She leaves, and I want to kick myself for listening to her words in Peace of Cake. Cheesy moment or not, I should have told her last night how I feel. I should have told her before I knew about this twist of fate. Then I’d know for real if she felt the same.
Fuck the perfect moment. Screw waiting. I don’t have a plan, and I don’t care. I follow her down the hall, calling out her name as she presses the elevator button. When I reach her, I stop messing around and just tell her the truth. “I’m in love with you, Harper. If you tell me not to go, I won’t.”
Her eyes widen, and she blinks several times, then clasps her hand over her lips as if she’s holding something in.
“Say it. Just say whatever you want to say,” I urge, and I don’t even know whether I’m asking for her to say I love you back, or to say Don’t go to L.A.
Maybe both.
The elevator arrives with a soft ding. The doors spread open. She takes a step. I grab her arm to stop her. “Say it.”
She takes her hand off her mouth. Raises her chin. Speaks clearly and simply. “I can’t tell you not to go to L.A.”
When I felt my heart sink in the cab the other day? That’s nothing compared to now. This stupid organ in my chest craters, plummets to the floor like a meteor crashing to Earth. I want to stop her, to make her stay, to explain herself, but I’m frozen like a statue as the doors close. The elevator chugs downward, and Harper breaks my heart.
I kick the wall, and it hurts like a son of a bitch. “Fucking hell,” I mutter.
I return to my apartment, march to the window, and stare at the street until she emerges from the lobby and onto Central Park West.
She wipes her hand across her cheek once. Then again. She picks up the pace, and soon she’s a red blur, and my chest aches for her.
Love sucks.
I have no clue what to say, what she needs to hear, or what the hell I’m going to do. I don’t even know who to turn to for advice.
But that matter is solved for me a little later when the doorman rings. Hope rises in me that she’s returned. Only when I ask who’s here, it’s the other Holiday.
36
Spencer yanks out a stool, parks himself on it, and plops a white plastic bag from Duane Reade on the kitchen counter. He says nothing as he opens the handles and methodically removes each item.
A box of orange hair dye and a razor.
“Shit,” I sigh heavily as a new and equally nasty emotion crashes into me. Shame. I’ve lied to him, and he knows it.
He tilts his face, strokes his chin, and stares at me. “Tell me why I shouldn’t shave your head and dye your eyebrows orange in the middle of the night.”
I drag a hand through my hair and blow out a long stream of air. Then I just shrug. “Can’t think of one.”
He scowls. “Seriously? That’s all you’ve got?”
I hold out my hands in surrender. “You are well within your rights,” I say, my voice empty. Because really, who cares now?
He scratches his head. “You’ve been messing around with my sister, and that’s all you’re going to say?”
“What do you want me to do?” I spit out. “Deny it? Ask you how you know?”
“Umm,” he begins, and he’s speechless. He really did expect me to deny it.
“Look,” I say, because I’m not in the mood right now. “I’m sure you figured it out. I’m sure you saw me dancing with her at your wedding. Right? Am I right?”
He nods, his green eyes registering some kind of surprise that I’m not tap-dancing around this confrontation. “Charlotte mentioned it, and I told her there was no way in hell. So we bet on it, and I came here to prove her wrong. But holy shit. Is there something going on for real?”
I nod, then shake my head. “There was. There’s not. I don’t know. Either way, take your revenge.”
His eyes bug out. “C’mon. For real?” he asks, and he’s the one in denial now.
“Look, I’m sorry, but I’m not sorry,” I say, my voice rising as I lean against my fridge, frustration, anger, and sadness coursing through me.
He holds his hands out wide in a what gives gesture. “How the fuck did that happen?”
I give him a look. “I’m not getting into the details.” The way it started is no one’s business. I promised Harper I wouldn’t tell a soul, and I’m not going to break that promise, even if she saw fit to slice my heart in two with her feel-free-to-go-to-L.A. send-off.
“You mess around with my sister, and that’s your answer?” His tone darkens, and he’s clearly pissed now.
“It’s private, okay? It’s private, and it’s personal.” I move away from the fridge and press my hands against the counter, staring him in the eyes. I thought I’d have to ask his approval to fall in love with his sister, but now I see that what happened with Harper isn’t about his permission. It isn’t even about him. I’ve gotten that part all wrong. She was only off-limits if I didn’t care about her. I care about her so fucking much I don’t know what to do with this surplus of feelings for my best friend’s sister. It’s time for him to know that. “It happened, and it happened again, and now here I am.” I tap my sternum. “I’m in love with your sister. So there you go. Get out the hair dye, shave it off. Whatever, man. It’s not going to change the fact that I told her I love her, and she told me I’m free to go to L.A.”