by Olivia Luck
“How many chances does he get?” I wonder aloud.
You gave your father another one, a voice deep inside whispers.
Luke shakes his head, capturing my attention. “You’re right. I’m sorry I brought it up.”
“I ran into Jared the other day,” Dad mentions mildly.
I busy myself with nibbling a piece of toast at the thought of my ex-boyfriend. Sean and Luke exchange a worried glance.
“He was pretty angry. Said your new boyfriend called him and told him never to contact you again.”
I nearly choke on the bread at the surprising revelation. The toast falls onto the plate with a shower of crumbs. Dad knows this?
“At first I was surprised to hear you had a new boyfriend, but then I was glad that you were dating someone who would speak up on your behalf, especially to that little punk who was never good enough for you in the first place.”
My body rears back slightly. I’m flabbergasted. Jared was my boyfriend for nearly two years. Dad’s never spoken negatively about him until now.
“Why didn’t you say anything?” I demand, clenching my hands under the table.
Dad grimaces, not a proud expression. “I thought it was your decision to make.”
On one hand, I’m angry that he didn’t voice his opinions. But there were many obstacles in the way of honesty between us then. Now, though, there’s the opportunity for his advice. “Moving forward, it would be cool to know what you think about the choices I’m making,” I tell him softly.
Dad’s eyes widen in surprise. Then he tells me gruffly, “You made the right decision, getting rid of that shithead.”
Sean responds for me. “Amen to that, Donnie boy!”
“Donnie? Seriously, do you have any boundaries?” Luke asks, horrified. My dad seems okay with the nickname, a slight smile replacing his frown.
“Does anyone have a suggestion for what I do next?” I ask glumly while the waitress busses our plates.
“First thing”—Sean eyes Luke, who smiles encouragingly—“we’ve talked it over and we’d really like for you to stay with us. As long as you want, of course.”
“I could never ask that of you,” I automatically respond. Deep down I’m thrilled they care enough to make the offer.
“Why not? We love you, we have the space, and we know it won’t be permanent. Just until you find your own perfect place.” Luke wiggles his eyebrows as he drops the name of my interior design blog into the conversation. “If it takes six months, we’ll be happy to have you.”
I worry my bottom lip between my teeth. “And the rent?” A flush heats my cheeks.
“There will be no rent. Duh.” Sean laughs. “Like we would charge you in your time of crisis. I don’t think so.”
The words come out after a heavy sigh of relief. “That would be fantastic, and I truly want to get my own place, so I won’t stick around forever. But there’s no way I could live in your home without contributing.”
Meanwhile, my dad watches the exchange with a bemused expression.
“We’ll discuss that later,” Sean says, then turns to Dad. “Do I have something on my face? You’re looking at me funny.”
Dad laughs again, a deep reassuring rumble. “Another thing I’m glad about, my daughter having friends like you two.”
My lips relax from their position in a frown. “Me too, Dad.”
As a group, we decide that after the meal we’ll gather up some of Sean’s and Luke’s luggage and use it to transport my belongings from Claire’s apartment to their place.
When the bill arrives in the middle of the table, my dad immediately swoops it into his grasp and pulls out his worn leather wallet.
“Dad, don’t—”
“Ed, I’d like to pay for breakfast with your friends,” he says firmly in what I like to call his cop voice. There’s no room for argument.
Dad’s never been cheap, but where is this generosity coming from? Sure breakfast wasn’t that expensive, but coupled with the extravagant hotel, I’m somewhat alarmed by his unusual spending habits.
We thank Dad for breakfast and travel back to Sean and Luke’s. While we drive toward their apartment, nervous butterflies take off in my stomach as I consider retrieving my belongings from Claire’s. I barely ate anything this morning and now I’m paying the price with a wobbly stomach.
Dad and Sean leave Luke and me in the apartment while they head down to the basement of the building to go through storage and collect the suitcases. I’m sitting at the breakfast bar when Luke ambles over holding his cell phone with an unsure expression.
“I want to show you something I haven’t told Sean yet.”
“Okay.” I draw out the word across multiple syllables.
With a few thumb swipes, he unlocks the devices and pulls up a message on his screen. The timestamp shows from when we were eating breakfast.
Harris: I have no right put you in the middle of this and I’m sorry for doing so, but I need to know. Tell me she’s all right.
My heart starts beating frantically, and for a moment my vision swims. I blink away the dizziness.
Luke: She’s Eddie—of course she’s all right.
Harris: Have I fucked this up beyond repair?
Luke: I hope not.
“Why wouldn’t he text me? Do I even want him to text me? Luke, I’m so confused.” I push his phone away and prop my elbows on the cool granite countertop. I drop my face into my waiting hands. That simple exchange of data burns. If Harris wanted to know how I was doing, why didn’t he contact me? He said he wouldn’t give it up. This resembles a retreat.
Luke places a soothing hand on my back. “May I make a suggestion?”
I shift on the stool and look at him. “Please.”
“Whenever I was really upset about something like getting dumped or a fight with a friend, my mom would always tell me to take it one day at a time. Don’t try to figure out the mysteries of the world or your entire relationship with Harris right now. Give it time.”
“Your mom gives good advice.”
Luke ruffles my hair affectionately. “She does.”
The front door opens and Sean and my dad appear, dragging oversized rolling bags.
“So, Donnie and I made an executive decision,” Sean informs us.
“And?” Luke’s amused.
“We’re taking Edith to get her things from the dragon lady and you’re staying here. We wouldn’t want you to have any uncomfortable encounters with someone you have to work with.”
“Agreed,” I chime in.
Luke’s hand, which is still on my back, pats me twice. “That’s probably for the best.”
I shuffle off the stool and straighten my shoulders, trying to push away the new ache from reading Harris’ texts. I can’t fret on that while there’s a looming threat straight ahead.
It’s time to face Claire.
It’s not until we’re rolling the luggage up the drive that I see Harris’ boxy SUV parked outside Claire’s apartment building. Dormant nerves make their presence known and my hands start to sweat.
“He’s here,” I tell them softly.
“I’ll be with you, Ed, for whatever it’s worth,” Dad rumbles from beside me. He covers my shoulder with one palm and gently squeezes.
“And me!” Sean pipes up. “Let’s get in and out like a teenage boy losing his virginity.”
I let out a laugh, though it’s a rusty sound. I lead them through the lobby that once took my breath away, giving the doorman, Bernie, a shy smile as we pass him. Inside the elevator, my anxiety is back. I’m trembling, literally quaking in the air conditioning, at the thought of interacting with Harris and Claire again.
“You got this,” Sean murmurs.
The doors whoosh open. The men walk slightly behind me because the hallway’s not wide enough for the three of side by side. When I retrieve the keys and lift them to the lock, my hand shakes so badly I can’t fit it in properly. Dad relieves me of the task and slides the key into the
lock. He pushes the door open and enters ahead of me, facing whatever lies there first. The protection is an unfamiliar fatherly gesture, but it’s a welcome one.
Sucking in a deep breath, I follow.
My body reacts to Harris’ presence even before I see him. The hairs along my arms spring to attention and my heart rate increases as I hear his gravelly, exhausted voice.
“What have you done, Claire? What have you done?” Harris asks forlornly.
His words nearly make me stumble, but I keep going, holding my head high. We enter the living-dining-kitchen combination room where we find Harris sitting on the sofa, his arms propped up on his knees, and his head in his hands. Claire’s smiling wickedly now that she spotted us. Harris, too lost in his own thoughts, doesn’t acknowledge our entry.
“And who do we have here?” she murmurs.
Harris’ head snaps up and he twists his body around, his expressive gray eyes filled with confusion.
Somehow, I speak up. “I’ve come to collect my things. I’m moving out.”
“Edith.” The word comes out on a defeated exhale. With a beseeching gaze, Harris stands up and takes a halting step toward us, then pauses, shoving his hands into his jean pockets.
“Good,” Claire says with a faux smile on her face. “But won’t you introduce us to your handsome friend?”
My dad clears his throat. “I’m Ed’s father. We’ll be out of your way shortly.” He angles backward to look at me. “Go ahead,” he tells me like he wants me to leave the room.
What could he possibly need to say to them?
“Little mouse never told me the daddy that doesn’t love her is a hottie.”
A rumbling noise escapes from Harris. “Claire!” he snaps.
Did she really just say that? Now my anxiety is falling behind a very different, raw emotion—fury.
“Look, Claire.” I release the suitcase in my hand and skirt around my father, moving closer to the couch. My eyes stay on her, ignoring everything else in the room. If I don’t focus on my resentment toward Claire, I might unwittingly reveal my broken heart. That’s not why I came here. “I can’t live with the lies and the games anymore. This place is unhealthy for me, and I’m not going to let you manipulate me anymore. I want to move out and move on. Could you just tell me what I owe you?”
“Move out and move on.” Claire pulls a face as she mimics my words.
“Ed,” my dad snaps, drawing my attention away from Claire. “Get started. I’ll handle the rest.”
“Dad—”
“Go.” His uses a razor-sharp tone, leaving no room for argument. With my marching orders, my eyes flicker to Harris. He clenches his fists, and wears a mask of thunder directed at his sister. Where was that anger yesterday?
Turning on my toes, I grab the discarded luggage and set off to the bedroom, Sean trailing behind me. When we’re inside, he presses the door shut firmly behind us. Muffled voices continue talking in the other room.
“Am I a wimp for not staying out there?”
Sean shakes his head swiftly and then begins the task of opening the suitcases that we dragged into the room. Bending down, he unzips the bags and lays them against the wall. “Your dad wants to handle the money logistics for you. I think you should let him. Harris was hella pissed at his sister, and Claire is hella insane. If you decide to talk to Harris again, better be when he’s calmed down.”
I follow his lead, turning to the dresser on the opposite wall, and begin removing clothing. We work silently for a few minutes, both straining to translate the noises coming from the living room. Sean and I make up a small assembly line; I pull garments out from a drawer and he packs them away.
“How many suitcases do you have?” He breaks up our movements.
My mouth opens to answer when a violent door slam interrupts my response.
“Woah,” Sean whispers.
“The Grant door slam,” I explain. But which Grant left? Maybe both.
Dad doesn’t appear, and the conversation outside the bedroom continues. Sean and I make eye contact across the room. “Harris is still here,” I surmise. He nods once. Dropping the sports bras in my hand to the ground, I hurry across the room and yank the bedroom door open. I’m just in front of the gallery of family photos in the hallway when I hear the front door close again, this time more gently. My dad and I meet in the middle.
“He left?”
“I told him to go.” Dad’s lips are pressed into a thin, straight line. His eyes are dark with displeasure.
“Why would you do that?” I snap. But I’m not sure why I’m angry with him. Did I really want to talk to Harris now? Only yesterday I walked away from him.
“I made a judgment call,” he says gruffly, bypassing me and moving into the bedroom.
“You don’t get to pick and choose when to be my father,” I call after him. His movements stall, body tenses, and he slowly turns around.
“I have always been your father, Ed. Always. It’s just taken me awhile to figure out the way to be a good one.”
Anger slips right out of me.
Don’t push him away, don’t push him away.
“Dad.” I stop speaking, then step over to his side and touch his elbow. “Thank you for handling the details with Claire.”
The tense expression on his face softens and he nods. “Let’s try to go easy on each other.”
“Deal,” I whisper.
He sweeps his arm out toward the bedroom in an “after you” gesture.
Inside my former bedroom, we work efficiently and quietly. Within two hours, the room looks exactly as it did before I moved in a month ago. Everything I brought somehow fit into Sean’s bags, and my additional three.
I’m the last one out of the apartment, and when I drop my key on the console table next to the front door and shut off the hallway light, the weight of the moment staggers me. I could be closing the door on Harris, Claire, the small routine I had built, for good. A flurry of panic prickles at the back of my neck. Could it be gone so quickly?
One day at a time, Luke’s voice reminds me. Shaking off the lingering pain, I shut the door behind me with a less-than-satisfying click.
Persistent ringing jolts me awake the next morning.
Slapping my hand down on the bedside table, I feel around for my phone. When I find it, I answer without looking at the screen. “’Lo?”
“Did I wake you?” my dad asks.
“A little,” I mumble sleepily.
“It’s early, but you fell asleep before we could talk about your plans for the day. Are you working?”
Last night after Sean, Luke, Dad and I unpacked, we ordered in pizza and watched Friends reruns on their couch. At some point in the early evening, I succumbed to my exhaustion. I realize now that someone must have carried me into bed.
“Dad, I work every day. Speaking of…” I force myself up into a sitting position, looking over at the alarm clock. It’s a little later than I normally wake during the workweek. “Not that I’m unhappy you’re here, but when are you going back home?”
“I have a ticket for Wednesday. But if you need me to stay longer, I won’t go.” Vehemence laces his tone.
Some of the tension I carry softens into a relaxed stance. It’s just now settling in that he took off a lot of time from work to check on me.
“Okay, well I was going to visit an antique furniture store this morning and review it for my blog. Late afternoon I have an appointment with a client.” Mrs. Fletcher, wife to one of Harris’s colleagues, and a client insistent that I refer to her in a formal way. Simply thinking about the meeting ignites anxiety; I wonder if Claire spread her deceptive stories to Mrs. Fletcher, too.
“Do you want company?” Dad asks hesitantly, and his words send a beam of happiness through me.
“That would be great,” I respond shyly. “We could grab breakfast. There are some restaurants near the shop.” Through my research last week, I found a popular antique store I thought might have an interesting overs
ized mirror for Amanda’s guestroom. Now that I lost the McDaniel account, I’ll visit the store anyway to review it and scope out the merchandise.
“What time should I come to get you?”
“I was going to take the train over there around ten.”
“Ed, I’m an old man; let’s take a cab.”
“Forty-seven is far from old, and you run five miles almost every day.”
“Humor me.”
We end the call and I check the time. It’s 7:40 in Chicago, an hour behind DC. 8:40 is a semi-decent hour to call my best friend, Sarah Mendel. She’s an early riser anyway.
“Morning,” she chirps into the phone. “What are you doing?”
“Just making plans to have breakfast with my father in a couple of hours. In Chicago. You wouldn’t happen to know anything about that, would you?”
Sarah laughs nervously. “He might have called me and asked for your address.”
“He might have, or he did?”
“Are you mad? That will impact how I answer.”
On my end of the phone, a small smile plays at my lips because truthfully, I’m more thankful than words can express. “No,” I murmur almost to myself. “Not mad at all. He showed up at exactly the right time. What are you doing, Sar?”
“Drinking coffee in the kitchen and worrying about you. Why do you sound like you were run over by a Hummer?”
“I didn’t protect my heart,” I whisper, my voice coming out garbled with the onslaught of brutal memories.
“Oh, Eddie. Tell me what happened.”
For the second time in less than twenty-four hours, I relay my tale.
When I’m done, Sarah’s contemplative. “We know that Claire has lost her mind, but Harris…”
“Harris kept his mouth shut. First he pushed me away, which sucked, but I understood why. I was ready to give him time to decide when he was ready to talk about Cooper. But when Claire came after me, he was catatonic, completely unlike him.”
“And then he chased after you,” Sarah reminds me gently like Luke did last night. “Give him a break, Eddie, he was already in a state after being confronted with Cooper, and then this mess with his sister? I’m sure it’s not easy on him.”
