Harper

“Harper,” Layla calls. “You’ve got mail.”

I finish making my bed and toss a few dirty clothes into my hamper by the door before walking out to the living room. Layla has a large manila envelope held out while she continues to look through the stack of mail.

“It’s weird,” I tell her, taking it from her and running my finger under the flap.

“What’s weird?” she asks, looking up at me.

“I haven’t gotten mail in a long time.”

“What?” Layla asks, looking at me with a puzzled expression.

“Yeah, I never submitted a forwarding address when I moved because I didn’t really have anything important coming through the mail anyway. Living above Mr. Chan’s was always supposed to be temporary, but I never had a clear picture of what I’d do after.” I pause for a second, thinking about it. “That must be kind of what homeless people feel like. Except I had a bed... and a shower...and hot food. Okay, so maybe not quite homeless, but it’s like I’ve been in limbo since I moved to the city.” I shake my head, trying to put my finger on what I’m feeling at the moment, but I can’t.

“Well, you’re not homeless,” Layla assures me. “You can live here as long as you want.”

I kiss her cheek before hopping onto the counter. “Thanks, Layla.”

“So, what’s in the envelope?”

Pulling the sheets of paper out, I see that it’s a letter from one of the colleges I applied to.

“Dear Harper Evans,” I start, reading it aloud. “We are pleased to inform you that you have been accepted for admission to City College for the Fall 2017 Semester. Due to the quickly approaching semester, you will need to enroll in your classes no later than August 25th. On behalf of City College and its faculty and staff, we welcome you and look forward to assisting you in your educational endeavors.”

“Harper!” Layla exclaims, grabbing my arms and shaking me. “That’s wonderful. Congratulations!”

The letter in front of me blurs as my eyes fill with tears.

“Don’t cry,” Layla soothes. “This is good. I’m so proud of you.” The smile on her face is so big and bright that it makes me smile. When I blink, a tear falls down my cheek, and she quickly wipes it away.

“I’m just happy,” I say between a sniffle and a chuckle. “Like, really happy.” I can’t put it into words without sounding stupid or cliché, but I finally feel like my life is starting. “It’s something I never thought would happen,” I tell her. “Every time I thought about going to college in the past, something shitty would happen to keep me from going. Then I guess I just got complacent.”

“Not this time.”

“No.” Smiling, I shake my head in agreement with her. “Not this time,” I murmur as I admire the admission letter, holding onto it tightly. “I already got my financial aid notification and I know what classes I want to take. So, after I get off work, I’ll get online and see if they’re still available. Hopefully, I’ll be completely enrolled by this evening.”

“We need to celebrate.”

“After I get my classes.” I scan over the paper one more time, committing to memory the words on the page. “I don’t want to jinx anything.”

§

It’s been two weeks since my classes started, and I’m slowly but surely getting into a routine. On Mondays, Wednesdays, and Fridays, I stay late after my shift ends at the library and use the public computers to do my class work. On Tuesdays and Thursdays, I work at the boutique, and then I sometimes come here after work to do homework or to use the computers to turn in an assignment.

“Hi, Harry.” I wave to the older man who sits at the door of the library. He’s a retired cop and reminds me of my dad a little. If he had a mustache and his hair wasn’t so gray, he’d really look a lot like him. But then again, if my dad were still alive, he’d probably have gray hair by now.

The memory assaults me from nowhere, but I love it. I never want to forget. I miss him every day, and I think he’d be proud of me.

No. I know he would.

Waving at Mia, I sit down at the bank of computers and log in with my employee information, gaining access to the internet. I was going to take classes on campus, but I figured with working two jobs and one of them being at the library, it makes more sense to take my classes online.

“Hey, college girl,” Mia says, sitting on the empty desk beside me.

“Hey, Mia.” I pull out my textbook and open to the page I read over last night.

“So, how’s everything going?”

“Good. I think.” I laugh. “I’m doing alright. I got my first grade yesterday, and I made an A, but it’s still early in the semester.”

“Ah, no worries. You’re gonna do great.” Mia fiddles with the edge of my textbook. “Who knows? If you don’t crash and burn, I might go back and finish my degree.”

“What?” I ask, leaning back in my chair to get a better look at her. “I thought you graduated.”

“Nah. I got close, but Kyle finished a semester ahead of me and landed a kick-ass job, so I quit and started working here.”

“What was your major?”

“English Lit,” she says, shrugging her shoulders. “I always wanted to work in publishing.”

“You should,” I tell her, leaning forward and resting my chin on the partition. “You’d be great at that.”

She sighs, pushing herself off the desk. “Well, it’s up to you, Evans. Let’s see if you sink or swim.” She winks, and a smile tugs at the corner of her mouth.

“No pressure or anything.”

“You’ve got this.”

As she leaves, heading back over to the front desk, I turn around and face the computer.

I hope she’s right.

§

The slight chill in the air and the quickly setting sun is a physical reminder that fall is officially upon us. I love the briskness and the crisp smell in the air. It’s a reprieve from the smoldering heat we endure during the summer. While it’s not as cold as other places, I still enjoy it. Tugging my sweater closed, I begin my weekly walk to Mr. Chan’s. My life has been busy since I started college and working two jobs, but I never let a week go by that I don’t keep my promise on these Wednesday evening dinners. I’m not sure who looks forward to it more, me or Mr. Chan.

When I get to the intersection across from the building I used to live in, I can’t help but look over to Luke’s. I’d love to know how he’s doing. A couple of months ago, I would’ve hated to run into him, but now, when I’m in this neighborhood, I kind of secretly hope for it. I’m sure it’d still be awkward, but I’d love to see him with my own eyes—see if he’s okay, see if maybe he forgives me. There are days when I wish I had his phone number. I’m not sure what I’d say if I called, but it’d be nice just to hear his voice. I could go to his apartment and knock on his door, but I’m sure he wouldn’t want that.

The truth is, as much as I wish I could make contact with Luke, I have no desire to invade his personal space again.

Looking back, I can see where I crossed the line, and I never want to do that again. But I miss him. That part hasn’t changed. There’s not a day that goes by when something doesn’t remind me of him. Just last week, I was grocery shopping and ended up standing in the ice cream aisle while flashbacks played in my mind like an old home movie.

A few weeks ago, Anton asked me out for coffee, and I accepted. When I sat down at the table, I had total déjà vu. It took me a minute to get my head on straight, so the next time he asked me out for coffee, I suggested we meet for lunch instead. I enjoy the time I’ve spent with him. It’s been casual, friendly, and sometimes, even that reminds me of Luke. But the flock of birds that used to fly around in my stomach when I was near Luke isn’t there. And the marching band isn’t in my chest. I occasionally feel a slight skipped heartbeat or a blush creep up on my cheeks, but it’s different than with Luke—not as intense.

I can tell Anton likes me. I see it in the way his eyes dance when he smiles at me. He opens doors for me and asks about my day. On nights I’m studying at the library, he’ll sometimes bring me a hot tea or a cookie. There are no grand gestures or declarations of love, but he’s thoughtful and fun to be around.

When I walk into Mr. Chan’s restaurant, there’s a line of people waiting to order, so I take a seat at my usual table and crack open a book. Of course, I come here for the delicious food as well, but I’ll get mine as soon as everyone else has been served. Mr. Chan gives me a smile over the top of the counter and continues taking orders.

After a while, I’m completely engrossed in the text I’m reading when a piping hot bowl of soup slides in front of me.

“Soup for the pretty girl with nose in a book.” Mr. Chan’s standing there with his hands clasped in front of him and a grin so big it makes his eyes almost disappear. “You study hard.”

“I’m trying,” I tell him, marking my place with a napkin.

“You do good.” He nods his head in his normal confident manner, and it makes me believe him. “Now, eat,” he says, patting my shoulder on his way back to the counter, and I do as I’m told.

There’s no arguing with Mr. Chan.

§

The bell above the door chimes, and a gust of cold air follows.

“Hello,” I call out from my perch on the stool. Mrs. Jackson doesn’t mind me studying when there aren’t customers, so I take advantage of my down time at the shop. Surprisingly enough, it’s quieter here than at the library, so I usually get a lot of homework done.

“Hey.” Anton’s tall form looks a little out of place in the shop, just like the first day I saw him. When he sees me, a smile grows on his face, showing his bright white teeth and the slight dimple in his left cheek. He shakes his head of dark hair, and it falls into disarray. “It’s raining.”

“I can see that,” I say, laughing lightly. I feel my fingers twitch when I notice a piece of hair stuck to his forehead. I want to push it back, touch him. It’s a new feeling, something I haven’t experienced in a while, and not with him.

“I thought I’d stop by and walk you home.”

“That’s really sweet, but you didn’t have to.”

“I know, but it’s getting darker earlier, and I wasn’t sure if you remembered an umbrella.”

I look at my watch and see that it’s only fifteen minutes to closing time. “Let me start closing down the register.”

“I’ll wait over here,” he says, pointing to a chair by the dressing room. “Unless you have something for me to do.”

I twist my mouth into a smile, watching him gingerly slip his damp jacket off and fold it over his arm, trying not to get any of the merchandise wet in the process. “No, just have a seat. I’ll be ready in a few.”

At eight on the dot, we’re walking out the back door. Anton holds an umbrella over my head as I twist the key into the deadbolt. “Wanna get something to eat on our way to your apartment?” he asks.

I look up at him and nod. “Yeah, that sounds good. Maybe some soup.”

“I know a great place, and it’s only a couple blocks from here.”

He slips one arm around my shoulders and pulls me into him. The smell of clean cotton and woods infiltrate my senses and his warmth makes me want to melt into his side.

A few minutes later, we’re seated in a snug booth at a quaint diner, and the waitress has already brought us two cups of tea. Warming my hands around the mug, I’m surprised when I feel Anton’s hands wrap around mine. I look up and lock eyes with him.

“You look cold,” he says, smiling softly. “Just trying to help you warm up.”

“Thanks.”

“You’re so pretty,” he says out of the blue.

“Are you still trying to help me warm up?” I ask, turning my head to hide my embarrassment.

“Yes, but that’s not why I said it.”

“Thank you.” I close my eyes and shake my head.

“I really want to kiss you.”

My eyes pop open, but my mouth stays shut. I don’t know what to say to that.

“I know we’ve kept things fairly platonic, but I really like you, Harper Evans. I like the way your cheeks turn pink when I compliment you, and I like the way you bite your lip to hide your smile. I want to kiss those lips so bad I can hardly see straight, but I don’t want to mess up what we have. So, when you want to kiss me back, you let me know.”

I nod my head and smile at him, pulling my hands away from his to bring my mug up to my mouth. Sipping the tea, I watch him as he watches me, and I feel a flutter in my stomach at the anticipation. Maybe I will kiss Anton, and maybe I’ll like it. I guess I’ll never know until I try.

§

“Harper,” Layla calls from the living room.

“Yeah,” I call back, not wanting to move from my spot on my bed. It’s been a long week, and the only thing I want to do tonight is curl up with a book—a real book, not a stupid text book. My first nine weeks of classes has come to an end, and this is how I want to celebrate. Maybe I’ll make it a real party and add a pint of Ben & Jerry’s.

“Connor and I are going out,” Layla says, standing in the doorway of my bedroom. “Are you sure you don’t want to come with us?”

“No, you guys go. I’m not leaving this bed until Monday morning.”

“Okay. Have fun,” she sing-songs and waves her fingers at me as she walks away.

A minute later, I hear the front door close, and I sink deeper into my cozy blanket.

As I’m reading, my phone chimes, and I glance over at it on the nightstand. Anton’s name is on the screen with a text message.

Anton: I know you’re probably exhausted from your week of work and tests, but I’m offering to take you out and wine and dine you. Don’t feel obligated, just an offer.

I smile, loving that he’s always so considerate.

Me: Thank you for the offer, but I’m currently in pajamas with a good book. I’m fairly certain I’ll be passed out in less than five pages. I’d be horrible company. Can I take a rain check?

Less than a minute later, his response comes through.

Anton: You’re never horrible company, and I’d gladly let you fall asleep on me. ;) Tomorrow sounds great. Get some rest.

I set the phone down and open my book backup. I feel my eyelids getting heavy, but I continue to read until I succumb to sleep.

The ring of my telephone nearly makes me fall off the bed. Blindly, I grab it from the nightstand and see an unknown number on the screen. I think about letting it go to voicemail but decide I should answer it. Mia or Layla may need me...or it could be Anton.

“Hello?” My voice is raspy and full of sleep. I look at the clock and see that it’s after midnight, so I’ve been asleep for nearly four hours.

“Harper Evans?” a professional sounding lady on the other end asks.

“Yes,” I say slowly, my heart pounding from the adrenaline of being awoken.

“This is Mercy Hospital.”

My stomach drops, and I can feel the blood rushing to my head as I sit straight up on the side of my bed.

“Miss Evans, your mother was transported via ambulance, and you are her next of kin. We need you to come to the hospital.”

I swallow the thickness in my throat. “Is—is she okay?”

“We’ll be able to tell you more once you’re here.”

“Okay, I’m on my way,” I tell her, hanging up the phone and immediately looking for my shoes. I know I shouldn’t care. This shouldn’t be affecting me the way it is, but she’s still my mother, and the fear is overtaking me.

I fumble around with my shoes until I finally decide to leave with the laces untied. Grabbing my bag and my phone, I head for the door. When I’m halfway down the street, I realize that I should’ve left Layla a note, but I don’t go back. I’ll text her when I get there.

I’m four blocks down the street when I realize I don’t even know where I’m going. Stopping at the corner, I pull my phone out and search for the address of the hospital. When it finally loads, I realize I’m over six miles away.

What if she’s dead?

They would’ve told me that, right?

Maybe they can’t say that over the phone?

I’m only a block from the nearest bus stop, so I decide to go there. It’s not the fastest mode of transportation, but there aren’t a lot of taxis in this area late at night. When the bus finally arrives, it’s already been thirty minutes since the hospital called. The dread and worry churn in my stomach. I take a seat near the front and count down the stops.

Once I’m back out on the street, I’m practically running down the sidewalk when my feet stumble and I nearly trip and fall.

Fucking shoelaces.

I stop and tie them, then take off jogging toward the large lit up building in front of me. It’s like a beacon of hope, but also fear, because I have no idea what I’m getting ready to walk into. Leaning over and bracing myself on my knees, I take forced deep breaths, trying to calm my erratic heartbeat before I go through the doors.

When I finally walk inside, the sterile smell of the hospital makes my stomach turn. The last time I was in an emergency room was the night my dad died. I hate hospitals. The closest I’ve been to one is the rehab facility. I hate that place too. I start breathing through my mouth, and it helps. Searching the signs on the wall ahead, I see an arrow for the emergency room and decide to start there.

“I’m Harper Evans,” I say to the lady in green scrubs sitting behind the desk. “Someone called me and said my mother was here.”

My voice cracks as I talk, but I push the emotions down. I’m not crying. I don’t want to cry. I don’t even know why I’m here yet. I’ll save the tears for when I do.

After a few minutes of flipping through charts, she finally looks up at me and says, “Follow me.”

“What’s wrong with her?” I ask, needing to know what I’m going to see when I get wherever she’s taking me.

“The doctor will bring you up to speed.”

I get the feeling she’s alive, and I’m trying to decide if I’m relieved or mad when a white curtain opens, and my mother is lying on the small bed. Her eyes are closed, and there are dark circles under them. Her cheeks look hollow, and her lips are pale, almost blue. I watch her chest closely, waiting to see if it rises. The movement is slight, but I see it.

“She’s asleep,” the doctor says quietly from behind me. “We’re moving her to a room in a few minutes.”

“What’s wrong with her?” I whisper, wrapping my arms around my waist. In my hurry to get here, I forgot a coat. I’m still in the oversized t-shirt and pajama pants I was wearing.

“She overdosed. We’re still running some tests. She was unresponsive when she got here and has been pretty out of it ever since.”

“Is...is she…”

“Her liver function is low and her kidneys are a little lazy, but we’re hoping once the drugs have left her system, things will start working properly again. We’ll know more when the test results are back.”

I wipe a tear away angrily.

I hate her for making me feel this way.

I hate her for making me panic and worry and feel scared.

I hate her for making me drop everything and run to get to her.

I hate that I still care.

I hate that part of me wishes she would’ve died.

I hate that the other part of me is happy she didn’t.