Chapter 11
Harper
Which is ridiculous because the gala isn’t until tonight and I have literally the entire day to get ready.
But my brain doesn’t care about logic.
I lie in bed for exactly four minutes, staring at the ceiling, trying to convince myself to go back to sleep.
It doesn’t work.
By 6:15, I’m out of bed and stress-cleaning.
I start with the kitchen—wiping down counters that are already clean, reorganizing the spice rack even though it’s fine, scrubbing the sink until it gleams.
Then I move to the living room. Vacuum the rug. Fluff the couch pillows. Rearrange the throw blankets in a way that looks effortlessly casual but actually took me ten minutes to perfect.
I’m on my third pass over the same spot on the carpet when I finally stop and realize what I’m doing.
Spiraling.
I set down the vacuum and collapse onto the couch, staring at the emerald dress hanging on my closet door across the room.
It’s beautiful. Stunning, really.
But looking at it now, all I feel is nerves.
What if this doesn’t work?
What if Micah and I look awkward together?
What if Collin doesn’t even care?
I close my eyes, trying to breathe through the panic.
It’s going to work. It has to work.
When I open my eyes again, my gaze lands on the coffee table.
My Bible is sitting there, right where it’s been for weeks now.
That familiar tug hits me—the one that whispers, read it.
I stare at it for a long moment.
Then I reach over and pick it up; the worn cover soft under my fingers. I flip it open to a random page—Psalms—and start reading.
“The Lord is my shepherd; I shall not want...”
The words are familiar. I’ve known them since I was five years old, reciting verses in Sunday school for gold star stickers. I could probably quote half of this chapter from memory.
“He makes me lie down in green pastures…”
It’s spring in Texas, which means the bluebonnets will be out soon. It would be fun to get with the girls and do a mini photo shoot…
Oh, right, back to the Bible.
But what’s the point?
I already know what it says. I’ve heard every sermon, attended every Bible study, grown up singing the songs, and checking all the boxes. Rereading it isn’t going to magically make me feel better. It’s not going to fix the mess I’m in or tell me what to do about my relationship crisis.
My mind wanders.
To what Collin’s face will look like when he sees me. To whether Micah will actually pull this off or if the entire night will be a disaster.
I read the same verse three times and still don’t absorb it.
Guilt prickles at me, but I push it away.
I close the Bible and set it back on the table, telling myself I’ll try again later.
After the gala. When things calm down.
When it might actually help.
Instead, I grab my phone and pull up Spotify, scrolling until I find an upbeat playlist.
Music fills the apartment—something pop and loud and energetic—and I let it drown out the quiet.
Ivy
On my way!
I glance at the clock.
2:40 p.m.
How is it already 2:40?
I’ve been stress-cleaning and overthinking for over eight hours.
Harper
Hurry
I yank open the door as soon as the doorbell rings, and there she is—smiling, calm, carrying a massive tote bag that’s almost as big as her.
“I came prepared,” she announces, stepping inside.
I hug her immediately. “Thank goodness. I’ve been spiraling.”
She pulls back, studying me. “I can tell. Your apartment is suspiciously clean.”
I find myself laughing unintentionally. “Is it that obvious?”
“Harper, I can see vacuum lines on your carpet. You never vacuum.”
“That’s not true.”
“When’s the last time you vacuumed?”
I pause. “Okay, fine. Maybe I’ve been stress-cleaning.”
She grins, setting her bag on the couch. “It’s going to be fine. You’re going to look amazing tonight.”
“Promise?”
“Promise.”
I exhale, some of the tension easing.
Twenty minutes later, the doorbell rings again.
Olivia. Late per usual.
I open the door to find her holding a tray of iced coffees, looking effortlessly put-together in jeans and an oversized sweater.
“Sorry I’m late,” she says, stepping inside. “Traffic was—”
“You live ten minutes away,” I interrupt.
She grins sheepishly. “Okay, fine. I couldn’t decide what to wear.”
“To help me get ready?”
“Presentation matters, Harper.”
Ivy snorts from the couch.
Olivia hands out the coffees—caramel macchiato for me, iced vanilla latte for Ivy, brown sugar cinnamon latte for herself. “Okay, let’s do this. Where are we starting?”
We migrate to my bedroom, and I immediately feel better with both of them here.
Ivy unpacks her bag—hair tools, face masks, nail polish in about fifteen different shades.
Olivia sets up her makeup kit on my dresser with the precision of a surgeon.
And I sit on the edge of my bed, sipping my coffee, watching them work.
“Okay,” Ivy says, plugging in a curling iron. “Hair first. What are we thinking?”
“Something elegant,” I say. “But not too formal. I don’t want to look like I’m trying too hard.”
Olivia glances over her shoulder. “You’re definitely trying hard. That’s the whole point.”
“Okay, but I don’t want it to look like I’m trying hard.”
“Got it. Effortless effort.” She turns back to her makeup kit. “The cornerstone of every great lie.”
I throw a pillow at her.
She catches it without looking.
“Alright,” Ivy says, gesturing to the chair in front of my vanity. “Sit. Let me work.”
I sit, and she gets to work sectioning my hair.
Olivia perches on the edge of my bed, scrolling through her phone. “So. Are we more nervous about the gala or about seeing Micah in a suit?”
I meet her eyes in the mirror. “The gala. Obviously.”
Ivy and Olivia exchange a look.
“What?” I demand.
“Nothing,” Ivy says innocently, wrapping a section of hair around the curling iron.
“You’re doing that thing again.”
“What thing?”
“That thing where you two have an entire conversation without words.”
Olivia grins. “We’re not doing anything.”
“You’re absolutely doing something.”
Ivy releases the curl, and it falls in a perfect ringlet. “We’re just wondering if you’ve thought this through.”
“Thought what through?”
“The Collin thing,” Olivia says carefully. “Trying to win him back.”
My jaw tightens. “Of course I’ve thought it through. That’s literally the entire plan.”
“Right. But...” Ivy hesitates. “Are you sure that’s what you want?”
“Yes. Obviously.”
“It’s just—” Olivia sets down her phone. “He dumped you at a restaurant, Harp. Over dessert. That’s not exactly—”
“I know where he dumped me,” I cut in. “I was there.”
“We know. And we love you. Which is why we’re asking if maybe...you deserve better than a guy who couldn’t even wait until you got home.”
I twist in the chair to glare at her. “Collin was good to me. My parents loved him. He was stable and—”
“Boring,” Ivy finishes gently.
“He wasn’t boring.”
“Harper,” Olivia’s voice softens. “You used to complain that he never wanted to do anything spontaneous. That he made you feel like you had to be perfect all the time.”
“That’s not—I never said that.”
“You did. Multiple times.”
Ivy gently turns my head back toward the mirror. “Stop moving or I’m going to burn you.”
I huff but stay still.
For about thirty seconds.
“He wasn’t perfect, okay?” I blurt out. “But at least he wanted me. At least he chose me—until he didn’t.”
Ivy’s hands pause. “Harper. That’s not—”
“And maybe if I can just show him I’ve changed, or that I’m doing fine without him, he’ll realize he made a mistake.”
“But what if he didn’t?” Olivia asks quietly.
I blink. “What?”
“What if breaking up with you wasn’t a mistake? What if you two just... weren’t right for each other?”
My stomach twists. “We were right.”
“Were you, though?” Ivy’s voice is gentle but firm. “Because from where we were sitting, you seemed like you were trying really hard to be someone you’re not.”
“I wasn’t—”
“You stopped posting on social media because he thought it was ‘attention-seeking,’” Olivia says. “You started wearing more neutral colors because his mom made that comment about your ‘bold choices.’ You—”
“Can we please just focus on getting me ready?” I snap, louder than I mean to.
Silence.
Ivy’s hands are gentle in my hair. “Okay. Yeah. Let’s focus on that.”
But the words hang in the air between us, heavy and uncomfortable.
Olivia nods, turning back to her makeup kit without another word.
I feel bad immediately, but I don’t apologize.
Because if I apologize, I’ll have to admit that maybe they’re right.
And I’m not ready to do that.
An hour later, my hair is done.
Ivy’s somehow created this elegant updo with loose curls framing my face, and it looks like something out of a magazine.
“Ivy, this is incredible,” I breathe, turning my head to see it from different angles.
She smiles, softer now. “Remember when I used to do hair as a side gig in college? Paid for textbooks.”
“Why did you stop again?”
She shrugs. “Graphic design paid better.”
Olivia’s moved on to makeup now, dabbing foundation on my face with a damp sponge.
“Close your eyes,” she instructs.
I do, letting her work.
The room is quiet except for the soft music playing from my phone, and for a moment, it feels peaceful.
Then Ivy breaks the silence.
“Oh, I forgot to tell y’all—there’s a women’s brunch next Saturday at the church. It’s a panel on finding purpose in your calling. I think you’d love it.”
I open one eye. “Oh, that sounds great! Are you going, Liv?”
There’s a pause.
Too long of a pause.
“Uh, probably not,” Olivia says finally, her tone carefully casual. “I’ve got a thing. A work thing.”
“On Saturday?” Ivy nudges.
“Client emergency. Could happen any time.”
I open both eyes now, looking at Olivia in the mirror.
She’s focused intently on organizing her makeup brushes, not meeting my gaze.
“You’ve had a lot of weekend work emergencies lately,” I say carefully.
“It’s the nature of the job, Harp.” Her voice is tight.
“We miss you at church, Liv.” Ivy says.
Olivia’s jaw tenses. “I know. I’ll try to make it soon.”
But we all know she won’t.
The air in the room shifts—heavier now, weighted with things we’re not saying.
I want to push. Want to ask what’s really going on. But before I can, Olivia reaches for my chin abruptly.
“Okay, tilt your head back. I need to do your eyeshadow.”
And just like that, the moment’s gone.
By 4:15, we’re almost done.
My hair is perfect. My makeup is dewy and natural. And I’m standing in front of my full-length mirror in my pink silk robe, staring at the emerald dress hanging on the closet door.
“Alright,” Ivy says, unzipping it carefully. “Moment of truth.”
I step into it, and she and Olivia help me pull it up, zipping it slowly.
The fabric settles against my skin like it was made for me.
I turn toward the mirror.
And I barely recognize myself.
The dress hugs my curves perfectly, the emerald color making my red hair look like fire. The sequins catch the light, shimmering with every movement.
I look... stunning.
Ivy’s eyes well up. “Harper, you’re gorgeous.”
Olivia whistles low. “Collin’s going to regret everything.”
“That’s the plan,” I say, but my voice sounds far away.
Because looking at myself now, I’m not thinking about Collin.
I’m thinking about Micah seeing me like this.
I shove the thought away immediately.
Stop it. This is about Collin. Focus.
“Okay,” Ivy says, checking her phone. “It’s 4:30. Micah will be here in half an hour.”
My stomach does a full somersault.
“We should probably finish getting you ready,” Olivia says, handing me a pair of earrings.
I put them on, my hands shivering.
Ivy watches me in the mirror. “Should we pray before he gets here? Over the night?”
I actually love that idea. The thought of praying with Ivy.
“Yeah,” I say. “I’d like that.”
But before we can, Olivia stands abruptly. “Oh, actually I need to run to my car. I think I left my phone charger.”
She’s out the door before either of us can respond.
Ivy and I sit in silence for a moment.
“Is she okay?” I ask quietly.
Ivy sighs, sinking onto the edge of my bed. “I don’t know. She won’t talk about it.”
“How long has she been avoiding church?”
“Weeks. Maybe longer.” Ivy looks up at me, worry etched across her face. “She’s been dodging Sunday service. Bible study. Everything.”
Guilt twists in my chest. “I’ve been so wrapped up in my own drama, I didn’t even notice how bad it’s gotten.”
“Don’t,” Ivy says firmly. “She’s good at hiding it. But yeah... I’m worried.”
“Should we say something?”
“I’ve tried. She just shuts down.”
I glance toward the door where Olivia disappeared. “She’s struggling with something.”
“I know.”
“We need to help her.”
“I know.” Ivy stands, taking my hands. “But right now, let’s focus on tonight. And we can still pray. Just us.”
I nod, bowing my head.
Ivy’s voice is soft but steady. “Father, thank You for this friendship. Thank You for Harper and her brave, beautiful heart—even when she’s scared.
I pray You’d cover her tonight. Give her peace, wisdom in every conversation, and confidence that comes from You, not from a dress or a plan or anyone’s approval. ”
She squeezes my hands.
“I pray this night would go better than she’s imagining. That You’d protect her heart and show her what she really needs—not what she thinks she wants. And God, please be with Micah too. Give him grace and patience and... just be in the middle of whatever happens tonight.”
A pause.
“And Lord, we lift up Olivia. Wherever she is right now—physically, emotionally, spiritually—meet her there. We don’t know what she’s going through, but You do. Draw her close. Remind her she’s loved. Help us to love her well, even when we don’t have the right words.”
Another squeeze.
“We trust You with tonight. With all of it. In Jesus’ name, amen.”
“Amen,” I whisper.
When I open my eyes, there are tears threatening to spill, but I blink them back.
Ivy pulls me into a hug, and for just a moment, I let myself believe that maybe everything really will be okay.