. For the rest of the evening, I try to fly under the radar and let Anton and Mrs. Bertolini carry the conversation, only speaking when necessary.

Sometime later, after dessert, when we’re getting ready to leave, I excuse myself to the bathroom, but I don’t really need to pee. I just need a moment to myself. Trying to be something I’m not is exhausting. Being here, with Anton and Mrs. Bertolini is exhausting.

Sitting on the closed toilet seat, I take a few deep, cleansing breaths, and after a few moments, I wash my hands and quietly walk out. Stopping at the corner that leads to the large foyer, I overhear Anton and his mother speaking in hushed tones.

“She doesn’t even know what she wants to do with her life, Anton. Is that really someone you want to be with?”

That statement should sting, but it doesn’t. It’s the truth. I’m just starting to find my way, figuring out what I want to do. I’m not ashamed of that.

“Mother, not everyone is like you...or me. And that’s okay. I like Harper. Please don’t make this a game of choosing sides.”

“Of course not, darling.” Her tone lightens, but it’s still placating. I can tell she doesn’t mean it. Finally, I peek around the corner to see her patting his cheek. “Thank you for coming to dinner tonight and for bringing Harper. She’s delightful.”

I’m guessing Mrs. Bertolini is using reverse psychology on her son. If she were to dig in her heels about me, she’s probably afraid it’ll make him want me more. So, she’s playing the odds and letting nature take its course. Smart woman.

I take this as my cue to make my presence known.

“Thank you so much for having me over for dinner, Mrs. Bertolini.”

“You’re welcome, dear. Please come again.”

I smile sweetly at her, feeling a bit stronger with the knowledge I’ve been given—knowing where I stand with Mrs. Bertolini and what game she’s playing. I might not be an Ivy Leaguer, but I’m not a stupid girl.

Anton helps me with my jacket, and a few seconds later, we’re sharing a silent ride down the elevator.

Once we’re in his car and driving back toward Layla and Connor’s, I decide I need to tell him about Sadie. It’s stupid not to. I could never be with someone who doesn’t know everything about me, so there’s no sense keeping it a secret.

“My mother, Sadie, is an addict. She’s in Fremont Rehabilitation Center. That’s why I moved here. She was in the hospital last weekend because she overdosed. She had been in a halfway house when it happened, but she’s now back in rehab.”

Anton doesn’t make any quick comments or movements. He keeps his eyes on the road ahead of us. “I’m sorry.”

“Yeah.” Me too.

“That must be really hard on you.”

“She’s been an addict my whole life. It’s all I know.”

We drive the rest of the way in silence, letting the differences between us settle. When we get to the apartment, he pulls up near the curb and puts the car in park.

“Thank you for coming tonight.”

“Thank you for inviting me. The dinner was delicious.”

He smirks and leans forward, placing his lips on mine once again. I kiss him back, hoping for some sign that this is where I’m supposed to be, but there’s not one. Not yet, anyway.

“Good night.”

“Good night, Harper.”