by Jiffy Kate
I can’t take it anymore. My body is vibrating with anger. “That stopped the night you showed up at my building and waited out front for me to come home,” I tell him. “Thinking you were going to get lucky.” I scoff because there is no way. “I asked you to leave, but you wouldn’t—”
As I’m spewing my distaste at Wyatt, something happens. The thoughts in my head get jumbled. I start seeing myself in Wyatt’s position, realizing what Wyatt was doing to me is like what I was doing to Luke, and I feel sick.
“I told you to leave,” I say in a quiet, shaky voice full of self-realization.
“What did you do?” Kyle asks, his voice louder, rougher. Connor stands up from behind me and walks closer. “Did you touch her?”
“No.” Wyatt shakes his head vehemently. “No! I didn’t touch her. She’s completely exaggerating.”
Connor walks around me, closer to Wyatt. “Did you go to her apartment and wait for her?”
“Yes, but it was only because Kyle said they’d been out drinking, and I wanted to make sure she got home safely, and then I saw her go…”
Lead fills my stomach. “Saw me go where?” I ask.
“I saw you go into his building, the guy from the rehab place.”
“So, you were following me?” I ask, not believing what I’m hearing but knowing it’s the truth.
“I was just looking out for you,” Wyatt pleads, his hands up in surrender as Kyle and Connor stand straighter. “It’s not—”
“Don’t,” Kyle interrupts. “Listen,” he says, breathing deep and pinching the bridge of his nose. “Don’t call her. Don’t text her. And if I find out you’re within a fucking city block of her, I’ll personally kick your ass.”
“Kyle, man,” Wyatt says, throwing his arms out wide in disbelief. “You know I’m not like that. She’s making this into more than it is.”
“I know Harper, and I thought I knew you, but if she says she doesn’t want you near her, then that’s the final word. Trust me when I say I’ll follow through. Don’t test me.”
Wyatt’s demeanor changes and I watch as he straightens to his full height, feigning confidence. “You touch me, and I’ll slap a lawsuit on you so fast your head’ll spin.”
“We’ll keep that in mind,” Connor says, both him and Kyle laughing at Wyatt’s threat.
With that, Wyatt turns to leave, swinging the door forcefully, causing it to slam into the brick wall.
“See ya at work Monday,” Kyle calls out, the playful tone back to his voice.
“That better be the last you ever see of that douchebag,” he says, turning to me. “If he so much as breathes in your direction, I want to know. If you’re out somewhere alone and you see him, you call me or Connor immediately. Got it?”
I nod, feeling Layla and Mia behind me.
“Promise him, Harper,” Mia says.
“I promise.”
“Good.” Kyle finally sits back down. “I’ll be having a chat with Mr. Andrews on Monday morning. I think he needs to be filled in on what a grade-A asshole his golden boy is. Thinking he won’t take too kindly to it, seeing as he has a few daughters of his own, one of them being a girl Wyatt used to date.”
I have a feeling, one way or another, Kyle is going to make Wyatt pay. If the swift kick to the dick didn’t work, maybe this will. Regardless, I’m relieved that it’s out in the open. But the sting of guilt and contradiction is still fresh. I know I apologized to Luke, but I feel horrible for ever letting it get to that point.
Maybe Wyatt coming up here tonight was the reality check I needed. Not that I’ve had the urge to ever do that before Luke, and I can’t imagine myself stalking someone other than him, but it’s not right, and I hate that I did it. Who knows? There might’ve been hope for us— for some kind of relationship, or friendship—but I ruined that with my actions.
If I ever get the chance to feel the way I felt with him again, I won’t ruin it. I’ll cherish it and do whatever I can to hold on to it.
Harper
“Harper,” Layla calls. “You’ve got mail.”
I finish making my bed and toss a few dirty clothes into my hamper by the door before walking out to the living room. Layla has a large manila envelope held out while she continues to look through the stack of mail.
“It’s weird,” I tell her, taking it from her and running my finger under the flap.
“What’s weird?” she asks, looking up at me.
“I haven’t gotten mail in a long time.”
“What?” Layla asks, looking at me with a puzzled expression.
“Yeah, I never submitted a forwarding address when I moved because I didn’t really have anything important coming through the mail anyway. Living above Mr. Chan’s was always supposed to be temporary, but I never had a clear picture of what I’d do after.” I pause for a second, thinking about it. “That must be kind of what homeless people feel like. Except I had a bed... and a shower...and hot food. Okay, so maybe not quite homeless, but it’s like I’ve been in limbo since I moved to the city.” I shake my head, trying to put my finger on what I’m feeling at the moment, but I can’t.
“Well, you’re not homeless,” Layla assures me. “You can live here as long as you want.”
I kiss her cheek before hopping onto the counter. “Thanks, Layla.”
“So, what’s in the envelope?”
Pulling the sheets of paper out, I see that it’s a letter from one of the colleges I applied to.
“Dear Harper Evans,” I start, reading it aloud. “We are pleased to inform you that you have been accepted for admission to City College for the Fall 2017 Semester. Due to the quickly approaching semester, you will need to enroll in your classes no later than August 25th. On behalf of City College and its faculty and staff, we welcome you and look forward to assisting you in your educational endeavors.”
“Harper!” Layla exclaims, grabbing my arms and shaking me. “That’s wonderful. Congratulations!”
The letter in front of me blurs as my eyes fill with tears.
“Don’t cry,” Layla soothes. “This is good. I’m so proud of you.” The smile on her face is so big and bright that it makes me smile. When I blink, a tear falls down my cheek, and she quickly wipes it away.
“I’m just happy,” I say between a sniffle and a chuckle. “Like, really happy.” I can’t put it into words without sounding stupid or cliché, but I finally feel like my life is starting. “It’s something I never thought would happen,” I tell her. “Every time I thought about going to college in the past, something shitty would happen to keep me from going. Then I guess I just got complacent.”
“Not this time.”
“No.” Smiling, I shake my head in agreement with her. “Not this time,” I murmur as I admire the admission letter, holding onto it tightly. “I already got my financial aid notification and I know what classes I want to take. So, after I get off work, I’ll get online and see if they’re still available. Hopefully, I’ll be completely enrolled by this evening.”
“We need to celebrate.”
“After I get my classes.” I scan over the paper one more time, committing to memory the words on the page. “I don’t want to jinx anything.”
§
It’s been two weeks since my classes started, and I’m slowly but surely getting into a routine. On Mondays, Wednesdays, and Fridays, I stay late after my shift ends at the library and use the public computers to do my class work. On Tuesdays and Thursdays, I work at the boutique, and then I sometimes come here after work to do homework or to use the computers to turn in an assignment.
“Hi, Harry.” I wave to the older man who sits at the door of the library. He’s a retired cop and reminds me of my dad a little. If he had a mustache and his hair wasn’t so gray, he’d really look a lot like him. But then again, if my dad were still alive, he’d probably have gray hair by now.
The memory assaults me from nowhere, but I love it. I never want to forget. I miss him every day, and I think he’d be
proud of me.
No. I know he would.
Waving at Mia, I sit down at the bank of computers and log in with my employee information, gaining access to the internet. I was going to take classes on campus, but I figured with working two jobs and one of them being at the library, it makes more sense to take my classes online.
“Hey, college girl,” Mia says, sitting on the empty desk beside me.
“Hey, Mia.” I pull out my textbook and open to the page I read over last night.
“So, how’s everything going?”
“Good. I think.” I laugh. “I’m doing alright. I got my first grade yesterday, and I made an A, but it’s still early in the semester.”
“Ah, no worries. You’re gonna do great.” Mia fiddles with the edge of my textbook. “Who knows? If you don’t crash and burn, I might go back and finish my degree.”
“What?” I ask, leaning back in my chair to get a better look at her. “I thought you graduated.”
“Nah. I got close, but Kyle finished a semester ahead of me and landed a kick-ass job, so I quit and started working here.”
“What was your major?”
“English Lit,” she says, shrugging her shoulders. “I always wanted to work in publishing.”
“You should,” I tell her, leaning forward and resting my chin on the partition. “You’d be great at that.”
She sighs, pushing herself off the desk. “Well, it’s up to you, Evans. Let’s see if you sink or swim.” She winks, and a smile tugs at the corner of her mouth.
“No pressure or anything.”
“You’ve got this.”
As she leaves, heading back over to the front desk, I turn around and face the computer.
I hope she’s right.
§
The slight chill in the air and the quickly setting sun is a physical reminder that fall is officially upon us. I love the briskness and the crisp smell in the air. It’s a reprieve from the smoldering heat we endure during the summer. While it’s not as cold as other places, I still enjoy it. Tugging my sweater closed, I begin my weekly walk to Mr. Chan’s. My life has been busy since I started college and working two jobs, but I never let a week go by that I don’t keep my promise on these Wednesday evening dinners. I’m not sure who looks forward to it more, me or Mr. Chan.
When I get to the intersection across from the building I used to live in, I can’t help but look over to Luke’s. I’d love to know how he’s doing. A couple of months ago, I would’ve hated to run into him, but now, when I’m in this neighborhood, I kind of secretly hope for it. I’m sure it’d still be awkward, but I’d love to see him with my own eyes—see if he’s okay, see if maybe he forgives me. There are days when I wish I had his phone number. I’m not sure what I’d say if I called, but it’d be nice just to hear his voice. I could go to his apartment and knock on his door, but I’m sure he wouldn’t want that.
The truth is, as much as I wish I could make contact with Luke, I have no desire to invade his personal space again.
Looking back, I can see where I crossed the line, and I never want to do that again. But I miss him. That part hasn’t changed. There’s not a day that goes by when something doesn’t remind me of him. Just last week, I was grocery shopping and ended up standing in the ice cream aisle while flashbacks played in my mind like an old home movie.
A few weeks ago, Anton asked me out for coffee, and I accepted. When I sat down at the table, I had total déjà vu. It took me a minute to get my head on straight, so the next time he asked me out for coffee, I suggested we meet for lunch instead. I enjoy the time I’ve spent with him. It’s been casual, friendly, and sometimes, even that reminds me of Luke. But the flock of birds that used to fly around in my stomach when I was near Luke isn’t there. And the marching band isn’t in my chest. I occasionally feel a slight skipped heartbeat or a blush creep up on my cheeks, but it’s different than with Luke—not as intense.
I can tell Anton likes me. I see it in the way his eyes dance when he smiles at me. He opens doors for me and asks about my day. On nights I’m studying at the library, he’ll sometimes bring me a hot tea or a cookie. There are no grand gestures or declarations of love, but he’s thoughtful and fun to be around.
When I walk into Mr. Chan’s restaurant, there’s a line of people waiting to order, so I take a seat at my usual table and crack open a book. Of course, I come here for the delicious food as well, but I’ll get mine as soon as everyone else has been served. Mr. Chan gives me a smile over the top of the counter and continues taking orders.
After a while, I’m completely engrossed in the text I’m reading when a piping hot bowl of soup slides in front of me.
“Soup for the pretty girl with nose in a book.” Mr. Chan’s standing there with his hands clasped in front of him and a grin so big it makes his eyes almost disappear. “You study hard.”
“I’m trying,” I tell him, marking my place with a napkin.
“You do good.” He nods his head in his normal confident manner, and it makes me believe him. “Now, eat,” he says, patting my shoulder on his way back to the counter, and I do as I’m told.
There’s no arguing with Mr. Chan.
§
The bell above the door chimes, and a gust of cold air follows.
“Hello,” I call out from my perch on the stool. Mrs. Jackson doesn’t mind me studying when there aren’t customers, so I take advantage of my down time at the shop. Surprisingly enough, it’s quieter here than at the library, so I usually get a lot of homework done.
“Hey.” Anton’s tall form looks a little out of place in the shop, just like the first day I saw him. When he sees me, a smile grows on his face, showing his bright white teeth and the slight dimple in his left cheek. He shakes his head of dark hair, and it falls into disarray. “It’s raining.”
“I can see that,” I say, laughing lightly. I feel my fingers twitch when I notice a piece of hair stuck to his forehead. I want to push it back, touch him. It’s a new feeling, something I haven’t experienced in a while, and not with him.
“I thought I’d stop by and walk you home.”
“That’s really sweet, but you didn’t have to.”
“I know, but it’s getting darker earlier, and I wasn’t sure if you remembered an umbrella.”
I look at my watch and see that it’s only fifteen minutes to closing time. “Let me start closing down the register.”
“I’ll wait over here,” he says, pointing to a chair by the dressing room. “Unless you have something for me to do.”
I twist my mouth into a smile, watching him gingerly slip his damp jacket off and fold it over his arm, trying not to get any of the merchandise wet in the process. “No, just have a seat. I’ll be ready in a few.”
At eight on the dot, we’re walking out the back door. Anton holds an umbrella over my head as I twist the key into the deadbolt. “Wanna get something to eat on our way to your apartment?” he asks.
I look up at him and nod. “Yeah, that sounds good. Maybe some soup.”
“I know a great place, and it’s only a couple blocks from here.”
He slips one arm around my shoulders and pulls me into him. The smell of clean cotton and woods infiltrate my senses and his warmth makes me want to melt into his side.
A few minutes later, we’re seated in a snug booth at a quaint diner, and the waitress has already brought us two cups of tea. Warming my hands around the mug, I’m surprised when I feel Anton’s hands wrap around mine. I look up and lock eyes with him.
“You look cold,” he says, smiling softly. “Just trying to help you warm up.”
“Thanks.”
“You’re so pretty,” he says out of the blue.
“Are you still trying to help me warm up?” I ask, turning my head to hide my embarrassment.
“Yes, but that’s not why I said it.”
“Thank you.” I close my eyes and shake my head.
“I really want to kiss you.”
My
eyes pop open, but my mouth stays shut. I don’t know what to say to that.
“I know we’ve kept things fairly platonic, but I really like you, Harper Evans. I like the way your cheeks turn pink when I compliment you, and I like the way you bite your lip to hide your smile. I want to kiss those lips so bad I can hardly see straight, but I don’t want to mess up what we have. So, when you want to kiss me back, you let me know.”
I nod my head and smile at him, pulling my hands away from his to bring my mug up to my mouth. Sipping the tea, I watch him as he watches me, and I feel a flutter in my stomach at the anticipation. Maybe I will kiss Anton, and maybe I’ll like it. I guess I’ll never know until I try.
§
“Harper,” Layla calls from the living room.
“Yeah,” I call back, not wanting to move from my spot on my bed. It’s been a long week, and the only thing I want to do tonight is curl up with a book—a real book, not a stupid text book. My first nine weeks of classes has come to an end, and this is how I want to celebrate. Maybe I’ll make it a real party and add a pint of Ben & Jerry’s.
“Connor and I are going out,” Layla says, standing in the doorway of my bedroom. “Are you sure you don’t want to come with us?”
“No, you guys go. I’m not leaving this bed until Monday morning.”
“Okay. Have fun,” she sing-songs and waves her fingers at me as she walks away.
A minute later, I hear the front door close, and I sink deeper into my cozy blanket.
As I’m reading, my phone chimes, and I glance over at it on the nightstand. Anton’s name is on the screen with a text message.
Anton: I know you’re probably exhausted from your week of work and tests, but I’m offering to take you out and wine and dine you. Don’t feel obligated, just an offer.
I smile, loving that he’s always so considerate.
Me: Thank you for the offer, but I’m currently in pajamas with a good book. I’m fairly certain I’ll be passed out in less than five pages. I’d be horrible company. Can I take a rain check?
