Chapter 28 Beth
Beth
Inviting Harper to a one night getaway at a luxury cabin was a stroke of genius.
About an hour into the drive, Maren's playlist takes a sharp left turn and blares the painfully nostalgic opening chords of "The Reason" by Hoobastank. Harper’s head snaps up.
She tosses her phone on the empty seat, leans entirely through the gap between Maren and me, and cranks the volume dial all the way to the right.
"I haven't heard this since like eighth grade!
" she declares, a massive grin breaking across her face.
By the time we hit the gravel turnoff for the lake, all three of us are screaming the chorus with the windows rolled down, the crisp, pine-scented air whipping our hair into a mess.
Harper is drumming on the back of my headrest, Maren is attempting vocal runs she absolutely cannot hit, and the tension I've been carrying in my shoulders starts to melt.
The cabin is even better than the listing photos. It sits at the top of a gentle slope that rolls down toward lake, surrounded by pines and birch trees. When we step inside, Maren drops her bag on the floor and spreads her arms wide.
"Okay. Okay. I live here now."
The setup is seriously impressive. There's a stone fireplace that takes up half the living room wall with a flat screen mounted above it.
Opposite that is a sectional couch long enough for four people to sleep on, draped in a chunky cream knit throw.
The kitchen island is a slab of butcher block the size of a dining table, and beyond it, huge bay windows frame a perfect view of the lake.
"Dibs on the loft!" Maren yells, already halfway up the stairs.
Harper wheels her suitcase into the bedroom closest to the porch and pokes her head back out. "This one's got a reading nook," she says, and something about the quiet delight in her voice loosens a knot I didn't know I was holding.
I take the second bedroom on the main floor.
It has a beautiful wooden sleigh bed dressed in crisp white linen, a woven wool rug underfoot, and a framed watercolor of a canoe above the headboard.
A large window looks straight out into the pines, and there's a small, modern en-suite bathroom. It’s simple and cozy.
We unpack in that giddy, half-distracted way you do when you're somewhere new and everything's a discovery.
Maren finds a record player in the loft and puts on something mellow and jazzy.
Harper discovers the pantry is stocked with fancy snacks—salted dark chocolate, rosemary crackers, three kinds of cheese—and lays them out on the island like she's curating a gallery exhibit.
I open the french doors to the back deck and just stand there for a minute, letting the pine-and-lake air hit me full in the chest.
For lunch, we make a production of assembling sandwiches from the groceries we brought, Maren carefully layering hers while Harper and I just pile things on.
We eat on the deck, our feet up on the railing.
Maren tells a story about a woman at her gym who got into a screaming match with the front desk over a towel policy.
Harper laughs, and she's here, she's present, but I feel there's a thin pane of glass between us that I keep bumping into.
After lunch, Maren yawns so wide I can see straight to her tonsils.
"I'm taking a nap," she announces. "There is a down comforter up in that loft that I'm pretty sure I have earned every thread count of it."
"At 2 p.m.?" Harper asks.
"I've been up since 3 a.m. every day this week," she says. "So especially at 2 p.m."
Once she disappears, Harper and I drift back out to the porch with fresh mugs of coffee, settling into the two Adirondack chairs angled toward the water. The afternoon light is soft, catching the ripples on the lake through the trees, and we can hear birds calling back and forth across the water.
For a few minutes, we just sit, drinking in comfortable silence.
Harper wraps both hands around her mug. She's wearing an oversized flannel that must belong to Ben, and her hair is twisted up in a claw clip that's slowly losing its grip.
I take a breath, staring into my coffee. "Harper, about the other night at the campfire. I am so sor—"
"Beth," she interrupts softly.
I look up. "Yeah."
She takes a breath. Lets it out slow, her eyes fixed on the lake. "I need to say something, and I need you to just listen, please."
I swallow the rest of my apology and nod. "Promise."
"Thank you." She takes another breath. "I was hurt."
Well, at least that's straightforward.
"Not about whether you leave." She shakes her head quickly. "I mean, yes, about that. Obviously. The idea of you not being in Lakeview makes me want to throw up a little, and I say that with love. But that's not—" She stops. Tries again. "That's not the part that actually hurt."
I think I already know where she's going with this.
"You could've told me about your offer the exact moment you got it," she says.
"I know you were trying to spare me because I already have a lot on my plate with the wedding.
I get that. Honestly, I even appreciate the thought in a way.
But Beth." She finally looks at me, and her eyes are bright and a little wet.
"I would rather know. I would always rather know.
I asked you to be my maid of honor because I want you standing next to me for the biggest day of my life.
I wouldn't have asked you to do that if I didn't also want to stand next to you when you have to make a life-altering decision. "
This lands right in the center of my chest.
"You're right," I say. My voice comes out rougher than I expected.
"Good," she says, wiping quickly under one eye with the heel of her hand. "Because I rehearsed that in the shower this morning, and I was absolutely not prepared for you to argue with me."
I laugh, and she almost smiles but catches it, holding it back.
"So just... talk to me," she says. "That's all I'm asking. Whatever you're going through, whatever you're deciding. I want to be there for it, even if it's messy. Especially if it's messy."
I stare down at my coffee. The dark surface has gone still, reflecting a tiny, perfect rectangle of the blue sky above us. "I love you," I say, because it's the truest thing I can think of right now. "You know that, right?"
"Obviously." The smile breaks through now, helpless and warm and completely Harper.
"And I'm really sorry. For not telling you sooner."
I set my mug down on the wide armrest. It wobbles, and I steady it, buying myself a few extra seconds to gather my thoughts. I let out a long breath.
"The shop," I start, and then I stop. And then I force myself to start again.
"The shop was supposed to be the beginning of everything.
You know? The business, the house by the lake, the whole picture.
I had this entire life planned out with Grant.
I could literally see it. And then it all fell apart, but the flower shop is still there, and every morning I walk in, it's like—" I swallow hard.
"It's like walking into an exhibit of the life I didn't get to have. "
Harper is watching me, her eyes doing that thing where they go completely soft and open, making you feel like whatever you say next couldn't possibly be too much.
"But the weird part is, I love being a florist," I continue, my voice shaking a little.
"I love the work. I just... I don't know if I can keep doing it here.
And the reason it's so incredibly hard for me to make a decision about this buyout is because of you.
Because I love you. I love Luna. I love Maren.
I love the people I have in this town. But you guys can't live my life for me. "
I squeeze my eyes shut, a tear spilling over my lashes. "And I'm terrified of who I'll become if I stay in Lakeview just because of my friends, while the one thing that's supposed to be entirely mine—my work, my purpose—just makes me feel like I'm failing at a life I never even got to live."
The bird across the lake has gone quiet. Or maybe it's been a while and I only just noticed.
"Honestly—" I exhale, swiping at my cheek.
"I just want to get to your wedding. I want to help you with everything, be the best maid of honor I can possibly be, and just live for a few weeks without agonizing over this decision every waking second.
Then I'll get to it and figure it out, on my time. "
More tears slide down my face, pooling at my jaw and dropping onto the flannel of my sweater. I didn't even feel them start.
Harper sets her mug on the deck floor, leans entirely across the space between our chairs, and wraps both arms tightly around me, her cheek pressing against my shoulder.
She smells like the fancy coffee we just made, the cedar from the cabin, and something soft and floral that is just inherently her. My best friend.
"You are going to figure it out," she says fiercely into my sleeve.
"And when you do, whatever that looks like, I'm still going to be the most annoying presence in your life.
I will drive or fly hours just to bother you.
And if I'm sick and can't move, prepare to spend an ungodly amount of time on video calls. "
I laugh against her hair, though it comes out mostly as a sob. But the air between us has shifted.
I take a breath, and it goes deeper than any breath I've taken in weeks. Down past the tightness in my throat, past the knot that's been living in my ribs. All the way down.
"Maren's going to be devastated she missed this," I say, my voice thick.
"That's what she gets for abandoning us for a comforter," Harper chuckles.
***
Maren, Harper and I are arranged in a loose triangle in the jacuzzi.