Chapter 10 #2
I thought the ache in my chest would worsen, but hearing her voice actually helps. “I’m sorry. I know I’ve been distant. It’s… hard, being away.”
She’s sitting on the porch, enjoying the beautiful sunrise. In the background, my dad appears with two steaming cups. His eyes widen when he sees me on the screen.
“Oh my! Is this real?”
“Hi, Dad. I miss you too.”
He sits next to my mom, grinning. His hair is disheveled, flecked with bits of dried clay.
“I see your new hobby is going well.”
“It’s so––”
“Messy,” interrupts my mom, fussing over the dirt on his face. “Hopefully this phase passes soon.”
“That’s not very nice,” I joke.
My mom’s a saint. She’s got the patience of a teacher in a room full of sugared-up toddlers.
“What about you, honey? How’s London?”
“Too cloudy,” I groan. “And I miss being home.”
“That’s normal, babe. It’s your first long stretch away.”
“I have my first check-in meeting next week…”
“Are you thinking about coming back?” my dad asks. I know he’s not judging, but the thought of letting him down still twists something in my chest.
“I don’t know. I’m lonely at times—but I also made some… friends.”
My mom arches a brow, a knowing smile tugging at her lips.
“You got this, honey,” my dad says. “And hey, I’m making something for you. I’ll need a little more time to finish.”
“How about you go do that now?” my mom suggests, clearly with an ulterior motive. “Let me have some mother-daughter time.”
“All right,” he cheers, happily. “Call me later. I’ll show you some of my figurines.”
Once he’s gone, my mom leans in like a detective about to crack a case. “These friends you mentioned…”
I blush even though I knew this was coming.
“I get along well with my coworkers and…” I’m nervous. “I met someone. But we’re just friends.”
Her eyes light up. “That’s so exciting, honey!”
Then, she notices my hesitation. “Is he treating you right?”
Her concern gets me choked up. “He’s so good, Mom. You wouldn’t believe it. Almost too good to be true.”
“That’s how I felt about your dad. And look at us now,” she reasons. “What’s holding you back?”
“Fear, trust issues, distance… That’s a big one.”
“All technicalities, baby.”
“Really? What do I do in two months when I’m packing all my stuff again and heading home?” I argue. “I’m telling you. This guy is basically Prince Charming. If I let myself step over the line, I’ll be dead meat. He might even manage to make me fall in love without even dating me.”
“In two months, you get your things, and you come back home. Who knows what will happen with him? It’s the beauty of life not knowing. For all you know, he falls in love with you and follows you here.”
“Doesn’t sound very realistic, Mom.”
“You overthink too much, honey,” she says, not unkindly. “You’ve made it three weeks—you can see it through. And about this boy…”
(Man, I correct silently.)
“I know it’s scary. But trust your heart. The rest will fall into place.”
I hear something breaking in the background, and my mom’s head turns for a second, trying not to laugh.
“Go,” I tell her. “He probably needs help.”
She nods. “Love you, honey.” She blows me a kiss. “Don’t wait so long to call next time.”
“I won’t. Love you, Mom.”
Once I’m satisfied with the photo edits, I decide to indulge in my favorite guilty pleasure. I put on some soft music and draw a bath. When the water starts to steam, I sprinkle some rose and vanilla bath salts that I found at the store. The scent instantly fills my small bathroom.
I dip a toe in, wincing at the heat, then ease myself in until I’m submerged, neck deep.
The water is perfect. The silence is divine.
I enjoy almost a whole minute of peace before my phone starts ringing.
My hands are soaked, so I carefully grab it by the edges and hit speakerphone.
“Hey, love,” I manage to hear over the noise of the water running. “What’s that noise?”
“I’m taking a bath,” I yell. “Are you done with your scripts? Feel free to join.”
“I am, actually. And I would love to—if only I thought you were serious about it.”
“What if I am serious?”
“Your wants aren’t the same as your needs,” he says. “You might want me, but you’re not the kind of girl who needs a friends-with-benefits situation. I’m not going to take advantage of your wants.”
“It’s annoying that you’re right,” I huff.
Why can’t the heart operate independently from desire? How do other people do it?
I could take a crash course on how to not get attached.
“If it’s frustrating for you,” he says softly, “imagine what it’s like for me, when I’ve been thinking about you since that rainy Monday at The Anchor.”
My breath catches.
“Are you not scared of getting attached?” I ask, and I mean it.
“No. Not to you.”
“We already have an expiration date. We’re not even a thing.”
“See? Now you’re worrying about something that’s still months away. It’s okay to be scared. The real question is whether you’re willing to take that risk or not. Until you decide, I won’t make a move.”
“What if that means you never get to make one?”
“Then I’ll take what I can get for as long as I can. Like I said, I can do friends.”
“I’m wondering if I’m being played. Not gonna lie. This whole thing feels like a setup. Not only because you are who you are—but because no guy waits around for months.”
“I have a feeling,” he says. “And I’m willing to see where it takes me.”
"You’re a rare one, Harrison."
He chuckles. “That’s what my drama teacher said to me when she cast me as Dorothy in The Wizard of Oz.”
“Oh my god. That must have been epic. Please tell me you have videos. How old were you?”
I reach over and turn off the water before I flood the place. With the bath quiet, I can hear him clearly now.
“Twelve,” he begins, his voice slightly sad. “But there’s no video… because I didn’t do it.”
“What? Why not?”
“The boys in my grade laughed at me so hard I stepped down before opening night.”
My heart hurts for young Harrison getting bullied.
“Well, look at you now. You made it. You’re at the top.”
He’s silent for a minute. “Yeah… I guess I have.”
“You don’t sound sure.”
“It’s the scripts,” he admits. “After the fight went viral, callbacks dried up. I still love acting. I love telling stories, but I’m tired of the spotlight. I don’t like always being the center of attention. I don’t even know if I want to go back.”
“I’ve wondered how you do it,” I say honestly. “But there are other ways to tell stories. Writing, music, editing, directing…”
“I’ve thought about directing. I just don’t know how welcomed I’d be.”
“You’ll never know unless you try.”
“Are you going to take that advice yourself?” he teases.
I think about my parents. Different states. No money. No plan. Just a shared leap of faith. They took the risk and came out stronger in the end.
“You know what?” I ponder. “I think I might after all.”