34. Harper
THIRTY-FOUR
Harper
Tuesday, March 17
Harper’s Pool House
10:11 AM
I pace my living room. My nerves are fraying with each step. My laptop sits on the coffee table, open to the email from Nurse Trek Staffing Agency. The cursor blinks like a taunt, as though daring me to make a decision.
Today isn’t the day I have to decide. Friday is. But as I sit on the couch, replaying last night in my head, the knot in my chest tightens. Jonah wasn’t open to talking, and the fact that he shut down and left instead of engaging with me says everything I need to know.
I wanted to stay—I really did. I was even considering looking for another assignment closer to Birmingham to see where this thing between us could go. But last night? Last night made it clear that Jonah isn’t ready for that kind of partnership. Not if a tough conversation makes him bolt.
I can’t reward that kind of behavior. If I give in to it now, I’ll always feel like I have to tiptoe around him, avoiding decisions that might upset him. That’s not a foundation I want to build anything on.
Mason was right. There’s never a perfect time, and this situation? It’s a clear sign that I need to do what’s best for me.
I grab my laptop, pulling it onto my lap. The email from Gina is still open, the cursor blinking at the bottom of her message. My heart races as I click “Reply,” but for the first time in days, my mind feels clear.
Subject: Re: Hawaii Travel Assignment Offer
Hi Gina,
Thank you so much for this opportunity. I’ve given it a lot of thought, and I’ve decided to accept the Hawaii assignment. Please let me know what steps I need to take from here to make the transition as smooth as possible.
I’m grateful for your help and excited to take on this role.
Best regards, Harper Gray
I hit "Send" before I can second-guess myself, my hands trembling slightly as I close the laptop.
It’s done.
And while my heart aches at the thought of leaving Jonah behind, I refuse to let fear—or someone else’s walls—dictate my life. I’m choosing myself.
I grab my keys and decide to head out for a walk. Sitting here in silence isn’t going to help. The fresh air outside hits me like a reset button as I walk down the block, aimlessly at first, until I find myself at the small park Jonah and I visited just a few weeks ago.
I spot the bench we stopped at last week. I remember him standing there, his hands on the back of it, with the weight of the world on his shoulders. I can almost feel his chest against me as I leaned into him.
He was carrying so much that night, but I remember telling him I would be there no matter what, however he needed me. It felt like a breakthrough. And then, back at my place….
I guess the hard reality is, he wasn't there for me however I needed him. We weren't a team. We aren't a team.
I sit down, dragging my hands over my thighs before leaning back and tilting my head to the sky. The sun cuts through the branches above, dappling the ground in uneven patches of light, but it’s not warm enough to chase the chill crawling up my arms.
I breathe out slowly, staring up at nothing. The air smells faintly like damp earth and the remnants of last night’s rain, and for a second, I almost wish it would pour again. At least then, it wouldn’t feel so damn still.
It’s not like I didn’t see it coming. I knew talking to him about Hawaii was going to be hard. I just didn’t expect it to feel like this, like the ground shifting under me and leaving me hanging on by a thread.
I sit forward, elbows on my knees, and rub my palms over my face.
This is what I wanted, right? Clarity? Well, I've got my clarity. Jonah and I were never going to work. We were doomed from the start. That is crystal clear now. I'm going to my dream job, and he is staying here, being Jonah. You can't change a zebra just by removing its stripes.
I bite my lip and try to keep the prick of tears from spilling over. God, I hate this. I hate how much it hurts, how much I want to talk to him, to hear his voice. But that won't happen again.
Just as I feared a casual hook-up would ruin our friendship, it turns out that so does a real dive into something more. I was n?ive to ever think otherwise. It was a fun run, but now everything has changed.
The breeze kicks up, brushing a strand of hair across my face, and I tuck it behind my ear with a shaky hand.
I pull out my phone and text Mason.
Took the job.
His reply is instant.
YASSSS, QUEEN! Drinks around 3 to celebrate. Or cry. Your choice.
A laugh bubbles up, surprising even me. Mason can even make a melancholy moment funny.
Celebrate. Definitely celebrate.
I tuck my phone back into my pocket and take a deep breath. There’s still so much to figure out—packing, saying goodbye to UAB, figuring out how to navigate these last few weeks in Birmingham—but for now, I let myself feel the smallest flicker of relief.
Ready or not, I’m moving forward. Even if it’s terrifying. Even if it means leaving something—or someone—behind.
House of Found Objects
2205 2nd Avenue N, Birmingham
3:09 PM
The bar is buzzing when I walk in, much livelier than I expected for an early Tuesday afternoon.
The tables are packed, and there’s a hum of energy that makes me hesitate for a second. People are laughing, clinking glasses, and... wearing a lot of green.
It takes me a moment to register. Green shirts, shamrock necklaces, some guy in the corner with a ridiculous sequined top hat. Fuck. It’s St. Patrick’s Day.
I groan internally. Of course it is. The thought hadn’t even crossed my mind this morning, and now the sea of green feels like it’s mocking me. I don’t need another reminder of what today is. Two years ago, exactly, was when Jonah and I slept together for the first time.
I spot Mason at a high-top table near the window. He’s already waving, a glass of something pink and bubbly in his hand.
“There she is!” he calls out, sliding off his stool to greet me. His blazer is bright emerald green and tailored within an inch of its life. It shimmers slightly in the dim light. “The woman of the hour. Hawaii’s newest sun goddess. Or volcano queen. We’ll workshop the title.”
Despite myself, I laugh, letting him pull me into a dramatic hug. “You look like a leprechaun in couture,” I say, shaking my head as I sit across from him.
“And you look like Nurse Ratched,” he replies, arching a brow. “Why are you wearing scrubs? Have you sunk so low to wear them at all hours of the day now?”
I roll my eyes, though the comment lands sharper than I let on. “Some of us have to work,” I retort. “I have to go in for the overnight tonight. What are you drinking?”
“Frosé, darling,” he says, sliding a menu toward me. “It’s technically rosé season if you’re creative enough. But for you, I’d suggest something stronger. I’m thinking whiskey. Neat.”
I glance at the menu but know I can’t drink since I’ll be hustling on the ER floor in a few hours. “Virgin daiquiri,” I say when the server comes by, handing her the menu.
Mason watches me carefully as I sit back, crossing my arms. “Okay,” he says as soon as we are alone. “Talk to me. How did it go with Jonah? Based on the perpetual frown, I'm guessing it’s not great.”
I take a deep breath, shaking my head. “Not great.”
“What does that mean?” Mason asks, his brow furrowing. “Define ‘not great.’ Did he yell? Cry? Storm out dramatically? Throw something?”
“Door number three,” I mutter, forcing a weak smile. “He stormed out. Said he needed to clear his head and that he’d stay at his place because he had an early morning.”
Mason’s jaw drops, his hand flying to his chest like he’s physically wounded. “He left?”
“Yep,” I say, shrugging as I look down at the table. “It’s been almost twenty-four hours, and I haven’t heard a word from him. Nothing. Not even a text.”
Mason exhales sharply, his face a mix of disbelief and sympathy. “That’s... wow. I mean, I didn’t expect him to love the idea, but—wait. Hold up.” He straightens in his chair. “I thought you said you took the job? We're not still waffling, right?”
I nod slowly, my fingers picking at the edge of a napkin. “I pulled the trigger this afternoon. Emailed the agency and confirmed everything. I leave in just over two weeks.”
Mason lets out a low whistle. “Damn, Harper. You’re really doing it.”
“Yeah,” I say, my voice quieter now. “It’s done. But it feels... I don’t know. It doesn’t feel like I thought it would. I thought I’d feel relieved, like the weight of the decision would be gone, but instead, I just feel...”
“Like someone ripped the Band-Aid off, but the wound’s still raw?” he offers.
I look up, meeting his gaze. “Exactly.”
He reaches across the table, giving my hand a squeeze. “I’m proud of you, though. You made the choice for you, and that’s huge. Jonah might need some time to pull his head out of his ass, but if he can’t get there, that’s on him—not you.”
The server places my drink in front of me, and I take a long sip before continuing. “When I tried to talk to him, I didn’t even tell him I was taking the job. I just wanted to talk it through with him, you know? To hear his thoughts, to figure it out together. Instead, he got mad, shut down, and walked out.”
Mason nods, his expression softening. “It’s a shitty situation, no doubt about it. But Harper, listen to me. You didn’t do anything wrong. You were honest with him, and you gave him the chance to be a part of this decision. If he couldn’t handle that, I mean, what else could you have done?”
I press my lips together, the knot in my throat growing tighter. “I just... I was really falling for him, Mason. Like, really falling. And now it feels like it’s all just on pause.”
“On pause?” Mason snorts, shaking his head. “Darling, this isn’t a streaming service. Let’s call it what it is: Jonah is a man—a very handsome, very charismatic man—but still, a man. Which means he’s immature when it comes to handling actual feelings.”
I frown, the sting of his words hitting closer to home than I’d like. “That’s... harsh.”
“Is it?” Mason counters, arching a perfectly sculpted brow. “Look, you’re Harper-freaking-Gray. You’re Meryl Streep in a sea of Netflix originals. Jonah might be a leading man, but he’s not giving you Oscar-worthy material right now. You deserve better than someone who bolts at the first sign of emotional turbulence.”
A reluctant laugh escapes me, even as I shake my head. “Meryl Streep? Really?”
“Would you prefer Dame Helen Mirren?” Mason asks, smirking. “The point is, you’re a class act, and Jonah’s inability to get his shit together doesn’t change that. He’s sulking, sure, but you? You’re on to bigger, better, and much more fabulous things.”
Despite myself, I smile, clinking my glass against his. “Thanks for being you, Mason. I needed this today.”
“Always, darling.”
The conversation shifts, and Mason launches into a story about the absolute disaster of a bride he met with today. For a moment, I let myself laugh.
“Harper?” Mason’s voice pulls me back to the moment. His brow furrows as he studies my face, his usual wit softened by genuine concern. “You okay?”
I nod quickly, forcing a smile that doesn’t quite reach my eyes. “Yeah. Just… taking in all the green. Kind of ironic, don’t you think? Or maybe it’s not irony. Just… shitty timing.”
Mason tilts his head, his lips quirking into a faint smile. “Heartbreak’s never good with timing, darling. Always shows up uninvited and overstays its welcome.”
I let out a weak laugh, dropping my gaze to the rim of my glass. “Yeah. Guess so.”