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 try 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.