Chapter 4 #3
“Oh, come on,” I say before I can stop myself. “He’s an adult. He can talk to the waiter himself.”
Stephanie’s surprise at my outburst quickly transforms into a challenging eyebrow, the unspoken words clear. But he didn’t, did he?
“Yeah, well,” I say. Harrison’s bouncing knee has gone still next to me. “As an adult, he can also decide whether he wants to switch out his meal.”
“Except would he ever have decided to do that?” Stephanie says, lips pulled tightly into a straight line.
No. That’s what I’m sure we’re all thinking. Not in a million years.
The words come so close to exiting my mouth, my tongue stalls between my teeth, and I swallow the ghost of a “th.” That’s what I love about him.
“That’s why I do it for him,” Stephanie says, smiling at Harrison. “Because I know what he wants.”
With that, Stephanie turns to Alexander and begins a new conversation as they start to eat. Their conversation about work quickly gets so in the weeds that they don’t bother pretending to include me and Harrison. I poke at my salad with my fork, tuning them out.
“You don’t have to wait for my food,” Harrison says quietly. He’s not whispering into my ear, but it’s still quiet enough that I wonder whether he wants me to lean closer. (He definitely doesn’t.) “You should start eating.”
“Believe me, I can wait a little longer to eat this lettuce,” I say, and if I didn’t know better, I’d say Harrison exhales a laugh.
There’s a pause, and then, so quietly I can barely hear it, “Thank you.”
“I’m sorry,” I murmur back.
“Normally, the response would be ‘you’re welcome,’ ” he says. I turn my head just enough to get a good look at his face through the corner of my eye, and there are slight crinkles around his eyes.
“Well, you’re welcome, then, but I’m also sorry for making a big deal about it.”
We hold eye contact for a second too long, and then he looks down at the table where his plate should be. “I’d forgotten. I like it when you make a big deal about things.”
His knee has stopped bouncing, and I would also do anything to keep this conversation going, so I switch gears and ask, “Did your parents ever get over you not going to law school?”
He nods, circling his right middle finger around the rim of his wineglass. “They’re too busy being lawyers to continue to care.” I snort, but then he continues. “Actually—that’s not fair. I’ve been getting along well with them. My mom, anyway.”
“Oh?”
His mom is a tough cookie. Talking to her always felt like being interrogated. I don’t know why anyone would pay her money to treat them like that for the entire duration of a court case, but then again, I never had any doubt she was good at her job. So maybe if you were desperate enough.
“She—” he says, pausing. “Yeah, we’re getting along well.”
I wait for him to add additional context, but I eventually add, “I’m glad.”
He runs his palms down his knees before folding his hands in his lap.
“You know,” I say before I can lose my courage, “I really missed—”
“Here you go, sir.” The waiter arrives with Harrison’s chicken, and when he picks up his fork and dives in, I’m certain he’s choosing to ignore the sentence I started.
A half hour later, we’ve finished off the bottle of wine and cleaned our plates, and Harrison has reverted back to the silent treatment.
We gather outside the restaurant before leaving, and Alexander gives me another hug that is slightly longer than I feel is warranted based on the somewhat limited interaction we had during this dinner.
“It was really nice to meet you, Emma,” he says, his tone low.
“You, too,” I say, the hint of surprise in my voice more obvious than I’d like.
Stephanie comes up to me after him, offering a smile that makes me feel guilty for reasons I don’t fully understand.
“It was truly so nice to hang out with you,” she says, approaching me. “I have to wake up early for a work event, so this is where I leave you. But next time I need more college stories about Harrison. Deal?”
“Deal,” I say, then move a step closer so I can speak quietly and not embarrass Harrison, who’s having what looks to be an extremely boring conversation with Alexander. “Listen, I’m sorry I was an asshole. I’m having an off day, and I took it out on you.”
She brings a hand up to my arm and squeezes.
“No, I’m sorry. Just because Harrison can’t stand up for himself doesn’t mean I have the right to do it on his behalf, especially not in front of a bunch of other people.
I’m sure I embarrassed him. So, lesson learned.
But he needs to learn to stick up for himself, doesn’t he?
” she says, chuckling as if we’re in on a joke.
A painful, protective pang shoots from my ears to my toes, as if I owe it to Harrison to argue that he does not need to learn to stick up for himself because he’s perfect the way he is. But what do I know about Harrison and the way he is? Not as much as I want to, after five years.
I nod and smile vaguely instead of responding, then step forward and meet her outstretched arms for a hug. Before I know what’s happening, there’s a ripping noise, and I feel a cold draft against my back.
“Shit,” I yelp, as Stephanie says, “Oh, no!”
I reach my hand behind me and feel the ripped seam. Threads hang loose around a fist-sized hole, right where the fabric was pulled the tightest across my back.
Thank you, boobs. Thank you, aging body.
My face flushes red, my body still contorted to hide the evidence. Stephanie puts her hand on my back, knocking mine out of the way so she can cover the hole for me. My arms relax at my sides, and I am upset to admit I might really like this girl.
Her eyes roam to Alexander, then to Harrison, both of whom are watching us with blank expressions.
“Harrison,” she says, “give Emma your sweater while you guys walk home.”
Harrison continues to stare blankly at us, and I stare blankly at Stephanie.
“Harrison,” she says. He doesn’t move. “Oh my god.”
She leaves my side to walk over and grab the sweater from where it’s draped over his arms, and nobody says a single word as she hands it to me.
“Here. Sorry, my boyfriend is being an idiot tonight,” she says. “Hopefully you already know he’s not normally like that.”
I nod as I slip the sweater on, refusing to make eye contact with anyone except the ant crawling across the concrete at my feet.
It’s a light cotton sweater, navy blue, and perfectly appropriate for a cool summer night.
I’m horrified to realize it smells like the essence of Harrison, woodsy-scented soap and…
I don’t know. It smells like Harrison. It’s impossible to describe, just like it’s impossible to describe the churning in my stomach.
It is not, however, impossible to describe the look on Harrison’s face,[*3] which I shouldn’t have looked at, but am doing so anyway.
We say the rest of our goodbyes, and Harrison and I don’t say a single word on the walk home. When we arrive at the apartments, I wordlessly hand him the sweater, and we offer quiet “good nights” before walking inside.
Skip Notes
*1 Crinkles around eyes · Left dimple · Lopsided smile | Facial expression | Frequency: medium
Amused.
*2 Clenched jaw · Furrowed brows | Facial expression | Frequency: low
Frustration.
*3 Sunken eyes · Slack jaw · Clenched hands | Facial expression | Frequency: low
Tender focus.
Sadness.