What You Leave Behind

by Katoff, Jessica

  There’s a fragment of time where everything drops into slow motion and they search for answers in each other’s eyes, then Harper’s hand, ring and all, balls up in Liam’s coat and she pulls him to her and herself to him. Their mouths connect hard, and it’s all teeth and tongues, her hand tangling into his hair, and he can’t stop the sounds he makes. She can’t stop, either, and moans into his mouth. His hands come alive at the sound and they grope every part of her they can find—the small of her back, the curve of her hips, around her ribs—and he pulls her closer, still.

  She slides the ring onto her thumb for safekeeping and loses complete control of everything else.

  ***

  When Harper arrives home, Dylan is in the living room sprawled on the couch, his eyes fixed on the mindless late-night programming that spills from the television. She hadn’t realized it was late enough for him to already be home, but there he sits, and at the sound of the door latching, he comes alive and gets to his feet. He’s hazy from sleep, but his arms automatically stretch wide to cushion whatever fall Harper is sure to have. She goes to him without hesitation and welcomes his warmth as he wraps his strength around her.

  “I may have underestimated how much I missed him,” she says meekly.

  “Do you want to talk about it?”

  “I don’t even know where to begin,” Harper tells him, her words muffled by his chest. She pulls away and moves over to the sofa as he shuts off the television and turns on a light before joining her. “I slept with him,” she admits, because the end is as good a place as any to start with. “With Liam, I mean.”

  “Is this a good thing? This is a good thing, right?”

  “Yes and no.”

  Dylan is quiet as he watches Harper the form words and thoughts in her head. It takes a while, but he remains steady, unmoving, and everything she needs him to be. When she reaches into her pocket and pulls out the ring, he takes it without question and holds it in his upturned palm, waits until she’s ready. “He—he gave it to me, but he told me I should be with Austin.”

  “Like you’re fucking property? That arrogant son of a—”

  “No. No, it was—heartbreaking,” her voice cracks as she says it and she turns away, tears stinging in her bloodshot eyes. “It was like he admitted defeat. He was—he was finally selfless.” Dylan puts the ring on his pinky finger and moves to hug her, but she leans back, instead. The words finally come, and all at once.

  “All I wanted for years was to be his wife, to start a family with him and commit to love him. And then he left. He left because, in his mind, it was his only option. He thought he could live without me, and it wasn’t until he didn’t have me that he figured out he couldn’t.” She stands then, and Dylan’s eyes follow her as she paces. “And, you know, I get it. He’s sick—it wasn’t him. But what does that make me for what I did to Austin? I knew I didn’t love him like that and still, I tried to convince myself that I did. Because if I did, then I didn’t love Liam like I thought I did.”

  “Are you asking or—”

  “We both did terrible things, but at the core of it, we did them for the same reasons. Albeit, mine was a byproduct of his, but didn’t we both break hearts to fall in love?” Harper pauses in speech and in movement and stares at Dylan, who stares back with his mouth shut in obedience. She lets out a small laugh and tells him, “That one was a question.”

  “Well,” Dylan starts, and then pauses to make sure it’s really his turn to talk. “I guess that depends on whether or not you’re in love with him.”

  “I am.” Harper sits on the coffee table and puts her head in her hands. “But—Austin.”

  “What about him?”

  “Looking at it like I’m seeing it now, with both Liam and I guilty of the same thing, I can’t—” Harper glances at the ring where it sits on Dylan’s finger, then back at her bare hands where they now clasp together between her knees. “I never wanted Austin to be collateral damage. He deserves so much more than that.”

  “Does he deserve this, though? Would you marry him because—because Liam wants you to? Personally, I don’t think he deserves that—you don’t deserve that.” Harper heaves out a sigh and Dylan matches it, different motives behind each. “Look, I think that all of you need to stop deciding what’s best for everyone else and start worrying about yourselves. What makes you happy? That’s it. It’s as simple as that. Let Liam worry about Liam, not about Austin. And let Austin worry about Austin, not about you. It’s like some sick cycle of hurt and love and hurt to love and it doesn’t work.” Dylan starts pacing, then, and it’s Harper’s turn to watch him, to listen. “You said Liam was finally selfless, but even in being selfless, he was still being selfish. He’s chastising himself for what he did to you—still—and that’s selfish. Do you honestly believe he wants you to marry Austin?”

  “Are you asking—”

  “No, he doesn’t want you to marry Austin. I can tell you that, right now. No man tells the girl he loves to marry another man, let alone their once and former and once again best friend, without wanting to punish themselves in some way. You get that, right?”

  “I—”

  “You can answer that one.”

  “I—I don’t even know what to say.”

  “So, don’t say anything. Just think about it, Reed. Think all of it over and think about what you want. Be selfish, because, shit, it’s about time that you got what you wanted.”

  Dylan pulls Harper up by her arms and wraps his arms around her again. She sighs heavily against his chest, then lets her head fall back in a sort of defeat. Dylan, who has no qualms about being himself even in the most emotionally delicate of situations, takes the opportunity to lay a sloppy kiss on her forehead. “And, hey, if all else fails, maybe we can work something out—try that triple thing.”

  “Charming,” Harper snorts and pushes out of his grasp. “I’m going to bed.”

  Dylan doesn’t stop her as she stalks to her room with heavy, tired limbs, and an even heavier heart.

  Despite her bone-weary exhaustion, when Harper is tucked into her bed, the room awash in a blanket of pale moonlight, sleep refuses to come. She thinks over what Dylan said, thinks of Liam and of Austin and of herself. She thinks that she knows nothing about what she wants—the capacity of the self to deceive the self, both a blessing and a curse, is now intimate knowledge she can’t unlearn. She had Liam, had him in the most carnal of ways, and yet, he still let her leave with the ring, with his head hung low as he watched her go. And Austin, she hadn’t wanted him until then. At least, she hadn’t wanted him again. She’d had him and she wrecked him, and that wreckage had to mean something, had to mean that he did love her, that he had loved her. She had loved him in a way, and if she had in one way, couldn’t she again in the right way? Could he make her happy and could she do the same for him?

  The questions reverberate in her skull, blend and drone into a steady sort of metronome that finally lulls Harper to sleep.

  In the morning, Harper finds Dylan and Clare in the kitchen, where he makes pancakes and she burns bacon at his side. She smiles at the sight of them, quietly leaning against the doorframe to watch as they interact. It’s then that all of her questions are answered at once.

  She knows the right answer—can feel it in every ounce of her being.

  “Dylan,” she says softly, so as not to startle them. He turns at the sound, spatula in his hand, and gives her a warm smile. She returns it in kind and hooks her thumb in the direction of the hallway. “Can I talk to you for a second?”

  “Sure, just, uh, let me turn off the burners, so that—” He leans over Clare and flips the knobs for each lit burner on the stove and kisses Clare’s cheek in an it’s not you, it’s me kind of way. “I’ll be right back.”

  Harper and Dylan pad across the carpeting and down the hall until they’re at the very end of it. Harper looks up and he looks back with wide, waiting eyes as she smiles up at him.

  “I want you to have the ring,”
she tells him in a whisper. “I want you to take it and sell it and use the money to get Clare a ring of her own.”

  “I couldn’t—”

  “Oh, you absolutely can. It’s my ring, no matter who the groom attached to it is, and I want you to have it—to use it toward some good. Because, well, no good is going to come out of it for me.” Harper still smiles despite her sad admission, and Dylan joins her, the corners of his mouth tugging ever so slightly upward. “I don’t want to marry either of them, Dylan. At least, not right now. Maybe one day, but not right now. And, when or if I do, I don’t want to do so with that ring, with all the history that comes with it.”

  “Harper—”

  “You told me to think about what I want. You told me to be selfish. Well, this is what I want. I want you to get that beautiful, amazing girl, who you love to fucking pieces, a ring. And I want to take some time to myself, take a trip or just be a shut in, because that’s what I need. Everything still hurts and my head is still a mess, and I know I’m the only one who can fix that. I want to do things for me and not worry about Liam or Austin or me and either of them. And, if at some point, I want to see them, I want to do it on my terms, far distanced and removed from all of this hurt and heart and hell. I want to be happy, Dilly, and nothing would make me happier than seeing my best friend marry the best guy I know. And, to be clear, Clare is my best friend and you are the guy in question.”

  “Take the goddamn ring, Dylan,” Clare shouts from the other end of the hall.

  “Yeah, take the goddamn ring, Dylan,” Harper echoes, her smile bigger than it’s been in ages. “And make me some damn breakfast.”

  EPILOGUE

  Harper sits on the edge of her mother’s bed and marvels at the article of clothing that adorns her body. It is white lace and delicate and as she smoothes her hands over the fabric in her lap, the diamond on her left hand glints in the morning glow. She smiles warmly and stands, her dress falling into place, kissing the tips of her toes where they rest in champagne-hued satin heels. It sways with her body as she moves to the window and stares down at the scene in the yard below. Nearly the whole of the town is there to celebrate a new chapter in her life—in their lives, another part of their history. Her friends and neighbors chat and mingle on both sides of the aisle, equally present for the bride as they are for the groom. They’ve come out of love, for love, and Harper’s heart swells at the thought.

  “Knock, knock,” Hilary’s voice comes from the doorway, where she hesitates before walking into her own room. Harper turns at the sound and that’s when the tears come—at the sight of her knife-wielding mother in a peach-colored chiffon gown, at the way she looks as weightless and elated as Harper feels. Hilary pouts dramatically as she approaches her with open arms and says, “Aw, Harp. Don’t do that. Clare’ll kill you.”

  “Some things are worth dying for,” she laughs and moves to meet her mother halfway. “You look amazing.”

  “I’m not so sure about all that. But your husband-to-be sure can pick a tux—wait until you see him.” Hilary’s mouth twitches into a grin and her eyes sparkle as she wraps her daughter tightly in her arms. “Husband-to-be—that’s crazy, huh?”

  “A bit,” she replies, stepping out of her arms before she smudges her makeup even further against her shoulder, or, heaven forbid, the strap of the dress.

  At Hilary’s vanity, she begins the finishing touches—a pair of borrowed pearl earrings, the fingertip-length veil—as her mother looks on. They both stare at her reflection in the mirror as the veil cascades into place over her chignon and it is Hilary who cries, then.

  “Aw. Don’t do that,” she mocks, but can’t help herself from crying, too. All of the tears fall from happiness now, unlike all those years ago, the weeks she mourned the loss of her first love in her childhood bedroom. Hilary wiped those tears and she wipes these, too, and Harper longs to give her the most meaningful words she can find, words to express everything she feels, but she only has, “Thank you.” Her voice cracks around the words and she clears her throat as she takes her mother’s hand. “For everything. Mom, thank you for everything. I don’t know how I would have survived these last few years without you.”

  “Just doing my job.”

  “And ruining my job.” The tone of Clare’s voice is dry and it cuts right through their sentimental moment, but she follows her words with a grin as they both look to her and begin to laugh. “What in the world have you done?”

  “I—” Hilary can’t answer because she’s laughing too hard, wiping tears from the corners of her eyes. “Sorry.”

  “Go make yourself useful and tie Dylan’s bowtie.” Maid of honor, almost-former roommate, and dear friend, Clare has forged quite the unique relationship with Hilary over the years, and has no qualms about telling her what to do—even when she has a knife in her hand. Hilary hangs her head, spurned, and raises her hands in mock surrender as she heads for the door. “I’ll have her ready in five minutes and then she’s all yours.”

  Clare shuts the door as Hilary walks down the hall in search of Dylan. “Until then, you’re mine.”

  “You know,” Harper says wryly, “I wasn’t nearly as menacing on your wedding day.”

  Harper takes a step back from the dresser, hands raised like Hilary’s, as Clare moves in to grab palettes and tubes and brushes. Before she’s told to do so, Harper sits on the bench at the foot of Hilary’s bed and tilts her head up, eyes closed. Clare gets right to work. Five minutes later, as promised, Harper is a flawless blushing bride, with the nail polish to match, and Clare smiles down at her as she settles the netting of the veil over her face.

  “You’re getting married,” she whispers.

  “I know,” Harper whispers back, and pulls Clare into a hug as she stands. “Shall we?”

  “We shall.”

  Hilary waits for them at the top of the stairs and takes Harper’s hand to guide her down the flight as Clare carefully totes her train. At the bottom, Clare moves to join the other three members of the wedding party, and goads them into heaping affection onto Harper, who blushes furiously and pleads for them to stop. When they do, she hugs each of them, lingering at the last—the best man.

  Hilary ushers the trio of maids and men toward the back of the house, toward their entrance into the yard, to give Harper and Austin the privacy she knows they need.

  “You look beautiful,” he whispers into her ear as she tightens their embrace. “He’s an incredibly lucky guy.”

  “Austin—”

  “He is. But that doesn’t mean that I’m not lucky, too.” Austin holds Harper at arm’s length and rubs his hands up and down over her bare shoulders, warming them, comforting her. His touch still does that for her, calms her, and while they both know this, feel the electricity that flows between them, he lets her go, gives her away just as her mother will as she walks her down the aisle to Liam. He leans in and kisses her cheek through the silk tulle of her veil. It’s not his place to lift it, to kiss her lips. While a part of him will always long to, he won’t. Because her happiness has always mattered more to him than his own and she has never stopped loving Liam. “I’m lucky because I never dreamed I would be able to tell you how much I love you. And I’ll always feel that way—lucky and loving. I know what it’s like now. To give myself fully, to love and be loved in return. However brief it was, I will always, always be thankful for that. And I will always, always love you.”

  “Austin—” Harper’s eyes have welled with tears and she knows that if they fall, she’ll never hear the end of it from Clare. She heaves out a sigh and steadies herself, but they flow freely over her cheeks anyway. “Austin, I do love you. I hope you know that.”

  “I know.” He nods and reaches up under her veil to swipe her tears with his thumbs. “But you love him more.”

  “Not more—differently.” She closes her eyes and leans into his hands, kisses the heel of one palm. “I’ll always love you, and I’ll always be thankful for you—for being there for me when
he wasn’t, for giving me space when I needed it, for forgiving me and supporting me when I was ready to be with him again, for allowing him back into your life, for being his best man and our best friend.”

  He cries, silent and moved, as she reaches over to wipe his tears much in the same way he did for her. “I hope you know that my heart isn’t whole, that you’ll always have a piece of it, and a piece of yours will forever be in mine—that’s what we leave behind.”

  “I do.” Her throat tightens at the words, at all of the meaning that they hold, and it takes everything in her to let him go. He kisses her cheek again as the music queues the processional to start and with the most heartfelt smile he can give her, he says, “It’s time”

  Austin walks her to the back door where Hilary awaits her and Gemma awaits him. He kisses Gemma on the cheek—Gemma, who has been so understanding—and she rubs a hand over his back, knowing how he aches, before she begins her walk down the aisle with Dylan. He and Clare are next, and he knows that the next time he’ll see Harper, she’ll be walking down the aisle and not toward him. He won’t object and he won’t cry. He will stand witness as she begins her life with the man she loves and he will be thankful to be by their side.

  Clare appears beside him after quickly touching up Harper’s makeup for the last time and links her arm through his. She asks if he’s okay and he isn’t, but he won’t tell her that. He knows Harper is listening, watching. He knows Harper would know he’s lying. He looks over at her, at the way she looks at him, and gives her one last smile and a firm and final nod, before he escorts Clare out the door.