Chapter 18
Harper
My phone buzzes on the coffee table, a jolt that snatches me from the lull of a lazy Sunday afternoon. I expect it's Taylor, maybe a meme that'll make me roll my eyes and laugh, but instead, there's a text that doesn't fit the usual banter.
Taylor: We need to talk, but I can’t meet in person for a while. So here it goes… I think we should end things. It's for the best.
Confusion clouds my thoughts as I re-read the words. The 'we need to talk' cliché? Via text? My heart hammers against my ribs, each beat echoing the same word: Why?
I try to swallow, but my throat's gone dry.
Betrayal twists my insides as I sit there, phone clutched in a vice grip.
The room feels colder, or maybe that's just the chill wrapping around my suddenly fragile heart.
I fumble with the phone, my fingertips numb, and the screen blurs through a sheen of unshed tears.
Harper: What... why?
The only answer is the deafening silence of the apartment. So, I do what anyone would do when they are frantically looking for answers: Search social media.
My thumb acts on its own accord, scrolling numbly through my feed while my mind is still back at the wreckage of my just-crumbled relationship.
Post after post blurs by, a meaningless stream until one video jerks me to a stop.
The thumping bass spills from my phone's tiny speaker, an unwelcome invasion into my quiet room.
It's Taylor, unmistakable even in the grainy club light, his arm slung carelessly around a girl with a laugh too loud to be genuine.
The caption, "Night out with the boys," feels like a punch in the gut.
My heart isn't just sinking; it's plummeting into an abyss as I watch him lean in to whisper something into another girl's ear.
Their smiles are sharp knives, and I'm bleeding out with every beat of the music.
Tears well up, spilling over and tracing cold paths down my cheeks. I wipe them away furiously, not wanting to give Taylor the satisfaction, even though he can't see me. I've been reduced to a silent viewer of my own humiliation, courtesy of a screen that's suddenly too bright.
Anger curls in my chest, but it's tangled up with betrayal that slices through me.
How could he move on so fast? Were we ever real to him?
And sadness, oh, the sadness—it makes my body heavy, my breaths shallow.
The images burn behind my eyelids, and I'm caught between wanting to forget and not being able to look away.
Every beat of the club music, every cheer, the clinking of glasses—it all echoes the rhythm of deceit. I thought I knew him, thought what we had was special. But there he is, living it up at some night club.
I want to scream, to call him out, and demand answers. But the silence of my room wraps around me, a reminder that I'm alone in this.
The need for human connection, for a voice that isn't steeped in sterile digital breakups, seizes me. I dial Jordan, and my hands are shaking so bad, I almost drop the phone twice. Ring... Ring...
"Hey, Harper! What's up?" Jordan finally answers.
" Jor—," I choke out. "It's over. Taylor broke up with me. Over a text."
"Harper, oh my god. I'm so sorry. Are you okay? Do you want me to come over?"
"No, no. I don't know. I just..." Words fail me. I crumble into sobs.
"Okay, breathe with me, Harp. In and out, nice and slow. Just let it all out."
"Everything felt fine, and then just a simple text that we’re done. I don't understand, Jordan. How could he do this?"
"Sometimes people suck. They do things that hurt us without thinking."
"I feel so stupid. All those plans, the games, moments together at Mickey's Pub with you guys and our other friends... it all feels tainted now."
"Hey, you're not stupid, okay? You're one of the smartest, most amazing people I know. Taylor's the stupid one for letting you go."
"I just wish it made sense."
"Nothing about heartbreak ever does. But you've got me, always. You wanna come over to 'THE COUCH'? I've got Rocky Road ice cream with your name on it."
A tiny, genuine smile breaks through the storm. "Yeah. Yeah, I think I need that."
"Then get over here. I got you."
"Thank you, Jordan. I’m on my way."
I hang up before the tears can start anew. Jordan's right; we will get through this. With her by my side, maybe I'll even find my way back to laughter. But first, I need to face this ache, this hollow feeling where happiness used to bloom.
The car ride is a blur, and stepping outside, the chill of the evening bites at my cheeks. I walk briskly, hands buried deep in the pockets of my hoodie, and let the rhythm of my footsteps try to soothe the chaos inside.
Jordan's home is like a lighthouse amidst my stormy thoughts as I approach her front door.
I knock once, twice, and then the door swings open. Jordan looks at me, no words needed, and suddenly I'm wrapped up in the kind of hug that feels like coming home. Her embrace grounds me when I feel like I might just float away on a cloud of grief.
"Hey you," she murmurs.
"Hey," I whisper back, voice muffled against her shoulder.
She steps back, keeping an arm around me as we walk into the living room. The air is warm, smelling faintly of cinnamon from some forgotten candle, and the low hum of a TV show left on pause fills the background.
"Sit," she instructs gently, guiding me toward 'THE COUCH.'
I sink into the cushions, reminding me that some things don't change, even when it feels like my entire whole world has.
Jordan disappears into the kitchen, and she soon reemerges with a tub of Rocky Road ice cream.
"Thought this might help," she says, handing it over.
"God, yes," I breathe out, curling my fingers around the container. I flash her a small smile, a silent thank you for understanding that sometimes chocolate and marshmallows are better than words.
She sits next to me, and we cuddle into fluffy blankets. As she fiddles with the remote, the TV flickers to life, and the opening credits of Edward Scissorhands start rolling across the screen.
"Classic Johnny Depp," I mumble, scooping a generous amount of ice cream and watching as Edward's scissor fingers dance awkwardly on screen.
"Never gets old," Jordan agrees. There's something about Tim Burton's peculiar fairytale world that feels so far removed from my own mess of a life. We both laugh at the movie, lessening the weight on my chest for a brief moment.
We watch in companionable silence, our chuckles and sniffles punctuating the air as Edward navigates through his bittersweet journey. With each bite of Rocky Road, I let myself sink deeper into the cushions, into the friendship that's been my lifeline more times than I can count.
"Thanks, Jordan," I say during a quiet scene. "For… all of this."
"Anytime, Harper." She nudges me with her shoulder.
The ice cream tub sits discarded on the coffee table, a testament to our venture into comfort food territory. I pick at the last remnants of the Rocky Road with my spoon, the chocolate and marshmallow no longer sweet enough to mask the bitterness that lingers on my tongue.
"Jordan…" I start but stop, trying to find the right words.
She mutes the TV instantly, turning her body to face me. Her eyes are all concern and no judgment. "What's up?"
"Eighty-Five," I say, the name coming out more like a sigh than an actual word. The corners of her mouth twitch in recognition of my little toy.
"Ah," she says, nodding knowingly. "What about it?"
"Feels weird now, you know? Like, I can't just keep calling it that after everything."
"Totally get it," she says, propping her chin on her hand. "So, what are you thinking? A new name?"
"Exactly," I reply. "But I'm drawing a blank. Everything I think of just seems to lead back to him, and that's the last thing I want."
"Okay, let's brainstorm. How about... 'The Maverick'? It's rebellious, independent, and doesn't follow anyone’s rules." Jordan offers the suggestion with a serious look, making me chuckle.
"Or... 'Mr. Buzz-a-lot'?" I quip.
"Creative," she laughs, "but maybe something a bit more... chic? How about 'The Gentleman Caller'?"
"Sounds like a Victorian-era vibrator," I snort.
"Right, right," she agrees, giggling along. "We need something empowering. Something that screams 'Harper Phillips: Woman in control of her own pleasure.'"
"Ooh, how about 'The Empower-mint'?" I suggest, the pun making us both dissolve into fits of laughter.
"Because nothing says 'sexy' like fresh breath," Jordan teases, wiping away a tear from the corner of her eye.
"Let's see... 'Solo Rider'? 'Liberty Bell'? 'Lone Star' since we're in Texas?" She rattles off names.
"Those sound like cowboy-themed adult films," I point out, and we're back to laughing, the absurdity of the situation a much-needed reprieve from the heartache that had consumed me earlier.
"Okay, okay," she says, finally catching her breath. "How about 'Phoenix'? You know, rising from the ashes of your past relationship and all that jazz."
"Phoenix..." I murmur. “I don’t know.”
I twist a strand of my red hair around my finger in uncertainty.
"Come on, Harper, you've got to admit 'The Pleasure Pioneer' has a nice ring to it," she says, a mischievous glint in her green eyes mirroring mine.
I want to laugh, I really do, but the weight of 'Eighty-Five' is like an anchor, pulling me back into depths I'm not ready to leave. "It's clever, Jor, it really is," I sigh, the humor fizzling out as quickly as it sparked.
"Harper," Jordan begins tentatively, sensing the shift, "if none of these feel right, maybe it's okay to take some time. You don't have to decide on anything tonight."
It’s hard because 'Eighty-Five' wasn’t just a name; it was Taylor and late-night giggles, spontaneous ventures beneath sheets, a secret shared between lovers. Now, it's a reminder of everything I've lost.
"Maybe I should just throw it away," I mutter, the thought slicing through me sharper than I expect.
"Hey, no," Jordan reaches over, squeezing my hand gently. "That's part of your power, Harp. Don't let Taylor take that from you, too."
Her words land, soft but firm, reminding me of the strength I've built within myself, apart from anyone else. I nod in response slowly.
"Alright," I say, mustering a small smile. "No new names tonight. 'Eighty-Five' can stay... for now."
"Good choice." Jordan nods.
"Besides," I continue, my voice steadier than before, "who says I need a toy when I've got two perfectly good hands?"
Jordan bursts into laughter, and this time, I join her.