CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN Johanna
CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN
Johanna
“DROPS OF JUPITER (TELL ME)” — TRAIN
Present Day
The restaurant is already buzzing by the time I get there.
I’m late—of course I am—and the parking situation didn’t help. Sunday brunch in Downtown LA is basically a competitive sport, and I lost. Big time.
I push through the door into a bright, open, painfully aesthetic space—white marble tables with fresh flowers for centerpieces and sunlight pouring in through the floor-to-ceiling windows like it’s trying to expose every situation you walked in carrying.
Honestly, it feels more like being in a giant fish bowl at an aquarium than a restaurant.
Fantastic. Exactly what I fucking need right now.
I slide my sunglasses up into my hair and spot them immediately.
Mia, Rylee, Makenna, Macy, and Mia’s mom, Rebekah, sit around one of the tables in the middle of the room, chattering happily.
There’s a pile of wrapped boxes sat next to Mia’s chair—our bridesmaids’ gifts we all told her we didn’t need.
Obviously, she didn’t listen.
I take a steadying breath before stepping forward and allowing them to notice that I’ve arrived.
Don’t be weird, Johanna.
Don’t overthink it like you do everything else.
Don’t—
“Well, look who decided to join us,” Rylee says before I even reach the table.
I force a smile. “Good morning to you, too.”
Mia’s eyes flick up to mine, softer, following me as I slide into the empty seat beside her.
“Hey,” she says quietly. “You okay?”
“I’m fine,” I answer quickly, hoping the attention will shift away from me and onto another topic.
Unfortunately, I’ve answered too quickly, and now everyone’s eyes are on me. Makenna’s gaze sharpens immediately as Macy leans forward like she’s been bored until now. Rebekah just watches, quietly observing like always.
“Hmm,” Rylee hums, leaning back in her chair. “You’re fine.”
“That’s what I said.”
“Yeah.” She nods slowly. “I heard you. I just don’t believe you.”
“Rylee,” Mia warns gently.
“What?” she says. “I’m just making an observation. Clearly something’s got her flustered, and it’s not anyone at this table.”
“It’s brunch, not an interrogation,” Makenna mutters. “I certainly know the difference. Do you?”
Rylee’s eyes widen, her attention snapping away from me. “I—”
“Girls,” Rebekah finally intervenes, her tone calm and even. “Did you sleep well, Johanna?”
The question is simple, but probably one of the worst things she could’ve asked. Judging by the looks on everyone’s faces, they all already know there wasn’t much sleeping going on in my room last night.
I pick up my menu, knowing I won’t read a single word on it but unable to look Rebekah in the eye.
“I did,” I say.
Rylee’s sharp laugh is immediate. “Oh, I bet you did.”
“Rylee—”
My phone buzzes against the table.
Saved.
I glance down, and the name on the screen causes my stomach to flip.
Brandon Jackson
Made it to the brewery. You surviving bench or should I send reinforcements?
I fight the smile threatening to give me away and quickly type a reply.
Johanna Harris
I just got here. Rylee is already two seconds away from using the mimosa pitcher to waterboard me right here at the table if I don’t tell her what I was doing last night.
The reply comes almost instantly.
Brandon Jackson
Yeah, that tracks.
Another message follows.
You okay?
Then—
You have my full permission to put her in her place. Ice-queen style.
Despite everything, a small laugh almost escapes me.
The question—and statement that follows—hits differently than Mia asking if I’m okay. For one, I’m sure she would not be okay with me verbally eviscerating Rylee in the middle of her brunch.
Brandon, on the other hand—
He understands me. Even after all this time and all these years, he still knows exactly who I am. More importantly, he’s okay with it.
Johanna Harris
I’m okay. Just ready to be home.
It’s not a lie. Not the full truth either.
I set my phone face down on the table and force my attention back to the group. Unfortunately, even as the rest of the group carries on around me, Rylee is still staring.
“You done?” she asks.
“With what?” I sigh.
“Texting my brother and acting like you’re being discreet about it.”
My stomach plummets.
Fucking hell.
“Johanna,” Macy gasps softly. “You and Brandon? Really?”
“Oh my God,” Makenna mutters, putting her fingers to her temple and closing her eyes like she’s already exhausted.
I forget that the Alexander girls weren’t around for the first round of this mess. Even Mia doesn’t know most of the story.
Mia presses her lips together, trying—and failing—not to smile while Rebekah says nothing. Her silence is far more telling than anything she could’ve said.
“Can we not do this right now?” I practically beg.
“No,” Rylee says immediately. “We cannot.”
“Rylee—” Mia tries for the third time.
“She didn’t come home with us last night,” Rylee continues, eyes locked on mine.
“She didn’t answer her phone until this morning.
Then there were those weird speeches at the rehearsal dinner—which were clearly about each other, by the way—and now she wants to sit here acting like nothing happened.
” She leans forward slightly, her voice dropping just enough to feel like a blade slicing against my core. “I’m not a fucking idiot.”
Silence falls over the table. It’s heavy. Unavoidable. But I hold her gaze anyway.
I’m not going to deflect this time. I’m not going to run.
“I know you’re not,” I say evenly.
Her expression flickers—just for a second—like I’ve caught her off guard by not jumping on the defensive right out the gate.
“No one’s pretending nothing happened,” I continue. “Rylee, I know you asked him not to do anything until we’re sure. To not put you—any of you—through what we did last time.”
I exhale slowly, letting my words settle.
“I don’t want that, either. But I don’t know how you expect me—expect us—to be sure if we have to cater to everyone else’s emotions before our own.”
The table stays quiet, hanging on my every word.
“I don’t want to put a label on something five minutes after it starts,” I add. “Can you just give us some room—some basic fucking grace—to let us figure it out?”
Rylee’s expression falters.
“Okay,” she says after a beat. “That’s… yeah. I didn’t realize—”
“I know you didn’t.”
Macy leans in, practically crawling on top of the table now, eyes wide.
“So it did start,” she says cautiously. “Right?”
“Mace,” Mia warns.
“Come on,” Macy whines. “I’m invested now.”
Rylee’s still got her eyes on me. Still calculating everything I said. Still protective.
“You don’t know how bad it got when you left,” she says, so quietly I almost can’t hear her over the noise of the restaurant. “He needs to tell you about it, not me—but that’s why I’m so… passionate… about this. Because I was there when you weren’t, and I still don’t think he understands why.”
There it is. The truth I’ve been hiding from all these years. Her words land like a punch straight to the gut.
I really thought I was doing the right thing at the time, and the twenty-year-old version of me was too jaded to see any other perspective.
“I’m not planning on running this time, Rylee,” I tell her. “We have a lot to talk about. It’s not going to be easy.” I hold her gaze. “But I want to do it.”
Another beat of silence. Then—Rylee finally leans back in her chair.
“Well,” she mutters. “That’s something, I suppose.”
Mia smiles softly.
“See?” she says. “Growth.”
I reach for my coffee—now cold—needing something to do with my hands. Even though the conversation is technically over, nothing about this feels finished.
“Okay,” Mia says suddenly, clapping her hands together like she’s trying to reset the energy at the table. “Before this turns into a full-blown therapy session, let me give you your gifts.”
Macy perks up immediately. “Ooh, presents!”
Makenna sighs. “We told you not to do this.”
“I know,” Mia says, already reaching for the stack of wrapped boxes beside her chair. “And I ignored you.”
“Shocking,” Rylee says with a roll of her eyes.
Mia shoots her a look before handing each of us a box. “Just open them, will you?”
There’s a moment of quiet as we all untie the ribbons and tear into the wrapping paper. I don’t know what to expect from mine. I’m sure it’s something sentimental. Something… normal.
What I see when the wrapping paper is gone and I remove the lid from the box is more than anything I could’ve imagined.
It’s a magazine. An unreleased copy of the next edition of People. The cover is one of Mia’s bridal photos. She’s radiant, as always, wearing the dress. My dress.
The headline running across the bottom reads,
Exclusive: Mia Alexander Harris—bride to Catastrophically Charismatic frontman, Grayson Harris—shares her wedding must-haves!
My fingers flip through the pages, finding a full spread of Mia’s photos and an interview to go along with it. My eyes are immediately drawn to one specific question.
Q: Who designed your dress for the big day?
Mia Harris: My future sister-in-law and former cover model, Johanna Harris, designed my dress.
She styled me throughout Catastrophically Charismatic’s last tour and was truly the only reason I looked put together on stage.
When I found out she was working on her own designs, I basically bullied her into designing this dress.
This was her first custom bridal piece, but I couldn’t imagine trusting anyone else with something this important.
I can’t wait to see what she does next with her designs.
My vision blurs slightly as I keep reading. There’s a photo of us during their engagement party next to her answer. She didn’t just mention me. She highlighted me. Put my name—my work—into something people actually pay attention to. Something that matters.
“Mia…” I whisper, looking up at her. “You didn’t need to do this.”
She’s watching me carefully.
Hopefully.
Clearly a little nervous for my reaction.
“You deserve it, Jo,” she says softly. “You did a beautiful job. The world deserves to see it.”