by Brinda Berry
She gives me a wide-eyed look. “No. Are you OK?”
“Oh yeah. Fine. You finished?”
“Um hm…” She places the napkin from her lap on the table. “Ready when you are. Thanks. And remember, we’re splitting the ticket.”
The waitress stops by our table at this moment to drop the ticket on it. Harper makes a grab for the white slip of paper, but I scoop it up first. “On me.”
Tori and her friend are walking toward us. Hell, no. She is not going to ruin what has been a great weekend for me.
I hold out my hand to Harper and she hesitates. If she doesn’t take it, she leaves me standing here like a moron with Tori bearing down on me like a missile. The minute Harper places her small hand in mine, I want to fling her into my arms and kiss her.
My fingers fold around hers and I pull her to her feet.
Pistol’s restaurant is laid back and I head to the register in the lobby, where patrons can also buy souvenir items like shot glasses and t-shirts. I’m hoping to escape a conversation with Tori. My day is obviously on a quick downhill slide when Tori weaves her way through the tables to ensure our paths will cross.
“Hi Leo.” Tori’s body moves forward and for a second, I’m afraid she’s actually going to hug me. I’ve still got Harper’s hand linked to mine, but Tori’s never been very observant.
At the last second, her eyes flick to Harper and then down at our hands. Thank God.
“Hello Tori.” I grit my teeth rather than say more. I want to ask her why the hell she would come here. She hates this place and knows it’s my favorite.
Tori and her friend block our way past and I’m wondering if she’s going to force a conversation.
Finally, she sighs. “I can see you’re leaving. I’ll call you later and we’ll catch up. We have lots to talk about.” Tori steps to the side and looks at her friend. “We can grab Leo and his friend’s table, since they’re leaving.”
Her emphasis on the word ‘friend’ is threatening and leaves me dreading our next conversation. I squeeze Harper’s hand, whether to reassure me or her, I don’t know.
Like a natural disaster, Tori moves away, leaving chaos in her wake. I didn’t think she still had the ability to affect me. Being pissed means I still care, and I fight the anger that bubbles up inside me.
Harper and I walk to the storefront where I pay for our meal. Even though Tori is an entire room length away, I feel her presence inside my head. She’s done exactly what she wanted. Put herself back into my thoughts.
I open the door and Harper walks out onto the sidewalk. “What happened to you back there?”
I glance over at her. “What do you mean?”
“Did you grab my hand because of that woman? Who is she?”
Who is she. Who is she? Answering that question could be a thesis paper. I walk ahead enough to give me some space for a few seconds. Time to get my head in the right place, with Harper. Then I stop walking since I’m being an asshole.
“I’m sorry,” I say and put both hands behind my head, still not able to meet her eyes. “It’s a long story.”
“So tell me.”
“Harper,” I say and take her hand in mine. It’s warm and right. “I grabbed your hand because I wanted to hold it. But I can’t talk about Tori here. Not now. Give me a little time, OK?”
If she were Tori, she’d argue. She’d pout. She’d insist.
“OK. Tell me later, then.” Harper gives my hand a squeeze and meets my stride. My legs are much longer than hers, so I slow to keep our pace reasonable. There are no words between us as we return to the parking lot and get into my car.
By the time I pull into the lot behind our apartment building, Harper’s asleep. I gently wake her and again insist on holding her hand while we walk inside. I pull her into my apartment and she doesn’t resist.
I want to see her sitting among my things, immersing herself in my life like she has been for the past couple of weeks, so subtly that I didn’t even realize she’d become part of it. The development wasn’t anything forced or artificial and that’s what I like so much about her.
“Here,” I say, and lead her to one end of my sofa. I grab a blanket and drape it over her. Her eyes shine with something as she watches me arranging the folds of the soft material around her shoulders. My apartment is chilly and I only want her to be comfortable. But I also like touching the skin of her neck and jaw line.
I reach across and trace her lips with two fingers. Her breath hitches and her eyes flutter closed.
“What are you doing to me?” she asks.
“Nothing you don’t want. What do you want?”
She doesn’t speak. Instead, she pulls me to sit beside her. “I want to know about the girl at Pistol’s.”
“She’s my past.”
“Not really. It seems like she’s your present. She said she was going to call you.” Harper leans her head back and looks at the ceiling.
I sprawl my legs out and sling my arm along the back of the sofa. “I’d rather talk about us.” Our proximity is a cozy, more-than-friends position. I twist a piece of her ponytail between my fingers, wishing I could take the holder out and let her hair fall loose around her shoulders.
“You might say that girl is none of my business. But I don’t know anything about you.”
“Her name is Tori.” I rub my hand over the back of my neck. “We dated for a year. We broke up ten months ago. That’s the story.”
“Short story.” Harper gives me a lazy smile. “Come on. There’s more than that.”
“Tori and I had a bad break-up. Do you like that synopsis better?”
“She was happy to see you today.” Harper eyes me knowingly. She swats my hand so I’ll quit twirling her hair. “You’re distracting me. Tori wants to get back together.”
I imagine the cold, steel vault around my heart. Tori will never have the combination to unlock it ever again. “That isn’t going to happen.”
“Have you told her that?”
“Like a broken record.” I smile at Harper, but she continues to frown as if I’m doing something wrong. “Tori has problems.”
“We all have problems.”
“True. But hers are no longer my concern. I’m only worried about mine and yours. My current problem is I want to kiss you so damn bad that I can’t think of another thing. I want to kiss you when you’re not drunk and you know it’s my lips on yours.”
She shakes her head. “I knew exactly who I was kissing last night. I wasn’t that far gone.”
I raise an eyebrow. “Good. So, let’s try it again.”
“What?” she asks, her eyes wide and dark. “Now? As in this minute?”
I chuckle and lean in so close our breaths mingle. “This first.” I reach around remove the ponytail holder from her hair.
She pulls in air. “Oh.”
There’s a smell of something like raspberries and vanilla that makes me want to bury my face in her neck, but I restrain myself since she looks like a scared rabbit.
You’d think I’d just ripped off her panties or something. A corner of my mouth lifts involuntarily. “It’s only a kiss.”
I thread my fingers through her soft hair and grab the back of her neck to pull her forward. There’s the smallest amount of resistance from her, and then like a dam breaking, she’s meeting my lips.
I’ve never been this hungry for a kiss, for a way to feel how a woman thinks about me. My tongue pushes into her mouth and sweeps forward to tangle with hers. Her mouth is sweet and hot and intoxicating.
If a heartbeat can match rhythm with another, mine is searching for hers. Searching for a reason to find skin upon skin, heartbeat upon heartbeat. I push her gently back on the sofa and cover her body with mine. Her hands skate up, up, up my back and fist my shirt.
I moan into her mouth. Holy kiss of kisses. I silently pray: Please let me have a box of condoms in the bathroom. Don’t let my lack of shopping lists be the downfall of me now.
Her nails rak
e gently when she loosens her hold and drags down my back to grip my hips. I press against her, my erection evidence of the way she turns me on with a simple kiss.
She frees her lips from mine with a gasp. “Wait.”
I rest my forehead on hers and catch my breath. “OK.”
“I don’t do this.”
“Babe. We aren’t doing anything, yet.” ‘Yet’ is the operative word, since my brain has already stepped into the bedroom, her naked body under mine.
“I…um…Can we stop?”
It’s enough to make a grown man cry. I lift my head and gaze into her warm, amber eyes. “Of course we can.”
She covers her face with both hands. “This is so embarrassing.”
“It’s fine.” I sit up and pull her into a sitting position with me. I keep my arm around her and kiss the top of her head.
“I don’t know if I’m ready for this.” She’s deflecting. Maybe she regrets kissing me. Maybe she’s feeling awkward. Maybe I should quit guessing.
“Harper, do you mind if I ask you something personal?”
“No. What is it?”
“Have you dated anyone since…well, since your husband died?”
Harper stares at me for what seems like eternity. Inside that stare, I feel the air go still and a million emotions flicker across her face—sorrow, confusion, distrust—but I’m left knowing one thing with certainty.
This girl has been through something bad. I’ve been there, or at least in a similar situation. So I know how she needs to talk about what’s happened. I’m the last person to want to confide in people, but I did share my feelings with Josie.
I’m not going to avoid this topic. If she and I have a chance of getting to know each other better, I can’t let it go. “It’s OK to feel weird about this subject. Can we talk about it?”
She nods and laces her fingers together as if she’s about to pray. “Yeah.”
“How long has it been?”
“November. Last November.”
“You doing OK?”
“Sure,” she says, “I’m terrific. It takes time. That’s all.” She’s not terrific and I don’t expect her to be. But I’m not asking her to tell me everything. Just a little. Thing is, we’re at this crossroad where she needs to open up to me.
A left turn and I accept her answer of ‘terrific’ and drop the topic.
A right turn and she gives me more. The truth.
I ball my fist and rub my knuckles across my mouth, wondering how hard to push. I shouldn’t have pushed for the kiss. She seems more vulnerable than I’ve seen her. But last night was spectacular as far as kisses go. There’s no misinterpreting that she wanted it.
I’m selfish and don’t want to see a possibility of us fizzle away because she’s afraid. “You’re bullshitting me. I thought we were friends.”
“I don’t know what you want me to say.”
“The truth. Tell me you hate waking up every day or that you miss him or that you don’t understand why people leave us. Anything.”
“I said I was fine.” Harper looks across the sofa and at my bookshelves.
“Say you don’t want to talk about it. Don’t lie.”
Color rises in her cheeks. “Oh, as if you’re such an open book.”
“What do you want to know? More about Tori? That topic’s not my favorite.”
She narrows her eyes. “What are you writing all day?”
Not a question I expected. It sounds like a desperate plea to change the subject away from our kiss, her husband, my ex-girlfriend. “You know the answer.” My answer comes out in a patient sigh.
“I don’t know anything. Be specific.”
“Thriller. Political thriller. The story takes place following a presidential candidate who discovers a plot to take over the American government.”
“And that’s all you’re writing.”
“I write a few freelance things.”
“So much for specifics.”
“Babe, I’d bore you to tears with the details.”
“I need to tell you something,” she says, sitting straighter and looking nervous.
“You can tell me anything.”
“It’s about your writing.” She takes a deep breath and pauses. “I…”
“Yeah?”
Harper opens her mouth to continue, only to be interrupted by an insistent knocking on my door.
“Hold that thought,” I say. “It’s probably Josie.”
I get to my feet and glance at the clock. It’s half-past one. Josie must be taking a late lunch. She has a knack for interrupting me when least convenient, so this figures.
The instant I open the door, the artillery of everything that is Tori rains down on me. She stands there with her tear-stained face and her expression that screams victim.
All so calculated and cunning.
She steps into the apartment without invitation and glances from Harper to me. “We need to talk. I wouldn’t have come, but it’s a matter of life and death.”
10
Resting Bitch Face
Harper
The pop culture phrase “resting bitch face” hasn’t meant much to me until today. Leo’s ex-girlfriend has the expression down pat. As soon as she realizes he’s not alone, her face takes on this mannequin quality, molded from rigid material and meant for display purposes only.
“I was just leaving,” I say and rise from the sofa. I stoop to pick up the blanket that falls from my lap and fold it into a square. My hair is mussed and my lips swollen. I know what it must look like to the outsider.
A small and shallow part of me is glad of it. He’s been kissing me, me, me!
“You can stay.” Leo all but blocks me from moving to the door.
But Tori doesn’t change her expression. She glances at Leo. “Do you want to discuss our relationship in front of her?”
She says the pronoun ‘her’ with a curl to her lip. It’s the only change of expression she gives. For someone who has clearly been crying, she doesn’t show much emotion.
“Want me to stay?” I ask, placing a hand on Leo’s arm. His features give away everything. He doesn’t want me to leave. Is he stressed over being alone with her? What has she done to him? I have the urge to pummel her, MMA style, even though I haven’t actually been in a fight before. I never really had violent thoughts until everything came crashing down with Wesley.
His lips tighten and he exhales through his nose. “No, it’s all right. I’ll only be a minute.”
“I’m Tori,” Leo’s ex interrupts.
I turn to acknowledge her. “Harper,” I reply.
“He won’t be long. I’ll be finished with him in a while,” she says to me with a queer jab in her voice. Oh yeah. I would really like to wait for her outside and trip her down the stairs. Perhaps I should look into anger management.
“It’s not a problem,” I say, the lie falling from my lips. I step around her and make for the door.
“Harper,” Leo says to my back. I turn with my hand on the doorknob.
“Hmm?”
“I’ll see you later,” he says.
Not two minutes later, I’m inside my apartment and sitting at the island bar when I hear yelling. It’s them. I’m shocked and curious at the way sound travels. I shouldn’t be. I’m able to hear the bakery customers, so it makes sense that I can also hear across the hall.
Still, Leo is always so quiet as a neighbor that I never hear a thing from his apartment.
I make out his voice. “Get. Out.” His yell is harsh and final. “You can’t be honest now. It’s too late.” Pain weaves through the fabric of each word.
Her voice is quieter and I can’t hear her words even though I’ve wandered to stand beside my door. I imagine them though.
There’s a shriek and something hits a hard surface and shatters. Even though I cannot see through walls, I know she’s thrown something. Her mannequin mask has slipped.
Leo is always sweet to me, yet there’s some disagreemen
t between them that has splintered their relationship. What drove them apart?
Maybe it’s the way he keeps his secrets guarded so close to the chest.
His words to Tori echo in my head. You can’t be honest now. It’s too late.
I was five seconds away from confessing everything to Leo—about sending the postcard and following him. Lying to him this entire time.
What have I done? A disturbing darkness colors my emotions as I imagine how he’ll react if I tell him about the postcard. I won’t have to say anymore. He’ll connect the dots and know the rest.
Maybe, he’ll hate me so much he won’t speak to me again. And he’ll tell Josie. Josie won’t forgive me either. Why should she? I lay my head on the cool tile of the bar and attempt to stay calm.
What was I thinking? Do I simply throw away the best things in my life? For the first time, I’m with a guy who makes me happy. A guy who cares about what I think. Who wants to spend time with me. And Josie’s a bonus. I need her.
True affection from real, honest people. Wesley took all that away from me.
I deserve a little happiness, don’t I?
I go to my refrigerator and search for a cool drink. My body temperature has risen to boiling in the past minutes, listening to their voices, and then imagining how that fight could’ve been me and Leo.
You broke into my apartment? You went through my things?
Maybe if he gets to know me a little better, if we allow this attraction to evolve, he’ll understand when I tell him everything. I’m such a coward, and I’ve lost so much this year. My entire identity dissolved with the disclosure of one police report when Wesley died. I can’t risk it. I take a gulp of cool water.
The yelling next door stops abruptly and there’s a final door slam.
My lungs burn with an effort to stay calm. I take another gulp of water and wait in silence. I wait for hours with the expectation that he’ll knock at my door and tell me what happened. That he’ll pour his heart out to me and share whatever has turned him inside out.
I want him to be okay.
It’s late afternoon before I give up on Leo. The afternoon sun is filtering in my windows, and I’m silly stupid for still waiting on him. We are not even a couple.
