CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

HARPER

Oh, if I could only untangle this spider’s web of thoughts in my head. How much easier life would be.

I’m collecting my things, about to shut down my office computer, when there’s a knock on the door. I look up expecting a student, maybe Mindy, but it’s the woman from Human Resources. “Hi there.” She smiles, the dictionary definition of corporate presentation in her ivory blouse and power skirt. “Can I come in for a moment?”

I don’t know what to do, but I can’t really refuse. “Ah, sure,” I tell her, gesturing forward.

‘Office’ is a bit of a misleading term. It’s more like an elevator in here, forcing her to sidestep around piles of textbooks and boxes to take a seat.

She smiles.

I smile.

An awkward silence fills the room.

“Are you going to sit down?” she asks.

I place down the papers in my hand. “Of course,” I mutter, seating myself quickly. I don’t know why I’m so nervous.

“I’m Linda, by the way.”

“Harper,” I reply.

And there’s the all-is-well smile again, which only means everything is most definitely not. “Well, Harper, I just thought I’d pop in and see how you’re doing.”

HR doesn’t do house calls like this. There’s a reason she’s here. “I’m… fine, thank you.”

She opens the folder in her lap, taking out a sheet of paper and studying it before plastering on that smile once more. “Basically, this is an ordinary welfare check we conduct from time to time amongst staff, to get a sense of where our faculty is at. Do you understand?”

I nod. “Sure.” I’m glad she can’t see the way my foot is tapping away La La Land style.

“Although,” Linda continues, referring to her notes again, “there was an anonymous report made you might be dealing with additional stress of late. Is that true?”

“Stress?” I gulp. “I’m not sure what you mean.”

Stop smiling! I want to scream.

She slides the slip of paper back into the folder, closing it and placing her hands on top to lean forward. “Is there something happening, perhaps off-campus, that might be affecting your mood, your…” she’s careful here “…state of mind?”

Mild concern just turned into DEFCON one. There’s nothing routine about this. Someone put in that report, and I’d bet my skinny ass it was James. But the question remains, what does he want from me? My resignation? My humiliation? I don’t understand it.

I won’t let him get the upper hand here. I compose myself, force my back to straighten and a cheery smile to return. “Now you mention it, I have been dealing with some family issues.”

Linda’s all ears now. “Oh?”

“My sister is going through something. She needs my support.”

Linda flips open her folder, leafing through her notes. “I’m sorry. I didn’t know you had a sister.”

Shit.

Damn data gathering these days. “Stepsister,” I correct, hoping that’s enough to satisfy her. “We are very close.” I’m not good at lying. I’m praying she’s not seeing through this smokescreen I’m putting up.

She smiles again. “Ah, I see. Is it anything we can help you with?”

I place my hands carefully on the desk. “As I said, it’s a personal, family matter, but I’m fine. There’s no need to worry.”

Satisfied, Linda stands and smooths down her skirt. “Well, thank you for your time, Harper. If you do need to talk further, I’m right down the hall.”

I stand and nod. “Of course. Thank you.”

Linda smiles once more and leaves… thank god.

I close the door and slump against the back of it, my heart jack-hammering. I’m shaken, I’ll admit it.

Think, Harper, think.

I do know one thing: This has to stop.

I check my watch.

Yep, he’ll be there alright.

I open the door and march down the hall, stepping right into James’s office and closing the door behind me. He looks up from his desk in surprise. “Harper?”

He’s had a haircut, actually looks half-presentable, more like the man I fell for all that time ago, that guy who won me over with his keen insight into semiotic methods, but I’m not here for nostalgia. “Let’s cut the shit, James,” the curse word landing a double hit of surprise. “Tell me what you want, because I’m not a mind-reader. You broke up with me, so excuse me if I’m failing to compute exactly what’s going on here.”

He stands and moves around his desk, sitting on it before me, one polished loafer hanging in the air. The smugness is gone. If anything, he looks tired, dejected. “Harper…” he breathes out, shaking his head.

“No,” I interrupt him, “no games. I wasn’t devastated by the break-up. I didn’t spend a week balling my eyes out and sobbing into the mirror. Why can’t we just be colleagues again, adults?”

“Do you want the truth, Harper?”

“No, I want lies,” I spit, heavy on the sarcasm

“I want to get back together,” he states.

And boom comes the screamer from left field. “But—”

He stands, right in front of me. “I miss you, Harper. I miss our conversations, the walks we used to take around campus. I miss your body, your…”

I put my hand up. “Stop, please.”

“Surely,” he pleads, “you’d rather be with a peer, someone who understands that brilliant mind of yours, than, well, someone so much younger, so… immature.”

Immature! Talk about the pot calling the kettle black.

“James…”

He takes my hand, and for some crazy reason I let him. “Just think about it, okay?” His face darkens. “Really think about it.”

I slip my hand away and back towards the door, unsure how to respond.

So I don’t.

I leave, momentarily standing in the middle of the hallway stunned.

All of this because he wants me back?

But it’s not the idea of saying yes that’s got me worried.

It’s what might happen if I say no.