by M. Ullrich
“Oh, Gen. I don’t know what you want me to say.”
“Say anything. Tell me I’m crazy, tell me I love Jeremy, or tell me I’ve been lying for so long that I’ve convinced myself of these feelings.” Genevieve swallowed the lump of fear in her throat before whispering, “Tell me you’ll still love me.”
“Genevieve, I’ll love you even if you were calling to tell me you gave that black eye to a nun.”
Genevieve laughed and released a long, relieved breath.
“I’m a little offended that you doubted that,” Chloe said.
“I didn’t, not really anyway. I wasn’t thinking clearly.”
“Obviously. You thought this news would be surprising for me.”
“What do you mean?” Finally relaxed, Genevieve walked to her kitchen in search of a small snack and a drink.
“I’m talking about Becky in seventh grade and Mya from freshman year.”
Genevieve thought back to those two ghosts. Silence engulfed her, as did a chill. Then she realized she was standing in front of the open refrigerator. Genevieve shook off her stupor and closed the door. “What are you getting at?”
“Remember the next door neighbor’s babysitter? What was her name?”
“Margot.” Genevieve had never felt that name did the beautiful brunette justice.
“You were insufferable when she was around, always wanting to play whatever game they were playing.”
“She was older and cool.”
“She was barely a year older, and I would catch you staring at her all the time. Mya, Becky, Margot—they’re just the three I could think of. Gen, your boss is not your first girl crush. And before you say that what you’re feeling is beyond a girl crush, that’s because you’re mature now. You finally understand what your heart is trying to tell you.”
Genevieve stood nervously in her kitchen, toe tapping against the linoleum. “And Jeremy?”
“You’re both comfortable, and it probably would’ve worked out if you didn’t want more than what Milan had to offer. But for what it’s worth, I don’t think you’re in love with him.”
No drink. No snack. Genevieve’s stomach twisted. She’d expected Chloe to be honest and forthcoming, but she wasn’t expecting an entire upheaval of her life. Genevieve laughed mirthlessly. Of course she expected that. Chloe knew her better than she knew herself. You can’t force self-denial onto your best friend.
“I love you, Chloe. Start packing for your visit. The party is the Friday before Christmas, and you’ll need plenty of outfits to choose from.”
“I wouldn’t miss being your hot date for the world. I can’t wait to meet Clarissa. She doesn’t stand a chance against me.”
“No, she doesn’t. Thanks for everything.”
“Anytime.” Genevieve was about to disconnect the call when she heard Chloe calling out to her. “Quick question. Does your boss have a date?”
Genevieve’s stomach sank deeper, bottoming out as sickeningly low as it could go. Could Harper have a date? Some mystery woman draped on Harper’s arm, stealing all of her attention?
“I…I don’t know.”
They ended their call shortly after. Genevieve carried the uneasy, uncertain feeling heavily as she shut off the lights in her apartment and climbed into bed. Sleep was the only thing that could stop her overactive imagination.
Step Fourteen
If Necessary, Include a Partner
Genevieve stared at the rolling waves of the Atlantic. The rhythmic motion did little to spark her creative mind, but it did manage to soothe the rest of her. Since her conversation with Chloe, Genevieve had been more on edge than ever. She couldn’t quite figure out why, but she had a feeling it had something to do with recognizing a truth while living a lie. She had avoided too much contact with Harper, needing the space to process her thoughts without any influence. Genevieve was amazed by how much pull those sterling eyes had and how much they warmed her even on the coldest day of the year. They could be the reason behind her every decision.
She was also fighting another war over two hundred miles away. Genevieve continued her nightly phone conversations with Jeremy, but they had very little to talk about, and neither could muster up interest in the other’s halfhearted stories. She skipped the scheduled call last night, and she didn’t feel guilty about it. Truthfully, she felt guiltier for not handing in her piece on time.
Genevieve saw Dana approaching quickly and quietly, but she wasn’t going to let the stealthy woman get the best of her again. She spun around and nearly shouted, “Dana!”
Dana jumped back and yelped. She readjusted her hair before nodding slightly at Genevieve. “I deserved that,” she said with a small smile.
Genevieve barely contained her proud laughter. In the distance, she could see Maxine giving her a thumbs up. “What’s up?”
“Ms. Davies would like to see you.” Genevieve’s smile fell. “She’s probably a little worried that she hasn’t received your piece yet.”
“Oh.” Genevieve waved Dana’s relayed concern off. “Tell her it’s almost done.”
“She’ll be very happy to hear that.” Dana smiled politely, and when Genevieve turned to leave, she said, “From you.”
Genevieve forced a tight-lipped smile. “Fine,” she said with a clenched jaw.
The walk from the ocean view to Harper’s office was a short one, and Genevieve wished she had at least one or two small distractions to detain her, but she didn’t even see a paper clip on the floor to pick up. She missed Harper’s smile and the gentle cadence of her words, but she was trying to protect both Harper and herself.
She stood outside Harper’s closed office door and checked her appearance. Her navy blue blouse was tucked neatly into her beige tweed skirt. She straightened the large bow at the neckline of her shirt, a detail she loved at first but that strangled her now. She shook off her discomfort and knocked before opening the door enough to peek inside.
“Harper?”
“Genevieve!” Harper looked up from her paperwork with a vibrant smile. “Come in.”
“Your bounty hunter told me you wanted to see me.”
“Ah yes. I messaged you, but when I didn’t get a reply I decided to send Dana for you. She’s effective.”
“That she is.” Genevieve took a seat across from her and tried not to fall into her gentle gaze. “What can I do for you?”
“I just wanted to—” Harper paused and looked just over Genevieve’s shoulder before she stood and closed the office door again. When she came back, she took a seat beside Genevieve instead of her usual spot behind the desk. Genevieve grew nervous. Harper sat at the edge of her seat and leaned forward, minimizing the space between them before speaking quietly. “I just wanted to check in.”
“I know my piece is a day late, but the first draft is just about done. Everything’s fine.” Genevieve should’ve tried to lean back and away from Harper’s body to rein in her sanity, but Genevieve knew if she moved at all, it’d be toward Harper.
Harper’s head fell. “I had a feeling you’d say that, and as much as I want to believe you, I don’t.” She looked up at Genevieve again. “It’s like someone else is writing your stuff lately.”
“I’m just a little off.”
“And you’re not talking,” Harper said sullenly. “At least not to me. Did I do something?”
“What? No.” Genevieve reached out and grabbed Harper’s hand. “It’s just…” Genevieve struggled to find the right words. She didn’t want to complicate the situation by lying, but she wasn’t ready to offer the truth. She saw the twinkling lights outside the window. “The holiday season is always a lot for me. Christmas is great once it’s here, but the lead-up is overwhelming.” Genevieve didn’t want Harper to question her anymore, so she turned the conversation back to work. “Has my column been lacking?”
“No, it’s not that.” Harper traced the delicate bones of Genevieve’s hand with her thumb, but she politely pulled her hand back to her lap. Harper loo
ked a bit disappointed but covered it quickly by getting back to business. “It just seems a bit less personal, that’s all. I don’t think any readers picked up on that. It could’ve just been me.”
“I can promise you that with Christmas coming up, I’ll be getting very personal.”
“How’s your eye?” Harper sat forward again, this time reaching out and tracing along Genevieve’s bruised brow bone. Genevieve sucked in a sharp breath. Her eyes fluttered closed at the delicate touch.
Genevieve didn’t understand how the barely-there contact could affect her so. Why was her writing so impersonal lately? Because Genevieve couldn’t put this feeling into written words without having to explain so much more.
“It’s okay,” Genevieve said, struggling against the desire to lean into the touch. “The bruise is getting darker, but it’s not as sore. I can wiggle my eyebrows now without wanting to cry.”
Harper laughed when she did so. “Good. We have to make sure that skill is never lost.” Harper went back to her seat behind her desk. “Are you ready for the party tomorrow night?” She shuffled a few papers before sitting.
“Are you ready? You’re the host, after all.”
Harper waved her off. “Oh, please. The caterers do all the hard work. I just supply the venue.”
“I’m looking forward to it. I’ve heard your Christmas parties are not to be missed.”
“Whatever you heard is true, good or bad.”
Silence stretched on. Genevieve wanted to prolong the conversation just so she could enjoy Harper’s company a bit longer. She had avoided her boss for days, and now she wanted to drink up their time together like she was dehydrated. Harper flipped a switch in her. One minute she could be so cool and in control, and the next she was a mess of ardor and want. Genevieve felt like she was suffering from emotional whiplash.
“I’ll let you get back to work—”
“Would you like to get dinner—”
Harper and Genevieve spoke at the same time.
Genevieve blushed at Harper’s unexpected invitation. As much as she wanted to accept and ask whether the outing was work-related or not, Genevieve’s plans were already set.
“I can’t, I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be, it was very last minute. Maybe some other time.” Harper’s voice hardened slightly, but Genevieve clung to the hint of hopefulness she heard in it.
“Absolutely.” Genevieve stood and walked to the door, when she turned back, Harper was smiling. She leaned against the doorway and bit her lip. “See you around, boss.” She winked before walking back to her desk.
That short time spent with Harper renewed Genevieve’s waning writer’s heart. She had a different focus on writing a piece about being single during the holidays now, and she was able to finish just a little before four thirty.
“Going into the week-long stretch of holiday celebrations without someone to love may not be easy,” she read aloud, “but when you already have your sights set on achievable resolutions, loneliness dissipates and optimism shines brighter than holiday lights.” Genevieve sat back with a smile of satisfaction. She sent the final product to Harper and gathered her things before bidding her coworkers good-bye and running out the door.
The holiday season always went by quicker than she really preferred. Genevieve missed her childhood, when making it to winter break was a struggle and the mere thought of Christmas morning felt like decades away. Now Genevieve panicked about how she could fit everything on her to-do list into one evening. She fidgeted by the window in her bedroom and waited to catch a glimpse of Chloe’s car. They had to shop, they surely needed manicures and pedicures, and they needed to put together the perfect ensemble for Genevieve to wear to the party. Genevieve was fairly certain Harper was interested in her, and she needed to make sure it stayed that way until she cleaned up the mess she had created.
Shortly after six o’clock, Chloe’s car crawled down the street, turned around, and went the other direction. Finding street parking in front of Genevieve’s apartment was always a struggle. Genevieve imagined how much Chloe was likely cursing. She laughed and grabbed her coat, wanting to see her as soon as possible. She ran down the stairs in a rush and came to a stop on the small porch of her building. Chloe had finally found a spot and was approaching, her hands filled with bags of all kinds.
“Are you moving in?”
“You wish.” Chloe dropped a large, overfilled duffel bag at Genevieve’s feet and handed her a nondescript white box with ribbon tied around it. “For you.”
“Is this…?” Genevieve said, even though she recognized the blank box and plain ribbon.
“Doughnuts from Randy’s? Of course. There’s a whole dozen in there, so try to save me one.”
“No promises.”
“Don’t even think about it,” Chloe said. Genevieve rolled her eyes and took hold of one end of the heavy duffel. “Don’t roll your eyes at me. Nice shiner, by the way.”
“You should’ve seen it last week.”
“I wish I had, but you refused to send pictures.”
Together they hoisted everything up the stairs into Genevieve’s apartment. After Chloe’s arms were free, she wrapped them around Genevieve in a robust hug. In that familiar embrace, whatever weak control Genevieve had over her emotions crumbled. So many months of lying, tiptoeing along the truth, and using avoidance as a lifesaving tactic had worn Genevieve thin.
“You’re okay,” Chloe whispered as she rubbed soothing circles on her friend’s back. “Let it out, you’re okay.”
They sat on the couch and talked without a phone in hand or needing to rush off for the first time since Genevieve had moved to New Jersey. Genevieve shared every detail of her feelings between bites of fried and glazed dough.
“What do you plan on telling Harper?” Chloe asked.
Genevieve discarded a small bit of uneaten doughnut back into the box and licked her fingertips. “I don’t know.” She threw her head back into the cushions. “Just like how I have no idea what to tell Jeremy.”
“Screw Jeremy.”
“I thought you liked Jeremy.”
“I like him plenty.” Chloe gathered her long, dark hair into a ponytail. “He’s been one of my closest guy friends since grade school. I just never liked him for you.”
“Why didn’t you say anything?” Genevieve pulled the throw pillow out from behind her back and hit her friend with it.
Chloe shielded herself. “Because I thought you were happy!”
“What changed?”
“I see you now, and even though you’re going through a lot of shit at the moment, there’s something different. Good different. You sparkle.”
“I sparkle?” Genevieve raised her eyebrow.
“When you talk about Harper or Out Shore, the sparkle is in your voice, and now that I’m looking at you, it’s in your eyes, too.”
“That’s the stupidest thing I’ve ever heard.”
“Stupid or not, it’s true. Now, let’s go.” Chloe smacked Genevieve’s thigh and stood. “We have shopping to do, and you owe me a night out.”
“It won’t be wild,” Genevieve said. Trying to accomplish anything after a day of work felt impossible, and her lack of emotional strength wasn’t helping matters. “First we find our dresses for tomorrow night, and then I’ll take you to a bar I’ve been hearing a lot about. I can use the visit for my next piece.”
“Oh!” Chloe clapped excitedly. “A gay bar?”
“Yes, Chloe, a gay bar.”
Chloe’s squeal of delight hurt Genevieve’s ears.
*
“A lot of people from work come here to unwind,” Genevieve shouted into Chloe’s ear. They leaned against the bar and watched as men and women of different ages, races, and styles milled about, chatting and smiling.
“Recognize anyone?” Chloe said. Genevieve looked around and shook her head. They drank without speaking for some time, each just taking in the surroundings. “Anyone catching your eye?” Chloe said
with a wry smile.
“The last thing I need is for anyone else to catch my eye!” Genevieve pushed her friend and took a sip of her cold beer.
“What does Harper look like?”
“You’ll meet her tomorrow night.”
“Does she look like her?” Chloe nodded toward the heavily tattooed bartender with short bleached hair. Genevieve raised her eyebrows and shook her head. “What about her?” Chloe gestured at a feminine woman with long dark hair and perfectly crafted winged eyeliner. The woman was gorgeous, but so far from Harper Genevieve thought the comparison was pure comedy, and she laughed outright.
“Not even close.”
“Then tell me.”
“No one here looks like her.” She thought of Harper’s style and her smile. Genevieve had never met anyone who could compare to her. She stared down at her beer bottle and smiled before speaking. “She has a very unique look, very androgynous.”
“Like boyish?”
“But soft. She dresses so well—fitted suits and shirts. She’s always put together. You can tell she was an athlete or at least works out quite a bit because she’s pretty built, but not too big.” Genevieve sighed and rolled her eyes. She wasn’t describing Harper well at all. “It’s her eyes that get me,” she said so quietly that Chloe had to lean in. “I swear I lose hours every time I look in them.”
“Color?”
“Gray.”
“Height?”
“Tall.”
“Hair?”
“Dark and short, always in place,” Genevieve said.
Chloe took a sip of her beer, seemingly finished with her rapid-fire questioning. “She sounds attractive,” Chloe said indifferently.
“She is.” Genevieve pictured Harper standing in her office, hands buried deep in the pockets of her suit pants, pulled tight against her muscular buttocks. Her dress shirt would most definitely be blue, maybe a cobalt or royal to bring out her eyes. She’d have her sleeves rolled up to mid-forearm, showing off the start of strong arms and a fancy large watch. Whenever Genevieve thought about Harper, she was smiling. The top button of her collared shirt was always left open and the rest would fit the curves of her torso so well. “She really is.” Genevieve swallowed roughly.
