~~
The next morning, Harper’s cell vibrated like an angry bee on her nightstand, jolting her awake for the second day in a row. She peeled her tear-encrusted face from the pillow and looked at the tiny screen. Six missed calls from a number she didn’t recognize. However, the caller ID in this moment displayed “Zel.”
“Hello?” Harper ground out her words.
“Jesus, Harper. What were you thinking?” Zel’s voice was full of concern.
“I wasn’t. I was sleeping.”
“Funny. You’re real damned funny. Have you looked at the Enquirer this morning?”
“I try not to read tabloids before coffee. Why?”
“There is a picture of you,” she said, clearly hesitant to deliver this news, “and the caption says, and I quote, ‘SF Tribune reporter has sex in broad daylight on downtown St. Helena sidewalk.”
What! “What!”
“Yes. And with the angle of the picture, it looks like you were enjoying it.”
No. No. Nooo…Why me?
“Zel, I was not having sex on the sidewalk. We were making out in a very provocative way that may have involved some pelvic grinding, but that’s all, I promise.”
Oh. That didn’t come out sounding much better.
“Harper, honey,” she groaned into the phone, “I can’t believe I have to do this, but…I have to fire you.”
“Zel, you can’t—”
“It was Dan’s call and, surprisingly, it has nothing to do with this, although I’m sure it didn’t help. He said he got a call from the Oakland Examiner, and someone told him that you were helping one of their reporters get an exclusive story.”
“That’s a lie.”
“I know, Harper. I know. I tried to talk him out of it, but there is no seeing reason with that man.”
“But who would have called him?” Harper asked.
“I don’t know, but Dan blacklisted you. I can’t tell you how sorry I am.”
“I’m sorry, too.” But at least Zel was keeping her job and wouldn’t be blacklisted, so that was a silver lining. “I’ll call you later, okay?” Harper ended the call and stared at the ceiling of her bedroom. It was over. Over. She’d lost her dream job.
Her phone rang again, and it was that same number she didn’t recognize. “Hello?”
“Harper, it’s me, Austin.”
“What do you want?”
“We need to talk. Can I come see you?”
She wanted to yell at him and tell him what a giant prick he was for lying to her about Libby, but pride suppressed the outburst. She couldn’t give him the satisfaction of knowing how badly he’d hurt her.
“I’m actually busy today. Something urgent came up.”
“So you’re not coming back to the farm?”
“Uh. Well…I’ve been let go from my paper.”
“Shit. You’re kidding me,” he said.
“I am afraid not. But it kind of works out nicely, don’t you think? You get that story, and I get to pursue my true purpose. Nothing’s holding me back now.” Why the hell did I just say that?
“What are you talking about? What purpose?”
Yeah, Harper. What are you talking about? “I’m going to write a book about love,” she decided on the fly.
“Love?”
“Yes,” she said. “I’m going to write about how people have been brainwashed into believing a biological need to procreate has cosmic significance. Thank you, by the way, for providing the material for my first two chapters.”
“Harper—”
“Oh, don’t worry. I’m grateful. You opened my eyes when I was nine to the fact that everlasting, romantic, swoon-type love is fictional. I’m grateful that I didn’t have to walk through life with my head up my ass, believing in some ridiculous fairytale. It’s liberating. Did you know that I thought that I loved you? But here’s the kicker, I saw you kiss someone else, and it was gone. Just like that. Which means it wasn’t real.”
Oddly, as she said those words, two distinctive memories meshed together: the one of him kissing Becky, and the other of him kissing Libby. She felt like an old scab had been knocked off, and it disturbed her to feel so emotionally vulnerable.
“I think you’ve lost your mind, Harper. I think you’re angry because of Libby, and now you’ve lost your job. I think you’re making this shit up because you’re afraid, but if you would liste—”
“Afraid? Of what?”
“Of taking a risk. Of being hurt. Or maybe you’re just afraid to admit you’re wrong.”
Preposterous! “I’m not afraid of anything. And I’m definitely not afraid of being wrong. I’m wrong all the time. I embrace my wrongness. I eat wrong for breakfast and sprinkle it on my salads!” I’m eating wrong right now as we speak, because I was wrong about you! “But I’m right about this. Romantic love is a joke.”
“All right. Then let’s wager.”
“Wager?”
“Yeah. A bet. I can prove I’m right. Love—the squishy, corny, wishy-washy kind—exists.”
“Funny. And how do you intend to prove that? Are you going to have your fiancée tell me all about how in love you two are? Maybe she can recite a sonnet about her deep love for you while you stick your tongue deep in her mouth right after you’ve had it in mine. That will convince me.”
She heard Austin growl. “That was low, Harper. Almost as low as the fact that you’re not willing to let me explain myself. And exactly why is that? Are you…afraid, Harper? Are you afraid to hear the truth? Or are you afraid I might win and prove you wrong?”
Okay. Now who was off their meds? “Fine. I’ll take the bet, but you’re smoking something—hint: it’s legal in the state of California with a doctor’s prescription. And you’re definitely smoking it if you think that you could prove true love exists. Any idiot can fake loving someone, and just about every idiot out there is ready to believe the lie. It happens all the time.”
“You can’t fake love, Harper. The heart knows when it’s real and when it’s not. I can’t believe I’m having to explain this to a woman. I sound like such a wuss. You’re not going to tell my friends, are you?”
“Yes, I’m definitely telling your friends. So how exactly do you plan to prove it?”
He hesitated. “You’ll just have to wait and see. But if I don’t convince you, then I lose the bet.”
“Uh-uh.” She couldn’t consider that a win. “I win when I show you the truth. You win if I end up agreeing with you. One of us has to concede rightness to the other party.” Obviously, her side of the bet would be a cakewalk.
“Fine.”
“Fine. So what are we wagering?”
There was a long pause. “A public apology. If I win, you will write a public apology, and since you no longer work for the San Francisco Tribune, I’m sure that my paper will gladly publish your article all about being wrong and how to eat crow gracefully like a big girl.”
Smug baboon. He was already counting his chickens.
“If you win,” he continued, “I will publically declare you the winner and even mention your upcoming book.”
Now that he’d said it like that, maybe she really would write that book. “All right. Game on, Austin. Name the time and place.”
“Saturday. Ms. Luci’s party.”
“Fine. See you then.”
Harper hung up the phone, and then her mind began to spin wildly. How in the world was he going to convince her that love was real?
She had no clue. As for her side. She already knew exactly what she was going to do to win. She was going to play dirty.
Then, for no apparent reason, she felt a terrible sadness overtake her heart. She placed her hands over her face and began to cry.
What am I doing? This needs to end.
CHAPTER TEN
After the calls with Zel and Austin, Harper spent the rest of the day in bed sleeping like the dead. When she woke during the night to answer the call of nature, she could hardly muster the strength to ca
rry her own weight. It was like her life force had been drained away, leaving her hollow.
Little more than a week ago, she’d been at the top of her game, living a life built firmly over bedrock—solid, secure, comforting bedrock that couldn’t easily be moved. In the job department, she’d scored her dream and had only expected things to go up from there. In the guy department, she hadn’t had anyone, but she wasn’t all torn up and heartbroken, either. She was confident that when the time was right, she’d meet a guy who shared her realistic views about what a lasting relationship should be. As for the other aspects of her life? Like she said: bedrock. Completely solid.
But now…What a damned mess. I’m never leaving this bed. Ever, she thought to herself, staring at the ceiling of her bedroom the next morning. What was the point when everything in life was so questionable? Crap. She didn’t even know if her dislike of salads and heavily forested areas were real. It could all be some strange mental hangover from some messed-up childhood memory. Nothing feels real anymore.
She flopped over onto her side, only to find a giant, black, hairy spider just inches from her nose, perched on her pillow and staring her down with its freaky multiple eyes.
“Aaaah!” She screamed and jumped from the bed. “Except for you! I know I hate you!” She cautiously reached for the spider-tainted pillow and flung it to the floor. The spider scurried under her bed. “No! No! Don’t go under there!”
Sonofabitch. There was no way she was going to try to fish it out; there were shoe boxes, magazines, and all sorts of crap down there.
“Thanks, you little leggy bastard.” She huffed and stared at her bed, knowing her plan to stay in it was derailed. Then she started to laugh. Now even this—staying in bed—was ruined. But as she stood there, staring at everything around her, she started to realize that it didn’t really matter, because it wasn’t what she wanted. She didn’t really want to stay in bed sulking, she didn’t want to feel defeated, and she didn’t want to walk around like a damaged piece of luggage just waiting to pop open unexpectedly and spew its contents all over the place. She wanted to put this all behind her and move on.
“And what the hell is that smell?” She sniffed her breath. Okay. And I seriously don’t want that. I’m offensive even to myself.
And just like that, Harper found herself putting one foot in front of the other. All thanks to that little eight-legged SOB.
You can do this, Harp. You can find a way forward.
~~
The rest of the week, Harper did what any newly unemployed person might do: organize her finances, figure out what day she needed to give notice to her landlord, floss…It had been rough, but once she got a few days behind her and some sleep—on the couch, in the living room, away from that little bastard living under her bed—the pain of losing her job started to lessen just a bit. Surprisingly, though, the image of Austin kissing that other woman only hours after he’d kissed the breath out of her still stung pretty bad.
You’ll get over it. Eventually.
She also needed to think about where she would live while she looked for a new job as fry girl at the local fast-food chains, given she was blacklisted from every paper in the country. She had enough reserves to last a few months, but then she’d need to go.
And that book she’d sort of made up? Well, if she couldn’t write for a newspaper, maybe writing something different wouldn’t be such a bad idea. Of course, she had no idea how to write anything that long, but she could go take some courses at the city college and learn. Yes, with time, her life could be put back together.
You just need to get through this tough part.
With deep apprehension, she dialed her parents’ number. Her mom answered on the second ring. “Harper! Why haven’t you been returning any of my calls? I’ve been worried sick.”
“Worried about what?”
“Well, I heard the news—oh, that didn’t sound right—I heard that you lost your job. Are you all right, sweetie?”
“It’s okay, Mom. You can say the word ‘news.’ I won’t cry or anything.” Much. “But how did you hear?”
“News travels fast. Oh—dammit. I said it again.”
“Mom, it’s fine. I promise.”
“But are you okay?”
“Yeah. I’m okay.” Not much better than that, though.
“Well, we’ve got your room all ready for you. And Jessa says you can stay with her. Of course, she’ll make you babysit for free, but I know how much you love little Luke and Jane.”
“I love them, but it’s the sort of love that’s best experienced in small doses.”
“My sentiments exactly. Did you know that they put Nair in my shampoo bottle?”
“Again?” That was like the tenth time.
“I’m hiding all of my beauty products in the closet from now on. I suggest you do the same when you come to stay. Which, by the way, your father is thrilled about. You know how he loves to have someone to talk sports with since I can’t stand being near him when a game is on.”
Oh no. Her father’s idea of talking sports was yelling at the TV and then at the person next to him: “Can you believe that idiot? Can you? Sonofbitch!” he would scream until the game was over.
It’s not forever, Harp. Besides, most of the time, they were pretty fun. It was also cute how they were still into each other even after all these years.
Perhaps, even in love?
Harper shook her head. Stop. You’re done with doubting. You’re moving back to bedrock.
Okay. Wilma.
Shut up.
“Thanks, Mom. It’s good to know I won’t be homeless or anything.”
“I wasn’t calling because of that who-diddly-doo; I’m calling to invite you to dinner. Thought you might need some fried food. I’m making lumpia.”
Harper’s mouth watered. Her mother made the best lumpia ever. She’d gotten the recipe from the Pilipino neighbor across the street who owned a restaurant. “I’d love to, Mom, but I have plans.” Picking up the pieces of her life, which included not going to the party and putting Austin back in her past, where he belonged. She decided that she’d always be grateful to him and cherish those childhood memories, but now that she’d uncovered that missing memory, she was beginning to understand what an impact it subconsciously had on her life. In certain ways, it had made her stronger—driven and independent—probably because she didn’t like feeling afraid. But at the same time, she really hadn’t moved past some deeply embedded fears. Simply put, there was a part of her that never grew up, which was why she turned into such an immature mess around Austin. Or, so she guessed, anyway. She didn’t really know. But she did know that being around Austin wasn’t healthy. He brought out all sorts of crazy, irrational emotions.
“Oh,” her mother said, “I didn’t know you were going with Jessa to that party up in St. Helena.”
“She’s going to Ms. Luci’s party?”
“Yep. That’s the place. Didn’t you know?” Her mother began to rattle on about how a bunch of Jessa’s friends and clients were going, many of them famous.
“No. I didn’t know she was going.”
“Hmm, that’s odd. Well, you can come by tomorrow and pick some lumpia up.”
“Thanks,” she said absentmindedly, her head whirling with questions.
“Oh, and Harper?”
“Yes?”
“Have fun tonight, dear. You only live once, so make it count.”
“Uhhh…thanks?” What an odd thing for her mother to say. And she’d never said she was going to St. Helena. Yeah, but Jessa’s going, and now you’re curious as to why.
Dammit. Why do I always have to be so competitive?
“Yep. I’m going.”
~~
When Harper arrived at St. Helena’s city limits, it was obvious something big was happening. The reporter inside her itched to come out and play, but she’d already decided that when she saw Austin, she would get a few things off her chest. Screw their bet! She realized she did
need to understand how he could have lied to her about Libby. It was simply because if she didn’t know, she might never trust anyone ever again. It had little to do with love or infatuation. This was a matter of faith in others, and he’d busted hers into pathetic little crumbs.
After an hour of sitting through the crawling traffic filled with limos and every possible kind of vehicle, ranging from the most expensive Benz to the well-loved beater, she got close to the entrance of the farm, only to find everyone being diverted to a giant dirt field for parking, where tour buses moved in and out, shuttling people inside the farm.
“What the hell is this?” she said as a helicopter soared overhead, making its way toward two beams of powerful floodlights slicing through the night sky.
This wasn’t a party, this was an event. Rock concert style.
Harper looked down at her simple white dress. It was sleeveless and tailored to fit her curves—acceptable for any occasion except a super-swanky party. She shrugged. Oh well, it was too late to change, and she was only staying long enough to see Austin. Okay, and find out why her sister was there. After that, she’d be moving on.
Harper followed the jubilant crowd of people through the makeshift parking lot to the bus stop and boarded. To her discomfort, everyone in the vehicle was making lovey-dovey, smoochy faces at each other or were making out.
Great.
She did her best to ignore them and not feel awkward for being the only one sitting alone on the bus. When they pulled up to the front of the farmhouse, Harper could hardly believe her eyes. How was this the same place she’d been at earlier in the week?
The house was decorated in thousands of shining white lights, like a castle from a fairytale or Disneyland. Five huge white tents with more lights were lined up on the field that had been recently mowed. A DJ—DJ Dirty Stuff?—played in the first tent, which was crammed with people dancing on a temporary floor. To be clear, they weren’t waltzing. These people were packed like sardines and jumping in unison, pumping their fists into the air in time to the base beat and flashing lights. The ground shook beneath her feet, and if it hadn’t been for the people in the other tents, some howling and laughing, hugging and chugging, she would’ve thought this was a rave.
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