Chapter 34 Harper #2
“I know, sweetheart,” she says, reaching down to give my hand an affectionate squeeze. “You have no idea how proud I am, watching you grow into such a strong, independent woman.”
“I’m not all that strong,” I mutter, glancing away because look at us getting all sappy.
She smiles, a little misty-eyed. “Let’s get this zipped up, okay?”
I nod, stepping out of my robe and cupping my hands over my chest for privacy as I move to the center of the dress; step in gingerly, so as not to snap the sequins.
Mom lifts it carefully up my torso, the cool fabric sliding with a soft crinkle. Her steady fingers adjust the straps on my shoulders before she zips me in with a gentle whirrr, then steps back to inspect her work.
She smooths the material, making sure every dart and tuck is in place.
The pink fabric suits me perfectly, and despite the nagging doubts swirling in my head, I can’t deny it—I look incredible.
For the first time in days, I feel worthy of a million double taps.
Beautiful.
“You’re gorgeous, Harper. Inside and out. Your dad and I…” Mom swallows a lump emotion. “We’re so proud of you. Not just for tonight but for everything.”
“I know.”
“You shine, Harper.” Her voice is filled with certainty. “You always do.”
“Ugh, Mom! Stop! I just did my makeup!”
“Okay, okay! I’m just saying.” She puts her hands up in surrender. “I’ll be downstairs if you need anything. Don’t take too long. Your dad is pacing with his camera. He’s dying to take pictures before you leave.”
He would be.
Of the two of them, Dad has always been more maternal.
As she leaves, closing the door softly behind her, I take a deep breath and turn to the mirror.
My fingers brush over the earrings I set aside earlier, little pink rhinestone hoops that are part of a necklace set. They’re small and simple, but they make me feel fancy. Like a princess, honestly.
Gingerly, I fasten the first earring, then the second. My shaky hands fumble with the necklace, but after a few attempts, the clasp clicks into place.
The rhinestone pendant rests below my collarbone, catching the light beautifully.
Standing, I turn to the mirror, smoothing my dress over my hips, and adjust the straps one last time. My reflection stares back at me, not the girl I was an hour ago. I’m more confident. Not excited to be attending the dance solo, but confident all the same.
“You’ve got this,” I whisper as a reminder. “It is just a dance. You’ve done harder things.”
Like live with two parents who aren’t getting along. Who ignore each other. Who fight. Also: AP English.
Still, my stomach flutters, and for a show of solidarity I grab my phone from the desk and open the chat with Macy.
My thumbs hover for a moment before I type:
Me: Almost ready. Feeling kind of nervous—like I might vomit. But I’m doing it. No backing out because of fear.
I hit send and wait for a response. It comes almost immediately:
Macy: EFF FEAR! How does your dress look, do you still love it?!
Me: I love it MORE than the day I bought it. Still fits, ha ha. How about you? Send me a selfie.
Waiting for Macy’s selfie to pop up takes forever, so I distract myself by smoothing out the skirt of my dress, running my palms over the delicate fabric. The color really does look perfect on me—soft, shimmery, exactly the shade to make me feel empowered.
“Pink power.”
My phone vibrates, and Macy’s selfie fills the screen. She’s grinning, her makeup perfectly applied, her dress a light lavender. It hugs her figure in a flattering way, a contrast to my full skirt.
Me: WOW WOW WOW. Marcus’s jaw is gonna be on the floor!
Macy: It better be, bwahahaha. I feel like a goddess. Am I allowed to say that?
Me: Obviously.
Me: I’m so happy for you! You look stunninggg! I cannot wait to see you!!!
Macy: You are literally my hype queen. I’ll take the compliments—keep them coming.
Me: Gorgeous. Glowing. Sexpot.
Macy: LOL thank you. SAME. Also: Promise me a dance.
Me: YES! You better text me as soon as you walk in. Don’t leave me standing in the corner by myself.
Macy: You won’t be there by yourself—you’ll be with the rest of the crew. And you know there’s still time to eat with us…
I would rather not—for obvious reasons. Marcus is friends with Easton, so chances are Easton will be there with his date. And I do not want to eat with them.
Is he already with Maddie? Are they laughing and flirting while he drives her to dinner and I get ready to attend the dance alone? The thought stings like never before, so I look down at my phone again, determined to drive them away.
I swallow, fingers hovering over the screen.
Do I confess to my best friend that I have a swirling mix of excitement and dread building inside my chest—despite pep-talking myself only moments ago?
Ugh! I am a mess!
Me: No, I’m okay—my dad made me a cute dinner. Confession: I feel like I’m holding myself together with duct tape and good vibes. Is this normal?
The three dots appear as she types her reply.
Macy: Duh, it’s prom. It’s a whole THING. But you’re gonna crush it, I swear. You’re the moment tonight.
The moment? That’s not true, but I’ll take it.
Me: You’re the best.
As soon as I hit send, Mom shouts from downstairs, “Harper! Are you coming? We want pictures!”
We.
Meaning her and Dad.
I let that word marinate, my heart happily snagging on an emotion. We.
It’s such a small word, but one I haven’t heard her use in months—not when referring to her and Dad, anyway. Usually, it’s “me,” or “your father” in a frosty tone that leaves no room for interpretation. Could she be thawing? Could they be trying to make it work…
I blink, shaking myself out of it. Now isn’t the time to dissect that tiny glimmer of normalcy.
“Coming!” I shout back, grabbing my clutch and stealing one last peek in the mirror. My heart pounds in my chest as I take a deep breath.
Ready or not, prom night is here.