Chapter 23 #2
I roll my eyes at her, but the humor fades quickly. “You know what scares me? How much I know I’m going to keep falling for him.”
When she looks at me, confused, I try to explain.
“When I fell in love with Colin, it was like someone lit a bonfire and threw gasoline on it. It burned fast and bright... and then it was just embers. It stayed warm for a while, until it finally died after what he did.”
I take a slow breath.
“With Alexander—I can’t even think straight most of the time. There was always this inexplicable... connection between us. I remember asking myself if I’d met him before, because it felt like I already knew him. But...”
I smile, remembering our first real meeting.
“But he’s not the kind of man you meet and forget,” Felicity murmurs, as if reading my thoughts.
“No, he’s not,” I whisper. “He has this presence—calm, yet overwhelming. And whenever we talk, whether it’s on the phone or in person, I feel this certainty that I could tell him anything.
When it’s just the two of us, everything else disappears.
And it’s not a one-time, movie-moment thing.
It’s always like that.” I swallow. “Just the two of us... no matter where we are.”
I stare at my hands clasped in my lap. “I don’t think what I feel for him is going to fade into embers. I think it’s a flame that’s only going to grow stronger with time.” I lift my gaze to hers. “What if I get burned?”
I exhale slowly. “Don’t you think it’s..
. crazy? Even considering building something new with Alexander after everything that happened?
” My voice falters. “If I was betrayed by someone I trusted for years, why wouldn’t it happen again with someone who’s only just come into my life?
And then there’s the distance, which doesn’t exactly help. ”
And all his trips. The thought slips in uninvited.
Felicity tilts her head, studying me. “What do you think is crazier, starting something new while afraid of betrayal... or going back to the person who already betrayed you, hoping this time will be different?”
I part my lips to answer and then stop.
“You know what both of those choices have in common?” she continues, holding my gaze.
“You have to know what you want. And you have to be willing to trust—but only if the extent of his betrayal is something you can forgive, or if he’s proven he’s worthy of that trust. After that, all you can do is take it little by little.
Don’t spiral into every possible tragedy.
” She squeezes my hand. “You don’t have to have your whole life mapped out right now. ”
“But how do I know I’m ready?” I whisper. “And that it’s not just emotion and chemistry being louder than reason?”
She looks away for a second, as if searching for the right words, then meets my eyes again.
“You know what I’ve learned?” she says. “The world is full of people ready to tell you what’s right or wrong, people who think they know what’s best for you better than you ever could.
They’re quick to judge, even when they’ve never walked in your shoes.
But only you are living your life. And sometimes the only way to know if you’re ready. .. is to try.”
I feel a weight shifting off my chest.
“I told Caroline the other day that sometimes I feel so lost it’s hard to even recognize myself.”
Felicity’s smile is knowing. “Want to hear a secret? Most people are a little lost. Some of us just fake being put together better than others. That’s why I pay more attention to what people do than to what they say.”
I squint at her, amused. “How can you be so wise one moment and so unhinged the next?”
She snorts. “Because I’m five years older than you and I’ve already lived about three lifetimes compared to most people my age. The trick is not treating age like a prison sentence. Just because I’m forty-three doesn’t mean I’m about to turn into some delicate little old lady.”
She flashes a grin.
“Times have changed. I can wear denim shorts, red lipstick, and still hand out life advice like candy.”
We’re still laughing when hurried footsteps sound down the hallway. We barely have time to react before Harper appears in the doorway.
Her eyes are swollen. Her clothes—sweatpants, a wrinkled T-shirt, and a cardigan thrown on—are such a contrast to the always put-together version of her I’m used to that the laughter dies in our throats.
She looks at Felicity, then at me, and she freezes.
“Oh... I didn’t realize you had company. Charlotte opened the door for me and just said you were here,” Harper murmurs, as she takes a step back. “I’ll come back another time.”
She turns to leave.
I’m already on my feet. “Harper—wait. You can stay. You clearly came for a reason.” I offer a reassuring smile. “We were just about to wrap things up anyway.”
I reach for my purse, turning toward Felicity to say goodbye, when I feel a light touch on my shoulder.
“Y-you can stay,” Harper says, her eyes brimming with fresh tears. “I owe you an apology.”
Her voice wavers. “I was... proud. And I was horrible for not reaching out again.”
I just look at her, not rushing to say it’s okay. I don’t tell her she doesn’t need to apologize. It’s been almost a year since she stood in my living room and tried to dictate my life, but not holding onto anger doesn’t mean pretending it didn’t hurt.
“I... I’m sorry, Cecily.” She glances at Felicity, offering a shaky, tearful smile. “I was... a patronizing bitch.”
“Yeah,” I say softly, a small smile on my lips. “You were. And I forgave you a long time ago.”
She breaks with a sob and launches herself into my arms, holding on tight. I wrap my arms around her and look at Felicity over Harper’s shoulder. Felicity just mouths what the hell? and all I can do is shake my head.
Harper has always been the embodiment of composure. Not the hugging type or a woman who leaves the house unless she looks like she’s stepping into an editorial shoot. And now she’s in my arms in sweatpants. Crying and shaking like the ground has disappeared beneath her.
Something is wrong. Bad wrong.
And the thought solidifies when she begins to cry harder on my shoulder, her full weight leaning into me. She’s much taller than I am, and after a moment the position becomes awkward, so I guide her to one of the couches.
When we sit, I keep my arms around her, offering the only comfort I can.
Felicity leaves the room and returns a moment later with a pitcher of water and a couple of glasses balanced on a tray.
When Harper finally manages to pull back, she takes the glass with trembling hands.
“Tell us what’s going on, Harp,” Felicity asks, sinking into the couch across from us.
“Jonathan...” Harper starts and her voice fractures again.
My eyes find Felicity’s over Harper’s head.
Please don’t let it be what I think it is. Please.
After a few unsteady breaths, Harper tries again. “Jonathan wants a child.”
For half a second, relief washes through me, but looking at her face, I realize this isn’t good news.
“Okay,” I say, stroking her back. “You still don’t want children, is that it?”
She shakes her head. “I do. I did...” she cries, pressing a hand to her chest. “It was always me. I wanted children. At least two.”
I blink at her, stunned. “But, Harper, you always said—”
“I lied!” she cuts in through sobbing. “I lied when I said we didn’t want them.
When I said I was happy like this—that I wasn’t meant to be a mother.
Jonathan didn’t want kids. He wanted Montgomery Clifford.
He wanted freedom and trips and just the two of us.
The life. So I told myself that was what I wanted too. ”
Her breath stutters.
“And after a while... I started believing my own lie.”
She folds in on herself, hiding her face in her hands.
Felicity scoots to her other side and begins rubbing her back too. “Harper,” she says carefully, “if this is still something you want... you’re only forty-two. Medicine has come a long way. There’s time for a safe, healthy pregnancy.”
Harper lifts her face, eyes red and glassy. “I spent years convincing myself I didn’t need children. And we have a good life. A happy one.” She dabs at her cheeks with the tissue Felicity hands her. “I just don’t understand why he wants this now. Out of nowhere.”
She rises abruptly and begins pacing across the rug.
“I don’t want to go through this at this point in my life! The nausea, my body changing, stretch marks...” Her voice trembles, anger pushing past the tears. “I was gearing up for perimenopause—not diapers.”
Then she stops and turns to us, disbelief written all over her face.
“And it’s not even like he asked me. He barely told me and he’s already looking into surrogacy.” She throws her hands in the air. “He brought a candidate home today. To meet us. Who does that? On a Saturday afternoon? When I’d finally planned to relax?”
“Son of a bitch,” Felicity mutters, her fingers curling into the couch cushion.
“You know what’s worse?” Harper sinks back into the armchair, defeated. “She’s young... beautiful. Delicate. Huge brown eyes… like a porcelain doll.” Her voice cracks. “All I could see was her pregnant. Carrying Jonathan’s child. And all I could think was... that it wouldn’t be me.”
Felicity straightens, alarm flashing across her face. “Wait—has he already signed something? Has he started this without telling you?”
“No.” Harper shakes her head quickly. “The baby would be ours, genetically.” Her voice drops to a whisper. “She would just carry it.”
Felicity exhales sharply, still bristling. “Even so... it’s wrong. He shouldn’t be calling agencies or interviewing surrogates without you. Not without the two of you being on the same page.”
Harper nods. “I told him that. But he said he didn’t want to burden me with the logistics. That he was just trying to... ‘help however he could.’”