Chapter 16
I’d been back from Zanzibar for two weeks and still woke up every day, reaching for a woman who had practically ghosted me.
When we left Zanzibar, I thought we were good, better than good.
Harlowe had fallen asleep on my shoulder on the flight home, drooled a little on my hoodie, and kissed me in front of her townhouse when I dropped her off at home.
I drove home thinking I finally had my girl and life was great.
Two weeks later, all I had was a handful of rain checks on hanging out, a couple of “busy” texts, and way too much damn silence.
Harlowe hadn’t broken things off. She hadn’t said much of anything really.
I’d spent years making sure I never lost her as a friend, just to blink and feel like I was losing my friend and my girl in the same sentence.
It was crazy, and Sunday dinner at my mom’s house was supposed to be taking my mind off it, but it wasn’t.
The basketball game was on. My nieces and nephews kept showing me shit I didn’t want to see.
Mama was in the kitchen throwing down, and Marcus was talking my ear off about some chick he’d met last week.
The house was in full motion, like always.
I should have been entertained but my head was somewhere on a beach in Zanzibar, in a cave, on a balcony, with Harlowe wrapped in my arms.
“Where Harlowe at?” My mom’s voice cut through my thoughts, like she was reading my damn mind. I looked up and glanced at her. She was standing by the couch with a spoon in her hand, staring me down like she knew something was wrong.
“At home, I guess.” I shrugged, hoping that was a good enough answer even though I knew it wasn’t.
“Boy, don’t play with me. This the second Sunday she’s missed,” she said. “She never misses Sunday dinner. What’s going on, Hasheem?”
I sat up straight and rubbed my hand over my face. Here we go. Harlowe had been a part of our family for so long it was hard not to notice her presence was missing. I got away with ‘she busy’ last Sunday. But two weeks in a row? I already knew Mama was going to be suspicious.
“She had some stuff to handle today, Ma,” I lied and Marcus snorted.
“Yeah, stuff like avoid yo’ big head ass,” Marcus said across from me, making me side eye him. Mama popped him on the back of the head for cursing.
“Something happen?” she pressed. “Don’t tell me y’all finally fell out.”
“You ain’t told her?” Marcus blew out a breath.
“Told me what?” Mama demanded. I let out a long breath before speaking.
“Me and Harlowe crossed a line on that trip,” I said. “We tried being more than friends. And now she ain’t talking to me.”
Everybody went quiet for a second, and Ma’s eyes almost fell out her face.
“Lord, have mercy,” she said, hand flying in the air. “Y’all finally figured it out!”
I let out a breath I didn’t know I was holding. I guess me and Harlowe were the only ones that had been in denial.
“What you mean finally?” Marcus cut in, dramatically squinting at her. “So you just cool with him dating my ex?”
“Boy, hush.” Mama swatted at him. “That was puppy love.”
“Puppy love that lasted four years,” he joked. “I’m hurt.”
“If you wanted to keep her, you should’ve acted right back then,” Mama said. “You ain’t. So don’t start crying now ’cause your brother got her.”
I huffed out a laugh. It was funny as hell hearing my mama and Marcus talk about me and Harlowe like we were some reality TV show.
Ma turned back to me. “So if y’all finally got together, why isn’t she talking to you? What you do, boy?”
“I ain’t do nothing,” I said quickly. “I think she just scared.”
“Scared of what?”
I blew out a breath, staring at the TV. “Of losing us . . . our friendship.”
Mama didn’t blink. She just stared at me and waited for me to elaborate, like she always did.
I gave her the short version of events. The Truth or Dare card, Marcus calling me, finding out Simone slept with him and blamed me and Harlowe’s friendship for months, me going up to Simone’s room to confront her, the robe, the candle, the fire, the sprinklers .
. . all of it. By the time I finished, Mama’s face was twisted in a hundred different ways.
“I knew I ain’t never liked that damn Simone,” she said, shaking her head. “She always felt off in my spirit. Throwing a robe on a candle in a hotel? That’s just dumb. Trifling and dumb.”
Dumb was a damn understatement. Simone’s bullshit was half the reason I was over here hurting. Mama let out a slow breath. “And what you been doing about it?”
“Giving her space,” I said. “Letting her get her head right. I texted to let her know I was home. She hit me with a thumbs up.” I shrugged. “Every time I ask to see her, she got a deadline or got content to batch or promises to call back, then doesn’t.”
“Damn.” Marcus laughed. “Not a thumbs up.”
“Well, you look miserable,” Ma said, studying my face.
“I am,” I admitted.
“So you just gon’ sit in misery?” she asked. “Let fear control the narrative?”
“She’s the one that is ghosting me, Ma,” I said. “I’m not scared. I’m respecting her no.”
“I did teach you to always respect a woman’s no, but did she say no, or did she say something else?”
I frowned. “What?”
“There’s a difference between disregarding somebody’s no and reminding them about the yes they already gave you.
” She moved closer to me like she needed me to hear her words “That girl already told you she loved you,” Mama said.
“Already gave you her body. You have her emergency key to her apartment. You’re probably her emergency contact.
Harlowe has given you so many yesses over the years.
That no is about her fear, fear from trauma that old hurt left behind.
You can’t fix it for her, but you can show her you ain’t running just ’cause she got scared. ”
“Yeah, you need to apply pressure, Bro.” Marcus nodded. “Respectfully, you know Harlowe is an overthinker. She needs action.”
“Y’all keep saying that like it’s simple.”
“With Harlowe?” he said. “It kinda is. The girl is a hopeless romantic. She reads romance books, and you know her better than anyone else. You know her favorite tropes. You know her favorite authors. You know her brain, and if you don’t”—he pulled out his phone and started scrolling—“she literally has a paper trail for you, dummy.” He turned the screen toward me, and Harlowe’s book socials popped up.
I stared down at the videos of her laughing into the camera, ranting about books.
Marcus clicked on a video titled Book Boyfriends Who Applied Pressure and then another one that said Grand Gestures or Go Home.
I stared down at the screen, throat tight.
Harlowe always left instructions, even when she didn’t know they were for me.
“And for the record,” Mama cut in, pointing a finger between us, “I’m not happy you slept with your brother’s fiancée, and I might not love that you dating your brother’s ex, but I always knew you and that girl were something special, not just cute together.
Y’all were friends, real friends. You and Harlowe have the kind of friendship you build a life on.
She sees you, and you see her. Don’t lose it. ”
Ma’s words landed right where they needed to and I leaned back in the recliner, eyes pointed at the TV.
I couldn’t have told you what was on. Maybe I had been giving her too much space, calling it “respecting her boundaries” when really I was just sitting here letting fear and Simone’s old bullshit walk my person right out of my life.
An idea started forming, piece by piece, before I could talk myself out of it.
I pulled my phone back out, already opening Harlowe’s page, my mind working faster than my fingers.
“Oh, hell,” Mama said, watching me. “He plotting. Lord, be a fence. Don’t get too crazy now, Hasheem.”
I couldn’t promise that, but I knew one thing. I wasn’t about to lose my best friend and my girl and not do shit about it.
I wasn’t usually the park outside a woman’s house type.
That was stalker shit, but for Harlowe, my dumb ass was parked right across the street with the engine cut off.
I contemplated if I should park a few houses down, but I wanted her to see me.
I wanted her to know I was here, choosing her until she chose me back.
My hand brushed the copper key on my key ring.
It was Harlowe’s emergency key. She’d given it to me a few years ago in case she locked herself out or some shit.
I could’ve used it, walked right in, dropped everything on her coffee table, sat my ass on her couch, and waited for her to talk to me.
I could’ve shown her ass that I was crazy about her, but the best friend side of me respected her space.
I dropped the key amongst the others on my key ring and reached for the white Chanel gift bag sitting in my passenger seat.
I got out of the car and walked to her porch.
I felt like a damn delivery driver. The motion light flicked on, and I hoped she would just come out and talk to me, but I knew she wouldn’t.
I set the Chanel gift bag with the wrapped book and all her favorite snacks in front of her door and laid a small envelope on top.
Inside, on a plain white card, I’d handwritten a message.
Lowe,
Since you’re “too busy” to talk to me, I figured we could let somebody else do the talking for a while. Buddy read? Meet underneath the tree at 7pm tomorrow to discuss.
– Hash
I knocked twice loud enough to be heard and then moved fast, jogging back down the steps and across the grass to my car.
By the time I slid behind the wheel, a nigga was antsy as hell.
For a minute, I thought maybe she wasn’t home, or she’d seen me through the peephole and pretended she wasn’t.
I was just about to pick up the phone and call her when the door opened and she stepped onto the porch barefoot in an oversized T-shirt I recognized immediately.
It was my fire academy T-shirt she’d stolen from me years ago.
I stared at her. The reality of how much I missed her hit me hard.
Her extensions were gone and replaced with her natural puff, and she didn’t have on any makeup.
Harlowe was always beautiful, but chilling at home Harlowe was my favorite.
She looked down, saw the bag, and frowned a little.
She picked up the envelope first, thumb sliding under the seal.
Her lips moved as she read. Then her eyes lifted, automatically scanning the street.
When she spotted my car, I lifted my hand and waved.
For half a second, her eyes got bright, like she forgot she was mad at me and almost smiled.
Then she remembered. Her smile dropped, and her gaze narrowed into a squint.
She looked back down, opened the bag, and peeked inside long enough for a little smile to appear on her face.
Then she stuffed everything back in like she was scared of letting herself react too much.
Without looking up again, she turned, went inside, and shut the door.
I sat there, heart doing the absolute most over a closed door and a few seconds glance at her, then I picked up my own copy of Maybe I Need You by Briyanna Michelle from the passenger seat, flipped it open to chapter one, and leaned back.
If she tossed it in the donation pile, fine.
If she read along and pretended she wasn’t, also fine.
If all this did was remind her I was still here, still choosing her, even from outside, it was worth it.
Somewhere inside that house, I pictured her curled up in that big cozy chair she had, thumb hovering over that first page, fighting with herself.
“Day one,” I whispered to myself, getting comfortable and propping the book up on the steering wheel. “I’m not going anywhere.”