Chapter 34 Harper
Harper
Prom night is officially here.
And here I am, moping.
The gym looked amazing when I went to drop off the last of my supplies earlier—better than I even imagined it would.
The lights, the cardboard knights, the glittery banners…
everything came together perfectly. Mr. Grazz and I high-fived over how stunning it was once we’d made the final touches. Not a single thing looks out of place.
The prom committee came in clutch, each and every member working tirelessly to make it spectacular.
Every last detail is exactly how I imagined it, down to the shimmering strands of lights we strung up to mimic a starry night sky.
I haven’t even seen it with the real lighting yet, only with those hideous fluorescent gym lights glaring down on us while we worked.
Mr. Grazz made sure of that.
“Go home and put on your own sparkle and shine,” he’d said with a grin, shooing us all out of the gym as soon as we finished. “Let us handle the final touches. You’ll see it for the first time tonight, just like everyone else.”
That was hours ago, and I still can’t shake the feeling of unease. I should be bouncing around my room with music blasting and nerves in my stomach, waiting for my date to arrive. But here I am, staring at my reflection, trying to convince myself that tonight will be worth it.
All I have left is to get myself ready.
The chaos of the last few days—the buzzing phones, the group texts from the prom committee, the chatter about decorations—has finally quieted. No last-minute crises to solve, no more glitter emergencies.
Tossing my phone onto the bed, I take a deep breath; now it’s just me, myself, and I and the steady hum of nerves.
My hand reaches up to touch the soft curls pinned perfectly around my head like a crown, just like the stylist and I discussed. The stylist added a few glittery pins—tiny stars woven into the curls—and they catch light as I move my head this way and that, a small nod to tonight’s theme.
Mom thought my hair would look best down, but an updo feels more…prom-y, and I’m glad I held my ground.
“My hair is one thing that’s turned out right,” I mutter to myself, fingers lightly grazing a few loose tendrils. It’s strange seeing myself like this, all dolled up.
“Who are you?” I whisper, touching one of the stars as if it were a real diamond.
Seriously, wow.
Twisting a curl around my finger, I frown.
I should be excited!
Blah! Cheer up!
I walk to my desk and look at the makeup scattered across the surface, some of it on loan from Macy, who was here earlier to borrow a pair of my heels after she divorced hers because they pinched her toes.
“You’re supposed to be happy. So be happy, dammit!”
I check the time on my phone, plopping down in my chair. Still hours before the dance starts.
My phone buzzes again, vibrating softly on the comforter; probably more updates in the group chat about who’s riding with who—or another selfie from someone in their dress.
I ignore it. Grab my foundation and pump a tiny bit onto the back of my hand, the cool liquid pooling on my skin.
Then I take a beauty blender and begin dabbing the foundation onto my face—forehead, cheeks, chin, and nose—working in smooth, even strokes so it looks like I have flawless skin with no makeup.
Blush.
Bronzer.
Lastly, I curl my lashes, heating the wand first with my hot flat iron—a trick a friend taught me—squeezing it over my lashes and grinning when they pop.
“Bam.” Pop, pop.
After lining my lips, I pick up a tube of melon-colored gloss, twist the cap between my fingers, and apply a small amount. When I press my lips together, the gloss is too sticky.
“Ugh.”
A soft knock on the door breaks my concentration.
“Harper?”
Mom’s voice comes through from the hall, tentatively, as if she’s afraid to be interrupting my private time. She knows I’m a ball of nerves. One second I thought I had a date; in the blink of an eye, I lost him to another girl.
C’est la vie.
“You almost ready?” her muffled voice asks. “Want me to help you with your dress?”
“Sure.”
The handle turns and she peeks in. “Almost ready?”
I nod. “Yes, but I could use some help. Zipper is in the back.” I stand, going to the dress, which has been hanging from a hook behind my door since I almost got stuck inside it the afternoon Easton was here.
“That is the perfect dress for you.” There’s something in her eyes when she says this…A hint of nostalgia? I know that look—she’s about to share a memory.
She cannot help herself.
“I remember my prom,” she begins, a playful glint in her eye. “I went with a guy named Lance Hanson. I thought he was so all that and a bag of chips.”
I have secondhand embarrassment at her analogy.
“Bag of chips?” I raise an eyebrow. “Mom, no. Did people say that?”
She laughs. “Hey, it was the late nineties, cut me some slack. All that and a bag of chips was a compliment, and Lance? Well. You have no idea how cool Lance was in his leather bomber jacket and tie. He had a motorcycle. I thought he was the shit.”
I chuckle, unable to picture my mom in some frilly gown, hair teased with a cloud of hair spray, riding on the back of a teenage boy’s motorcycle.
She’s a completely different person now.
So strict.
So momlike.
“Was Lance Hanson every bit the dreamboat you thought he was the night of prom?”
“Eh.” She shrugs. “You know how boys are at your age. Things have changed—but not that much.” Her eyes twinkle with pleasure. “He wasn’t the greatest company. I think he spent more time in the bathroom fixing his hair than dancing. He was definitely more in love with himself than he was with me.”
Ha. I bet.
“Then it’s a good thing you didn’t end up married to him,” I tease playfully, fiddling with the bracelet around my wrist.
She laughs, but there’s a flicker of something in her eyes and I wonder if her mind strayed to Dad.
My parents met in college and used to be attached at the hip.
But now? There’s so much left unsaid between them; the quiet tension filling the house on a nightly basis makes it feel like we’re living in a funeral home.
It’s so depressing.
“Yeah, thank goodness for that,” she says quietly.
Mom looks down at her hands, toying with the hem of her sleeve, as though weighing her next words carefully. “I like to think I’ve made better choices since Lance. Mostly.”
“Mom…” I start, then hesitate. This isn’t the time to dive headfirst into what’s going on between her and Dad.
Not tonight.
Tonight is supposed to be about me.
About prom.
But the question slips out before I can stop it. “Are you okay?”
Her head lifts slightly, and her lips curve into a soft, almost tired smile.
“Sweetie, I’m fine.” Her sigh is quiet, almost wistful. “We all have moments when we think someone is more important than they are.”
Is she talking about Dad? Or are we still talking about her prom date from twenty-five years ago?
I’m so lost.
She unclasps her hands, staring down at her fingernails, caught up in a memory.
“That’s the funny thing—prom isn’t necessarily about the person you go to the dance with. It’s about what you make of the night. How you feel in that moment. I didn’t have a great date, but I had fun with my friends. I still danced. I still made memories. We had a blast.”
Her words hang in the air, heavy and freeing at the same time, as she steps toward the closet and pulls my dress off the hook, holding it up for my inspection.
Her hand glides down the bodice, smoothing invisible creases.
“Harper.” She pauses, her shoulders rising as she takes a deep breath. “Sweetie, I’m sorry things didn’t work out the way you planned with Easton. I know you were hoping he was going to ask you to be his date.”
That’s putting a nice spin on it.
I swallow the lump forming in my throat. “It’s fine, Mom,” I tell her gently, putting on a brave face. “He likes someone else. It’s not the end of the world.”
And it isn’t. Mom’s right—tonight doesn’t have to revolve around having a date. I didn’t even plan to have one in the first place—it was supposed to be me, my dress, and a night to remember!
Who says I can’t still have that?
“I know you had different expectations for tonight,” Mom says hesitantly, as if she doesn’t want to pry.
“And I wish I could wave a magic wand and make everything perfect for you. But you’ve done so much to make tonight special—not just for yourself but for everyone else.
That’s something to be proud of. No one can take that away from you. ”
Her words warm me from the inside, the sting of emotion softening into something brighter, something lighter. I nod, blinking quickly to keep the tears at bay.
“You’re right,” I say, a proud smile tugging at my lips. “I did work hard, didn’t I?”
Mom’s smile mirrors mine, her pride shining through. “You did. And tonight is yours, Harper. Don’t waste it wallowing over some boy.”
I take a deep breath, letting her words sink in.
This is my night.
Whether or not it’s perfect, it’s going to be unforgettable—because I am going make it that way.
I’ve been so focused on what’s missing tonight that I’ve forgotten about the things I’ve accomplished, all the hard work put into making this prom happen. I worked my ass off for my friends so they’ll have a good time, dammit! I painted knights! I glittered!
“I know not having a date hurts.” Mom hold my dress in one hand and pushes a strand of hair out of my eyes with the other. “I want you to know it’s okay to feel sad about it. But don’t let that stop you from having the night you deserve. Because you do deserve it.”
I swallow hard, fanning my eyes with my hands.
“Mom, stop or you’ll make me cry.”
But I appreciate that she understands. And while she might be wrapped up in her own shit most of the time, she’s here for me, always.
“I wanted it to be perfect,” I say, voice barely above a whisper. “I had this whole picture in my head of how it was supposed to go.”