Whatever You Do

by Stephanie Smith

I release a deep sigh of contentment. God, I am so happy I could scream. This weekend wasn’t as bad as I’d thought; it actually turned out near perfect. My parents seem warmer towards Tate, accepting even. My dad especially has done a complete turn-around with his attitude at least, telling Tate he is welcome back anytime. They might still feel the same, but I couldn’t care less as long as they treat him well.

  And Tate. God. Tate Washington is absolute perfection, and I can’t believe he loves me. Even after my parents’ cold welcome, he stuck around and tried to make it work. He wants to live with me, make a future with me. Me.

  It seems way too good to be true, and I just hope the rest of the saying doesn’t come to pass when it comes to me and Tate.

  “Do you have any boxes at home?” he asks, pulling me from my daydream.

  “I have some, why?”

  “How about I drop you home and you can start packing while I go get some more boxes?”

  “Wow, we’re really not wasting any time, are we?” I laugh at him.

  “I told you we were moving you Monday. Did you text Brooke and ask for the day off?”

  “Yes, I did.”

  “Good, then it’s settled,” he says seriously.

  “I don’t really have much stuff. We could probably get it all done tonight and tomorrow.”

  “I want to get most of it done today so we can go home tonight.”

  “I was hoping we could stay at my place tonight.” Tate’s eyes shoot to mine, and he has a look of distaste on his face before looking back at the road.

  “Don’t look at me like that.” I mock. “I know you think it’s a dump but it’s been my home for years and I want a night to say goodbye.”

  Tate’s gaze returns to mine, except this time his eyes are soft. “That’s a good idea, baby. We’ll order in.”

  Pulling up in front of my apartment building, we hop out of the car, retrieving our bags from the weekend. Tate takes mine from my hand and follows me into my apartment, dropping the luggage by the front door.

  “All right, I’m gonna get going. I’ll bring back some lunch for us.” He gives me a kiss and makes his way to the door as I flop down onto the couch. “Get packing. You better not still be sitting there when I get back,” he tells me before closing the door behind him.

  Groaning, I stand from the couch and head towards my bedroom. Glancing around at all the strewn about clothes and shoes, I realise this is going to be quite the job. Maybe I’ll start in the kitchen.

  Heading back towards the kitchen, I grab the few boxes I do have and set them down in the middle of the room. Setting myself down next to them, I riffle through all the cupboards, deciding what I want to keep in storage, what’s rubbish, and what I’ll take with me.

  A couple of hours pass and my phone beeps from my bag by the front door. I realise I haven’t heard from Tate yet, and he should’ve been back ages ago.

  Rushing to my bag, I search for my phone. Finding it, I breathe a little sigh of relief as Tate’s name flashes on the screen.

  Tate: Something’s come up. I’ll be at your place first thing in the morning with the moving truck. Pack whatever you can and I’ll bring the boxes with me.

  I narrow my eyes at the screen as if it were Tate standing right in front of me. What in the hell does that mean? His text is short and clipped, which is unlike him. Why wouldn’t he tell me what had come up?

  Me: I hope everything is okay?

  I fish for information, but unfortunately, the response I get doesn’t give me any.

  Tate: It’ll be fine.

  Not exactly the answer I was hoping for. Shrugging it off, I continue my packing. I’ve gotten into a rhythm with it and don’t want to lose momentum.

  Hours pass, and I’ve packed up the whole kitchen and lounge room, including all photos, ornaments, and even the two large bookshelves. Flopping down onto the lounge I look around, pleased at all I have accomplished this afternoon.

  Glancing over to the small window, I notice it’s dark outside. My stomach rumbles and I remember I missed out on lunch, seeing as Tate was supposed to bring it back with him. I wonder if he’s eaten? It’s a good enough reason for me to go over there. I miss him and need a cuddle from my man.

  Slipping on my ballet flats and jacket, I lock up the apartment behind me. It’s still early and the streets are busy so I decide to walk to Tate’s instead of catching a cab. It’s only a short stroll, and I can grab some Chinese on the way.

  I make the quick stop and grab as many dishes as I can carry, continuing on my walk with the two large plastic shopping bags full of food.

  When I finally make it to Tate’s, I peek inside the window of the café to see if he’s working or hanging around. Maybe something came up there? Maurice waves to me from behind the counter and I wave and smile back at him. He points his finger in the air, and I assume he’s gesturing Tate is in the apartment. I wave again in thanks and make my way over to the stairs.

  I climb them quickly—not only in a rush to drop these bags, but excited to see Tate. It’s only been a matter of hours, but it feels so much longer. I am already way too reliant on having him around.

  Knocking lightly, I try to open the front door but it’s locked so I knock again, making sure he’ll hear me.

  The door opens and a familiar face fills the doorway, but it’s not Tate’s. The beautiful redhead from the café stands in front of me, dressed only in a bath towel wrapped tightly around her fit body. Her hair is wet and hanging long down her back, making it obvious she just got out of the shower.

  I don’t make a move; I just stand there and stare at her.

  “Can I help you?” she asks. I blink at the sound of her voice. It’s soft, sweet—angelic even. Different to the blonde bimbos I am usually replaced with. This one carries an air of innocence about her.

  My mouth opens and shuts, but nothing comes out. Her piercing green eyes stray to the bags of food in my hands, and I say the first thing that comes to mind.

  “I’ve got your Chinese delivery.” I hold the bags out to her, hoping she’ll just take them so I can get the hell out of here.

  “Oh, thanks, I’m starving. I’m so glad Tate thought to order something.”

  “Yes, how genius of him to order food at a time of the day when food is normally consumed. You’re a lucky, lucky lady.”

  The stunning redhead tilts her head at me in confusion, and I decide it’s time to get the hell out of here. “That’ll be $35.50,” I tell her, trying to force the biggest smile I can muster. That bitch is going to be eating my Chinese food with my man.

  She doesn’t make a move to go and keeps her contemplative gaze on me. “Harper?”

  My eyes widen at the sound of my name falling from her lips. “How do you know who I am?” My voice comes out a whisper, but in truth I’m surprised it’s working at all.

  “Tate has shown me photos of you.” My mouth drops open as the blood rushes in my ears. What the fuck is going on here? My whole body shakes. So many emotions run through me and I can’t focus on any one in particular. Anger, hurt, humiliation, confusion, loss. They are all there and they are all rushing to the surface as my eyes fill with tears.

  “Harper, are you okay?”

  “No, I’m not fucking okay.” Is this bitch for real?

  She takes a step towards me, concern etched on her striking face as she grabs her towel to hold it in place. As she does this, she glances down towards herself, perhaps just remembering that’s how she’s dressed. Her eyes widen and her mouth drops open.

  “Oh no, no, no, no, no. Harper, it’s not what you think. I’m Lana.” She holds her hand to her chest, gesturing to herself, and my mind stops at the sound of her name.

  Lana. Tate’s sister, Lana.

  “Harper.” Tate’s voice pulls me from my hazed state, and I catch him running up the stairs. His huge smile drops when he lays his eyes on my face, looking between Lana and me with a frown marring his perfect brow. “What’s going on?” he directs the quest
ion to Lana as I stand here like a mute staring at him.

  “Harper’s pretending to be the delivery guy.” Lana gestures towards my bags of food.

  I follow Tate’s gaze at it goes from Lana to me, from me to my bags, and back again.

  “What’s going on?” he says, his tone leaving no room for argument.

  Lana sighs. “Harper came over and I answered the door like this.” Lana gives Tate wide, exaggerated eyes as she runs her hand down her body gesturing to the towel, which is doing a poor job of covering her gorgeous long legs.

  Tate’s shoulders drop and he breathes a sigh of relief. “Can you give us a minute?” he asks Lana, not taking his narrowed eyes off me.

  “Oh, sure,” she says, stumped for a moment that he isn’t going to let her watch our next interactions, which, judging by his hard face, are going to be a doozy. “I need to dress anyway.” She snatches the bags of food out of my hand before she spins on her heel and closes the front door behind her.

  Tate’s eyes haven’t left mine and I struggle to hold his stare. “What happened, Harper?” he asks with an eerily agitated tone. I hate the way he uses my real name, as if he’s punishing me. I just want to be his Daisy.

  “Nothing. I . . . your message.” I stumble for words, still unsure myself what actually happened.

  “What happened?” he asks again, his voice softer this time.

  “I missed you. I came to see you. I grabbed dinner on the way.” I point to the door Lana just took the bags of food through as if that will explain everything. “Lana answered the door, except I didn’t know who she was, and . . .” My eyes meet his. The look in them says everything I can’t.

  “You thought I was cheating on you.” It’s not a question, and the agitated tone has returned to his voice. “You were going to run weren’t you? Again.”

  My body thrums with irritation at his tone. “What do you expect?” I shout. “Your message was vague at best. No explanation, no answers. Then I come to your place to find her.” I gesture to the now closed front door.

  “She is my sister. She needed me.” I briefly take note that Lana’s face was red and blotchy, and that she had scratches all over her chest and arms.

  “Then you should’ve said so. The text told me nothing. What do you expect?”

  “I expect my girlfriend to trust me,” he yells. “That’s all I expect; all I want.”

  “It’s a stupid misunderstanding.” My fists clench as my frustration grows. Why can’t we just let it go? Laugh about how silly it is.

  “Yes, they are all stupid misunderstandings.” My gaze drops to the floor at the mention of the other times I have wildly overacted. Isn’t it something I can at least admit it now? I can see I was wrong. Does he have to shove it in my face and use it as leverage? “It’s what they represent. How they make you act. They bring your trust issues right to the surface.”

  I keep my gaze on the floor, unable to look at him.

  “This has to stop, Harper,” he says softly. “I can’t keep doing this with you. Either you can trust me, or you can’t.” The last part comes out a little harsh, and my head flies up to look at him as I immediately get my back up. The hairs on the back of my neck stand up, and my shoulders tense.

  I look to him with a hard stare, and my stubbornness and pride wins out.

  Holding my head high, I say, “Well, I guess I can’t.”

  Tate’s face drops, and he closes his eyes. When his eyes open and meet mine again, I swallow hard. The look in them is indescribable. There is hurt, anger, and disappointment rolling off him, but nothing will break down the hard shell I’ve built.

  What, did he think threatening me was going to get me to fawn all over him? That using my trust issues against me would have me running into his arms, begging for forgiveness?

  Apparently, I’m way too stupid for that, because as he shakes his head and jogs down the apartment stairs. I don’t move. I don’t chase him, and I don’t call out to him. I just let him go, telling myself I’m somehow in the right and my actions are totally justifiable.

  What was I supposed to think when I found a beautiful woman in his apartment, wrapped in a towel? When he tried to give me an ultimatum like that? Stuff that. Another man will not manipulate me. I’ve had my fair share of them over the years. Starting with my father.

  I know we haven’t known each other for long, but I thought Tate would know me better than that.

  When he disappears around the corner, my heart drops. What was I hoping for? For him to beg and apologise profusely? For what?

  I don’t admit the truth to myself. Instead, I stand up tall, hold my head high and make my way home, shutting my mind off to the part of me that knows deep down, I have made the biggest mistake of my life.

  “It’ll be all right. She’ll come around,” Lana says as we settle into a table at the café. I had sent her a text after I saw Harper jump into a taxi and told her to meet me down here once she was dressed. There was no way I was eating the Chinese Harper had brought over for us. After what happened between us, just the thought of it made me sick.

  “It’s not that easy with Harper,” I tell Lana. “She has been . . . burned . . . a lot. She has massive trust issues.”

  “Well, maybe then you should’ve been more detailed in your text.” She grins at me.

  I glare at my sister. “Thanks for the advice.” I drop my head into my arms and groan.

  “She’ll come around.” Lana pats me on the head.

  “We’ve already had an incident where she saw me at lunch with Stacey. I’m lucky I got a second chance after that,” I mumble into the table.

  “Stacey?” She spits her name. “What the hell were you doing having lunch with her?”

  “It’s a long story, and I have a feeling I’m going to come out looking like a schmuck so I’d rather not get into it,” I tell her, looking away as I pull my phone out to check it for the millionth time. Still nothing. I sigh and toss it across the table.

  Narrowing her eyes at me, Lana nods reluctantly, even though I know she is probably dying to discuss it. That’s the thing about older sisters; not much gets past them, and they think they know what’s best. Think they can tell you how to live your life.

  I don’t hold it against Lana. Growing up without parents and having my grandparents busy working at the café, she was left with a lot to look after. Whether it was trying to entertain me in the back kitchen so I wouldn’t run amuck, or defending me from bullies at school, she was always there. She has always been more overprotective than normal older sisters.

  “Tate, it’ll be fine. Seriously. She’s probably more embarrassed than anything.”

  “Who’s embarrassed?” Maurice asks, placing a coffee down in front of each of us. Sitting down in the spare seat next to Lana, he gives her a light kiss on the forehead before returning his eyes back to me.

  I don’t respond to his question, so Lana jumps at the chance to tell him everything. Maurice listens on in rapt attention and only raises his eyebrows every now and then.

  “She’s stubborn,” he says casually.

  “Ha, yeah, just a bit,” I scoff.

  “There’s nothing wrong with having pride, it’s an admirable quality. Except when it gets in the way of your own happiness and getting what you want.”

  “She was just protecting herself. I’m sure after everything you say she’s been through, it’s a kneejerk reaction for her,” Lana says.

  “Mmm,” I mumble, non-committal, as everything they are saying runs over and over in my head.

  “What were you doing still talking to Stacey?” Maurice narrows his eyes at me. I slump down in my seat, embarrassed for being called out and now scolded by the old man.

  “He was still giving her money,” Lana jumps in, and I glare in her direction.

  “Shall we talk about your past relationship mistakes?” I threaten her.

  “Leave her alone,” Maurice scolds me, and Lana lifts her head high. “At least she learned from her m
istakes and moved on.”

  “So did I.”

  “Did you?”

  “Yes, I have. Things are done with Stacey. She knows it, Harper knows it; it’s over.”

  “Thank God,” Lana mutters, and I glare at her once more.

  “I suppose you two want something to eat,” Maurice breaks the sibling rivalry.

  “Oh, do you have any cannelloni left?” Lana bounces in her seat.

  “For you, darling? Of course.”

  “Yes.” She pumps the air and I roll my eyes at her.

  “For you, too?” he asks me.

  “Yeah, thanks.” I sigh, my shoulders dropping into my seat.

  Maurice stands from the table and gives my shoulder a squeeze. “She’ll come around.”

  I nod, and he makes his way to the kitchen.

  “I hate seeing you like this,” Lana says, her chin resting in her hand.

  “I just can’t sit here and hope everything will be okay. I need to make it okay.”

  “Tate.” Lana sighs. “She’s a woman. In truth, we’re fucking crazy. Like seriously, loco.” She circles her finger next to her temple, doing the universal sign for insane. “She wouldn’t be a woman if she didn’t fly off the handle. She’ll calm down and talk to you tomorrow.”

  “Fuck that. I’m going to her place.” I stand and grab my keys off the table.

  “Tate, trust me. Just go tomorrow and let her calm down. She’ll think it over tonight, probably call a girlfriend, and she’ll be seeing things clearer in the morning.”

  I get what’s she’s saying; she doesn’t have to tell me women are nuts. Trust me, I know. But I can’t sit around while Harper suffers at home in silence. She should know better, should be able to trust me, but I get where’s she come from. I know where she’s been.

  I’ll give her time; I’ll give her the space she needs to get her head together, but then I’m going to get my girl back and bring her home.

  The week goes by too quickly and too slowly at the same time. Time drags and flies past me as I float through my daily routine.

  I haven’t heard from Tate since he walked away from me on Sunday night. This hasn’t stopped him from filling my thoughts. How am I ever going to take my mind off him? Ever since the night I walked into his café for my first online date, he has lingered in my head. Taken over my psyche.