Ten minutes later, Trish and I were walking hand in hand to the deli I’d been eying all morning. When we got to the corner, my heart started pounding, and I fought the urge to turn and look in the window of Harper’s shop, hoping I might be able to catch a glimpse of her.
When I finally turned around, though, her shop was dark and the sign in the window said they didn’t open until two on weekdays. My shoulders sunk involuntarily, and Trish nudged me forward before I could gawk at the shop any longer. There was a sketch of a butterfly next to the words ‘Art Studio’, and it reminded me of the tattoos I’d noticed now decorated Harper’s arms.
Once we were settled at a table in the corner and the warm smell of baking bread, meats and cheeses was filling my nostrils, I looked up to appraise Trish. She was sitting across from me, her face pinched as she took in her surroundings. I was in heaven, and she was in hell.
“Are you sure you’re okay eating here?” I asked her for the fifth time.
She nodded. “Yes. I’m sure their salads are delightful. Although I hope you don’t make a habit of ordering what you did. I don’t want you to have a heart attack at forty.”
She said it jokingly, but I knew there was a level of seriousness behind it. I’d been on a major health kick for the past few years, and she was one of the healthiest eaters I knew, so I knew the fact that I was deviating from my once rigid standards around what I would put into my body was throwing her for a loop. But I’d forgotten how good food that was so bad for you could taste, and I’d been depriving myself for way too long.
“Don’t worry. I was just having a craving. I’ll be good for the rest of the week.”
Yeah, probably not.
She smiled, so I decided to test the waters on something else I was contemplating changing. I couldn’t sleep the night before, so I’d lain awaked in bed thinking about nothing and trying to fall asleep when a conversation I’d had a two years earlier with one of my business school professors came back to me.
I’d run into him at an alumni function at UMass, and we’d started talking about how I was enjoying my career. At the time I’d been the hungriest I’d ever been in terms of my job, so I told him I loved it. He’d eyed me pensively for a few seconds before he told me I might not always feel that way and to call him if I was ever interested in using my degree to teach. I’d assumed he was nuts at the time, but now I wondered if that might be a viable solution to my problem.
That morning I’d even looked him up on the UMass website, figuring I could call him to talk about my options, but I hadn’t seen his name listed. So I called the department and learned that he’d transferred out to Stanford two years earlier.
Now, I’m not a big believer in fate and destiny, but if there was ever a time for me to start, it was then. The information was too coincidental. So I’d called and made an appointment to go out and see him for lunch the next day, and I figured I should tell Trish what was going on.
“What would you think of me, potentially, leaving the firm and going back to school?” I asked tentatively.
She cocked her head to the side and looked at me in wonder. “For what? You already have your MBA.”
I sucked in a breath to gather courage, wondering why I was having such a hard time expressing this thought. “I’m actually thinking of getting my PhD.”
“But why?”
“So I can teach at a collegiate level.”
She looked at me in sheer confusion. “Why would you want to do that?”
I shrugged. “I don’t know. Lots of people get burned out in banking, so they use what they know to teach. The hours are better, I’d be helping people, and I think I’d really enjoy it. One of my UMass professors worked for about fifteen years before he got laid off after September 11th, and he went back to school. He said it was the best decision he ever made.”
“But you love your job,” she said, taking a long pull of her unsweetened iced tea.
“No, I really don’t.”
“But they pay you really well. Don’t college professors make meager salaries?”
“Is money really everything?”
I wasn’t sure we really needed any more fifteen thousand dollar pieces of furniture, but she actually laughed a short, non-humorous laugh, and I should have known better. Trish and I came from the same world where you were taught that money really was everything, but I was starting to think otherwise.
“Um, it’s something,” she responded curtly. “Have you even talked to your parents about this?”
I looked at her in confusion. “Why would I do that? I’m twenty-nine years old.”
“Yeah, so. Your dad’s been in banking for years, and look how successful he is.”
“Yeah, and he also hasn’t gotten a full night’s sleep in thirty years, he looks ten years older than he is, and he’s angry and sullen all the time. Do you want that to happen to me?”
She sighed. “But, Ryan, what about the life we planned out. We want to start a family. If you go back to school, we can’t do that.”
“Why not?”
She sighed again, but this time it was harsher and louder. “Well, what will we do for money? How will we pay for a nanny?”
I laughed out loud. I couldn’t help it. “Why do we need a nanny? You don’t work.”
She put her hand over her heart. “I volunteer at the museum three days a week. You know that, and I go to the gym every day, and I’ll definitely need to do that if you want me to get back in shape after being pregnant, and I have my lunches with the girls and the charities I support. I have a life, Ryan.”
I fought the urge to roll my eyes. She sounded just like my sister, and I couldn’t stand my sister half the time.
“Well, then you’ll just have to incorporate the baby into that life. Besides, if I’m in school, I can watch him or her when you’re busy. We can just coordinate our schedules to make it work. It’s part of the reason why I want to have a less stressful and demanding job. I want to actually be there to see my kids grow up.”
“You’ll be there,” she insisted, but I wasn’t sure she knew what she was saying. She’d suddenly gotten flushed and had started to fan herself with her hand. “I just don’t think quitting your job is the best idea right now. It’s not right for our – for our future.”
One of the employees brought our food over at that moment, and Trish stared down at it in confusion.
“Do you mean for your future?” I asked her.
“What?” She looked up at me in alarm.
I leaned back in my chair. “Trish, you have an art history degree from Vassar that you’ve never used. Why is that?”
She looked at me appalled. “Because we started dating a few months after I graduated,” she defended.
And because I make enough money that you never needed to work.
“So. That doesn’t mean anything. Why didn’t you ever get a job? Don’t you want to use your degree?”
“I volunteer at the museum,” she defended.
I fought the urge to roll my eyes. “You give tours.”
“Of art.”
“Trish, you could work at a gallery. You could do so many things. Aren’t you bored taking people around to look at the same exhibits every day?”
Her lower lip started to tremble, and I suddenly felt like a huge dickhead for making her upset, but she wasn’t doing her part to understand that I wasn’t happy. I always figured I’d be one of those guys who wanted his wife to stay home like my mother and my sister did. Shit, that very topic had caused a huge fight between Courtney and me, but when Trish and I were home for Easter, I took a long, hard look at my brother-in-law and my father and realized they were miserable.
I started to ask myself why I had to work my ass off, and basically work as much as two people, when I had a supposed partner who relaxed all day. That wasn’t a partnership. And I wanted a partner who supported me and who I could support. I’d probably be kicked out of my family for thinking that since it was so incredibly unortho
dox, but it was how I felt. I couldn’t help it.
“Ryan,” Trish said, her voice cracking. “Why are you asking me this? I don’t understand.”
I sighed, softening my approach. “I’m just curious why you don’t want to work.”
She shrugged, her shoulders inching up tentatively. “I guess I never really thought I would get a job,” she said softly, and I knew what she was saying.
She’d been raised the same way as my sister – go to a liberal arts college, get an Mrs. degree, be a good wife and mother, and live a life of leisure. And I’d let her do exactly that. But maybe I wanted more for her. Maybe I saw the potential she could have. She had an amazing eye for art. She could easily work at a gallery or even run one. She was only twenty-three. She could take an entry-level job and work her way up from the bottom. But if I asked her to do that, I was asking for something she’d never been prepared to do, something she never wanted.
I took a bite of my sub as Trish picked at her salad. After a few minutes of silence, I reached across the table and took her hand.
“I’m sorry,” I said, and she looked up at me with sorrow in her eyes.
Damn, I was an asshole.
“I’m sorry too,” she said quietly, but I wasn’t sure what she was apologizing for.
I vowed to try to leave work early that night so I could take her to dinner. It was the least I could do.
“Don’t be upset, baby,” I coaxed, and she gave me the smallest of smiles.
“I’m going to use the restroom,” she said then and pushed away from the table.
I turned to watch her walk away for a few seconds before returning to my food, but then I made the mistake of looking up, and when I did, my eyes locked with the most beautiful set of brown eyes I’d ever seen. Standing right behind Trish’s chair was Harper, and she was staring at me with her mouth agape.
For a few seconds, we just stared at each other, and I wasn’t sure what she was doing, but I was drinking her in and trying to figure out what the hell to say to her while simultaneously hoping she wouldn’t tell me to fuck off and run the other way. All day I’d been hoping to see her go into her shop, and then she appeared out of nowhere when I definitely wasn’t expecting to see her. I was at a loss for words, but I really just wanted to tell her to stay. I so badly wanted to talk to her.
“Hi,” she finally said.
“Hi,” I responded, in awe that she was actually speaking to me in a civil way. “What are you doing here?”
She pointed to the counter. “I eat lunch here a lot. I don’t really like to cook, and my apartment’s close by – I live in the building above my parlor – and this is a really good place. They have amazing Italian subs.”
I smiled and pointed down to my lunch. She returned my smile, and it was the most beautiful thing I’d seen in years.
“I’d invite you to join me, but I’m here with–”
“That’s okay,” she said quickly, almost like she didn’t want me to finish my sentence. “I saw. She’s really pretty.”
“Thanks,” I said, not sure if that was the right thing to say or not. And then suddenly I blurted out what I was thinking. “Um, so, could we maybe grab coffee sometime? I work right near here, and if you’re working, then maybe we could get a coffee and talk.”
I was babbling like a freaking idiot, but I was so tongue-tied around her. I hadn’t been this flustered around anyone in years. In fact, I couldn’t remember the last time I’d been flustered by another person, and it actually might have been the first time I’d ever asked Harper out back when we were in high school.
I glanced back to see Trish returning from the restroom, and Harper followed my gaze.
“Coffee would be great,” she said quickly, not seeming to want to stick around for an introduction. “I’ll get your number from Brandon, and I’ll call you.”
I wanted to tell her that Brandon gave me her number, but I figured she wanted the ball in her court, so I let her have it. And before I could say anything else, she was gone, leaving the restaurant before ordering anything. I desperately wanted to watch her walk away, but Trish sat down across from me, and she didn’t look happy.
“Who was that?”
I shrugged. “Just a girl who works at the place where I get my hair cut. She wanted to say hi.”
Lies. Complete lies.
Why was I lying?
Her face scrunched up in disapproval. “Did you make an appointment with her?”
“No. Why would I do that?”
A grin suddenly broke across her face. “Because, silly, you need a haircut bad. That hair of yours is getting out of control.”
I lowered my head and playfully shook my hair for her, knowing it was two inches longer than I’d worn it in years. I didn’t tell her that I had no intentions of cutting it, mostly because I didn’t want to do any more damage. I’d already done enough for one day.
Chapter Twelve
Harper
“Hey, best friend,” Brandon said when I answered the phone on Wednesday night.
I’d just finished with a client and was waiting in line at a nearby coffee shop for a latte. I hadn’t slept well the night before after running into Ryan at lunchtime. It was pissing me off that I couldn’t stop thinking about him.
“Hey Brandon,” I answered good-naturedly. He had this weird ability to put me in a good mood, and I hardly knew the guy.
“What are you doing?” he sing-songed.
“I was working, and now I’m re-caffeinating.”
“Sweet. What have you done so far tonight? Anyone get their cock pierced?”
I laughed. “You certainly have an obsession with cocks. Are you sure you’re straight?”
“As a board, baby, and just thinking about you makes me even straighter. I mean, we’re taking ramrod over here.”
“You are gross,” I said as the barista set my drink on the counter.
I took a sip and settled into one of the armchairs by the window. I’d give myself a few minutes before heading back to the shop. It was a slow night.
“I’m kidding, and you know it. So guess what?”
“What?”
“I bought a winery!”
I smiled. “You did. That’s fantastic. Good for you.”
I was genuinely happy for him.
“Thank you. Thank you. I’m pretty stoked. I signed the papers today, so it’s mine. And when I come back out for the wedding, I’m officially moving.”
My stomach tightened as thoughts of Ryan flooded me again at the mention of his wedding.
“Wow, that’s fast,” I said, hoping Brandon wouldn’t be able to tell I was suddenly flustered.
“Yeah, well, I want out, and the faster I can do it, the better. And my lease is up at the end of the month, so I’m just eating a few weeks. No biggie. And best of all, I gave my asshole boss the big fuck you today and told him I was out. It fucking rocked!”
I laughed, glad he’d somehow managed to inadvertently break the tension in our conversation.
“Good for you,” I cheered. “And, I can’t lie I’m sort of excited you’re moving out here.”
He chuckled. “I knew you loved me.”
“Quit pushing your luck. You’re lucky to be getting me as a friend.”
And it was true. I hadn’t added a friend to my inner circle in six years. Sure I had acquaintances, but true friends who I talked to regularly and shared things with, it was just Kelly, Julian and Devin.
“I feel honored,” he admitted. “And I might need your help finding a place to live.”
“Why? You’re not going to live on the property you’re buying?”
“Nah, I just bought it for the income. I don’t know shit about actually running a winery. I’m keeping the guy on who runs the place now, so he’ll continue to take care of things, and I’ll go out there on the weekends or whenever to check in, but I’m going to live in the city.”
“Yeah, sure, I’ll help you.”
“Sweet, and in
return you can come out to my house in the country whenever you want.”
“I’m not really a country girl, Brandon.”
“And I’m not a country guy, but I just bought a house and land in the country, so there you have it. And it’ll be fun. We’ll drink wine, get sloshed and not have sex.”
I laughed. “Okay, as long as there is no sex, you have a deal.”
“Sweet. So tell me how you’re doing,” he said, his tone shifting ever so slightly.
“What do you mean?”
“Come on, Harper,” he prompted. “I heard you puked in a trashcan.”
My stomach tightened again, and I sighed. “Yeah, that was unexpected.”
“Unexpected! It was ironic as hell. I meet you on a plane, because I’m coming out here to see my buddy, and you happen to know him and were his high school girlfriend or some shit like that. It’s a little crazy-town.”
It’s a lot crazy-town, I thought, knowing Brandon didn’t even know the half of it.
“That was a long time ago.”
“You puked when you saw him,” he reasoned, smashing my response to bits.
“I did not expect to see my ex-boyfriend that night, is all,” I explained rationally. “There’s nothing more to it than that.”
“Bull-shit!” he yelled into the phone. “I gave him your number.”
“You what?!” I screeched, garnering stares from the coffee shop patrons all around me. I looked up apologetically at them. Then I softened my tone and lowered my volume. “You what?”
“See, feelings. I knew you still felt something for him.”
“I do not have feelings for him,” I said quickly.
Brandon laughed, and I so did not think it was funny. “Harper, if I ran into my high school girlfriend, do you know what I’d do?”
“What?” I asked with acid in my tone.
“I’d say hello, ask her how she’s doing, have some polite chit-chat and move on. I would not puke in a trashcan and tell her to get the fuck away from me.”
Grr. I had done those things, but that was because Ryan and I hadn’t had a traditional relationship. We’d had so much more, and then everything had come crashing down when he’d emailed me to break up with me and to tell me to have an abortion. I couldn’t let go of that. And seeing him, in my sanctuary, when I never expected to see him again, had hit me like a repeated punch to the gut.
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