by Lola Darling
I reach up to touch his shoulder, try to comfort him, but he jerks away from me, still staring at the opposite end of the room.
That’s when I notice the cluster of women there. More specifically, one woman. My history professor.
It takes my brain a while to catch up. What’s she doing here? I wonder. Is Jack related to her? Maybe she’s a distant cousin. It’s strange that he wouldn’t mention anything.
Somewhere deep down, though, I already guess the truth. I’ve dated poets, I can hear her saying to me just the other day, ensconced in her office, her tone so confident, so knowing. I watch her gaze fix on Jack’s, and his do the same on her. The history between them, the unspoken backstory, hangs so heavy in the air I swear I can taste it.
Then there’s his family standing around her. Hannah Butler’s hand still rests on an older woman’s shoulder, a woman with Jack’s eyes, except now they’re filled with tears and fixed on the casket. That has to be his mother. His mother who Hannah clearly knows well enough to comfort as though she’s family too.
And the other girl, the younger one, who looks only a few years older than me, but who shares those eyes with her mother and Jack, that has to be the sister he mentioned on the drive up. Kat, the one who organized the whole funeral for the family. He described her as the level-headed one, the one who always keeps her head in a crisis. She’s standing close to Hannah as well, though she’s looking at her brother, then at me, back and forth and back and forth, a frown blooming on her face that shifts from confusion to understanding to horror all in one smooth motion.
With a pat on Hannah’s shoulder, Kat descends the two steps from the viewing platform and crosses the empty room toward us.
Well, not quite empty. I notice a couple of older men huddled in a corner, and a younger one lingering on the fringes, a phone in hand, absorbed in a text message.
I still haven’t moved. I haven’t released Jack’s hand, either. After he cringed away when I tried to touch his shoulder with my other hand, I’m holding on to this one from sheer instinct.
“Jack.” Kat finally reaches us, and pulls him into a hug. That, at last, makes me drop his hand. Somehow I doubt I’m going to get it back. Not with someone else from his faculty here, watching us.
“I’m sorry,” Kat’s saying. “I didn’t know. You said you were bringing a plus one, and then Hannah showed up earlier today, so I just assumed . . . Shit, I’m so—” Kat glances at me, as though startled to realize I’m human, standing right here, and can hear everything she’s saying. “God, talk about horrible first impressions.” She sticks out a hand. “I’m Kat, Jack’s sister. You are?”
I swallow past the sudden lump in my throat. “Harper,” I reply as I offer my hand, trying to ignore the sudden, sinking realization.
He never told her about me. He never told any of them. Not even my name.
“Well, it’s great to meet you, Harper.” Kat smiles, though it’s obvious to anyone with eyeballs that it’s a strained-around-the-edges smile. A what-the-hell-are-you-doing-with-this-girl smile, mostly meant for her brother.
God, I am so fucking stupid.
“Jack,” says another voice. Hannah, crossing the room in Kat’s wake. She’s forcing a smile too, but her eyes linger on me, probably coming to the same realization that I just did about her. She stops a few feet from us, as her expression shifts from confusion to hurt to anger, briefly, before settling back on hurt. “I’m so sorry for your loss,” she says to him, though she can’t seem to tear her eyes from the space between me and him. The space where just moments ago we were still holding hands.
Jack swallows and seems to recover from whatever paralysis had him frozen in the doorway. He steps forward to hug Hannah, one-armed, brief, but I can see her body sink into it, and her arms tighten around him. It makes my stomach churn, and the fish and chips we ate in the pub earlier today threaten to make a reappearance.
I want to throw her off of him, tear those arms off, go feral. But that’s not fair. It’s obvious from the shock on her face that she didn’t know about me, either. Jack hid me from everyone in his life, just like he hid Hannah Butler’s existence from me. He could have mentioned he had a past with someone else at the university. He could have prepped me before he let me walk into this fucking soap opera of a situation, and at his father’s funeral, no less.
Hannah and Jack break apart (finally), and then his mother descends, followed hard on her heels by an array of aunts. Jack introduces me to each of them in turn, while I offer whatever condolences I can.
I notice he doesn’t introduce me to Hannah. Is he aware that I know her already?
Her eyes keep flicking to mine, which I notice because mine are doing the same to her. I wonder if she suspected. I wonder if he’s done this kind of thing with other students before. I wonder if I’m just some sort of weird revenge he’s trying to get on her, or if I’m a bargaining chip in their rocky relationship.
Whatever it is, I’m clearly not what I thought. I’m not an exception to the rule. I’m not his girlfriend. I’m not the woman he’s falling in love with.
I’m the side candy.
I should have stormed out that instant, except that people had started to trickle in behind us, enough that it would look weird to leave right now, but not so many people that I can blend into the crowd and slip away. I decide to pay my respects, stay for the service, and then escape out a side door before they start in on hors d’oeuvres or whatever British families do at wakes.
Except they haven’t even started on any kind of service before Hannah draws Jack to the side, away from his family, who are greeting attendees and accepting a lot of condolences with sad nods. I trail after the two of them while keeping my eyes fixed on the nearest flower arrangement. Hannah doesn’t seem to mind being overheard, though. Almost the moment they’ve broken away from the receiving line of family members, she grips his arm hard.
“What the hell is she doing here?” Hannah says.
“Keep your voice down, would you?” Jack mutters, as a couple of people who I heard talk about living in the neighborhood glance in their direction.
“I will not keep my voice down while you’re dragging around one of my students as if she’s your new bloody date. And at your father’s funeral? What the hell is wrong with you? She’s a child, Jack. I know you’re pissed at me, but don’t use her as some kind of pawn for revenge.”
I don’t stick around to hear his response. I whirl on my heels, ducking through the oncoming crowd of people. Screw this. Screw propriety. I can’t stay here now, not after hearing that.
Out of the corner of my eye, I spot Kat looking at me, trying to wave me over, mouthing something. I just shake my head at her, tears already springing up to blur my vision. Then I burst through the doors of the funeral home and out into the cold night air of northern England.
#
Of course, the moment I step outside, it dawns on me that I have no bloody clue where I am, let alone how to make it home. There’s probably a bus from Newcastle to Oxford, or a train if I could afford a ticket, but first I’d have to figure out a way from this neighborhood back into town itself. Maybe the bus runs both directions. Maybe I can find the other stop somewhere on this side of the road.
I pace away from the door, staring at the signs, when the funeral home doors burst open again.
“Harper?” Jack stands framed by the glow from the windows. His hair is tousled, the same way it looks when he wakes up first thing in the morning and squints at me. The same way it looked earlier this afternoon when he lifted me up in the dressing room, his hands tight around my thighs.
It breaks my heart to gaze into his eyes and think about not ever looking at him again. To think about him not seeing me the same way, either.
“Kat said she saw you running out here, and you looked upset. Is everything okay?” He takes a step closer to me.
I have to laugh at that, sharp and cold. “Is everything okay?”
“What’s wrong?�
�� He says it like he honestly has no idea. Like I’m totally crazy for trying to choke back the tears burning through my skull right now.
“You’ve got to be kidding me. You bring me to your own father’s funeral to try to make your ex or whatever jealous in front of your entire family, and you want to know what’s wrong?”
His jaw clenches, all the warmth melting from his expression. “I just got finished defended your maturity and now you’re being even more immature than your age suggests.”
“Immature? Coming from you that’s rich. This has all been a game to you, hasn’t it?” I manage to say this without my voice catching, even though my head throbs at the very thought. It’s something I’ve been wondering for a while now, though. The way he constantly pushes me away, the way he hides everything.
“Just come back inside and stop acting insane, Harper. The jealous kid act isn’t attractive.”
I set my jaw hard. “You know what, Jack? No. I’m sorry about your father, I really truly am, and I hope that this whole mess doesn’t affect you or your family’s chance to say goodbye. But I’m done. Acting like I’m crazy for being upset that you never mentioned your ex-girlfriend or whatever, aka my professor, would be here, is not okay. Writing me off as a kid is not okay. None of this is okay, and if you don’t see how fucked up this situation has become, Jack, then I’m sorry, but you’re the one who’s got maturity issues to work on.”
“You’re right,” he says, staring straight into my eyes. “I must have a problem, thinking I could date someone ten years younger than me seriously.”
In that moment, I don’t even recognize him anymore. I whip around and storm up the street. Screw the bus. I’ll walk back to Newcastle if I need to.
Behind me, I can hear the funeral doors swinging, raised voices. Maybe Hannah’s come out to berate Jack some more for his treatment of her. Whatever. I probably agree with her at this point.
But then heels clack on pavement behind me, and I freeze in place. She’s not trying to talk to me, is she? She wouldn’t. It’s obvious she’s won by now. I’m leaving. Bad evil side candy girl is gone. Now Hannah and Jack can live happily ever after.
But it’s not Hannah who catches up to me, puffing out steam as she catches her breath. “Hey,” says Jack’s sister Kat. “I’m sorry about him. Listen, here. Raul!” she shouts over her shoulder.
A handsome guy in a suit—the one who’d been texting in the corner, I realize—paces toward us.
“I can’t leave right now,” Kat says, “or I’d take you myself. But Raul will drive you into Newcastle. Drop her at the train station, love. There’s trains to Oxford pretty frequently, if that’s what you want. Or it’s close to your hotel, I think.”
I’m so stunned that for a moment I can only blink. I wish I could manage a smile, because it’s unbearably sweet of her to ask her boyfriend to drive me into town while she’s powering through her own father’s funeral. I shake my head. “You need him here, with you. I’ll find my own way back.” I force a smile at her.
Kat frowns at me for a few more seconds, before she finally nods. “Okay, but here.” She extends a hand, and it takes me a moment to realize she wants my phone. She plugs in a number. “That’s the taxi company in this area. They won’t overcharge you too much.” She manages a smile.
All I can offer in return is a weak nod. “Thank you.”
Kat swoops in to plant a kiss on my cheek. “No problem. Thank you, for putting up with my big brother. I have a feeling we’ll meet again,” she says before she jogs away.
I only wish I could believe that.
Jack
“She’s a child, Jack. I know you’re pissed at me, but don’t use her as some kind of pawn for revenge.” Hannah shakes her head at me, the way I’ve seen her do with students who failed to pass her exams.
My blood boils red. Literally, I see red at the corners of my vision, and it takes me a few breaths to calm down enough to even reply. How dare she. After everything I’ve put up with from her, to assume that this whole thing is still about her?
“If that’s all you think she is to me, then you’re even more delusional than I thought, Hannah,” I reply, my voice low and dangerous. I grasp her elbow, direct her toward a far corner, because whatever else she manages to accomplish today, she is not going to fuck up this funeral for my family. They deserve better than that. And even if they can’t see how manipulative she’s become, I see it now.
I finally see it all.
“What the hell are you doing here, Hannah?” I hiss by the time we’ve backed far enough away from the crowd that the only person who can likely hear us is my Uncle Ralph, who seems to be absorbed in the dirty magazine he’s sneaking behind a Bible he borrowed from a pew, anyway.
“Your father just died, Jack. You’re not thinking straight.” She lifts a hand, tries to touch my face.
I step out of reach, my face hard. “On the contrary. For the first time in a long time, I am finally thinking straight. All this time, I thought I could never settle down, never be happy with someone, because it didn’t work with you. Everyone said you were perfect for me; if we didn’t click, I must be the defective one. But now I finally see it, Hannah. It’s not me. It’s us. This.” I wave a hand between us. “This is all wrong. And this has been over for years. Hell, it was doomed before we even started. Move on, Hannah. Stop telling my friends we’re getting back together, stop following me around. Stop talking to my family like they’re yours. Stop showing up at events like this uninvited.”
Hurt blooms across her face and I almost want to take it back. Almost. Except that I remember the hurt she made grow on Harper’s face, the moment she crossed the room toward us, so I make myself keep talking. For Harper’s sake. And for Hannah’s, too. If she’s ever going to be happy, she needs to move the fuck on, because it’s never going to be with me.
“Harper is the one.”
“She’s a student, Jack. You can’t possibly—”
“She’s the one,” I repeat stubbornly. “I wasn’t sure of it before, but I am now. Age is a number—maturity comes in more forms than just being old. Hell, Harper’s far more mature than I am. She is the person that I want to be with, right now, and who knows? Maybe for good. Hopefully for good. All I know is that I want to give what she and I have a real chance, and for that to work, I need to be straight with you. We’re done, Hannah. I wish you all the best, but it’s over.”
Her eyes fill with tears now. Real, big tears that slide down her cheeks unchecked. She stands there for a minute, as if waiting for me to recant. To say oops, my mistake, actually all of your lying to our friends and emotionally manipulating me have worked after all.
I just watch her, and I wish it didn’t have to come to this, but it did.
Finally, the message must sink in. She spins on her heel and flees the room, hands over her face. Luckily, my mother doesn’t catch this, and the only aunt who notices doesn’t tell her. She only glowers at me before joining the conversation Mum’s having with an old neighbor.
I lean against the pew and let out an exhausted sigh. That has been a long, long time coming. It feels good to have finally gotten it off my chest.
That’s when a soft laugh interrupts me. In surprise, I glance down at Uncle Ralph, his eyes twinkling with mirth. “Well it’s about time you saw through her, son,” he says. His hand dips into his pocket and produces a narrow flask, which he offers to me over the pew. “Shot of courage before you chase down the other one?”
I straighten my shoulders. “What do you mean?”
He jerks a thumb toward the door, where Kat is gesturing at me, and panicked, wide-eyed expression on her face. Only then do I scan the room and realize, my heart sinking in my chest: No Harper.
Shit.
“I’ll be back,” I mutter, ignoring the proffered whiskey and heading straight for the doors.
#
I’m not sure what happened. One moment there was me and her, ready to move forward with our lives, ready to tr
y and be something real. The next, Hannah shows up and—No.
I can’t blame her. I have to take responsibility for the fucking idiotic things that I said to Harper. This is my fault.
I’m the one that needs to fix it.
I hit redial again, for the third time in as many hours. More than I’ve called anyone in . . . possibly ever, to be honest. I’ve never been the kind of person who chases someone.
Until now.
Straight to voicemail, just like all the other times. “Harper,” I say, and I hope my voice doesn’t sound as slurred as it does in my head. I grip the whiskey I’m drinking tighter—Uncle Ralph left me with the full bottle after the funeral finished. Kat dropped me off at the hotel where I was supposed to be spending the night with Harper—her suitcase still stands in the corner of the room, her pajamas laid out on top of it, her toothbrush in the bathroom. She didn’t come back for any of her things.
“Harper, just tell me you made it home all right. Please, at least give me that. And I have all your stuff, I’ll . . . ” I hiccup, and, mortified, hang up the phone in the middle of the message.
Shit.
This is not the way to go about this. I need to give her space, time to cool down. And I need to get my own shit together, not go calling her completely pissed out of my head. I screw the cap back onto the whiskey, wincing at how much lower the line of liquid in the bottle has sunk. I’m going to feel this tomorrow, I think blearily, as I climb into the wide, king-sized bed alone.
I’m going to feel a lot of things tomorrow.
Harper
I wake up to three voicemails, each more desperate than the last. Part of me wants to feel guilty for the last one—it’s clear he’s completely wasted, and moreover, that even while wasted, he’s still worried about my safety. I owe him this much at least. And I can’t say what I need to say to him over email.
