Chapter 3
Chapter Three
“Everyone, this is Harlow Brooks,” Mom introduces, while Taylor helps me clean up the mess of egg guts off the floor. “She’s the owner of The Sweet Spot. You know the ice cream shop over on Maple Ave?”
I giggle under my breath at the name The Sweet Spot. Lucy frowns and gives me a disapproving look. Heat rises in my cheeks. Get it together, dammit.
“Oh, yeah!” Taylor smiles. “I’ve heard so many good things about that place.”
Mom grins while Harlow stands frozen, her face pale. She’s wearing a black turtleneck and dark jeans. Her silky black hair is up in a perfect bun. Heat spreads through me at the breathtaking sight of her.
Yet she’s pointedly not looking at me as I wash my feet with a damp washcloth. What in the hell is she doing here? And how does she know my mother?
I nearly gasp out loud when it dawns on me. Mom is setting us up! Of course she is. She’s constantly trying to play matchmaker, and I’m so pissed at myself I unknowingly fell for it. Harlow must have known who I was when we matched on SapphicSingles last night. How could she not?
Fuck it. I’m not letting Mom have this one. I toss the washcloth in the sink and extend my hand toward Harlow who startles. “I’m Lily. It’s nice to meet you.”
I may have tossed too much emphasis on “meet,” but oh well. I’m not playing into this twisted game these two got going.
Harlow stares at my hand for a beat before taking it. Her palm is so smooth and warm, it sends an annoying jolt between my thighs as memories of her hands on my body flash before my eyes.
“Nice to meet you too,” Harlow says, still looking uncomfortable. She asks Mom, “Where’s your restroom?”
Mom tells her, and I seize the opportunity. Once Harlow turns the corner, I excuse myself to change out of my gross and sticky jeans and resist the urge to sprint after Harlow. I catch her just as she’s about to open the bathroom and grab her elbow, dragging her in the opposite door.
“What the—oh, my god. What’re you doing?” Harlow shakes me off.
I peek out into the hallway and listen. No one heard us—at least no one is reacting if they did. I shut and lock my bedroom door and whirl around on Harlow.
“Are you serious?” I spit. “You need to leave. Now.”
“I? What—no. Look, I get this might be a little awkward, but—”
“Awkward?” I squawk. “You’re here as my mom’s latest setup and on Christmas Eve? This is a new low for her. I thought you seemed cool last night, but now—”
“Whoa, whoa, whoa.” Harlow throws her arms in the air. “What’re you talking about? I didn’t even know you’d be here.”
I frown, not convinced. “Then what’re you doing here?”
“Mrs. Lewis invited me to bake cookies.”
I cross my arms over my chest. “And you’re just casual friends with suburban white women in their late fifties?
” I snort. “Yeah, right. Mom savors family time, especially when we’re all in town.
She wouldn’t invite you unless she was trying to set us up.
And shouldn’t you be with your own family, anyway? ”
Harlow’s face hardens. “My family? Who are you referring to? The parents who couldn’t be more grateful I turned eighteen so they could give up the pretense of caring about me?
Or my sister who ignores all my texts and only calls me when she’s asking for money?
Or my uncle—the only person in my family who ever gave a damn about me, who also happened to have died five months ago?
Which family are you referring to? Please. Fucking enlighten me.”
I splutter speechlessly.
“Yeah, thought so.” Harlow shakes her head.
“I don’t know what kind of shit you have going on with your mom, but I promise you she didn’t invite me here to set me up with her daughter.
And—by the way—you messaged me on SapphicSingles.
Not the other way around.” Harlow flicks the lock and glares at me over her shoulder.
“Last night was fun, but you need to get the fuck over yourself.”
And with that, the door slams shut behind her.
I’m an asshole.
I follow Harlow’s lead, and we ignore each other the rest of the afternoon.
Taylor and I know it’s safer to stay out of the way of Mom and Lucy, so we hide at our customary spot at the dining room table, cutting out sugar cookies.
That leaves Harlow to be, unfortunately, caught in the middle as Lucy and Mom bicker loudly and try to get Harlow to pick sides.
Harlow scratches her chin thoughtfully as my mom and sister go back and forth on either side of her.
“Okay,” Harlow says in an authoritative tone sharp enough to draw both of their attention.
“Lucy, you mentioned vanilla cookies, and I know a fantastic eggless recipe. Since we have an unexpected shortage, why don’t we start there and then we can make the peppermint mocha cookies once we have more eggs? ”
Mom sighs. “That’s a good point.”
“I agree,” Lucy says.
Taylor and I snap our heads up. I’m not sure I’ve ever heard Mom and Lucy agree in the kitchen before. Taylor and I catch each other’s eye. Her eyebrows are halfway up her forehead, and I give her an equally shocked and impressed look.
Okay, Harlow.
“Now, all we need is to send someone for more eggs,” Harlow says.
I jump up. “I can go!”
“Sit,” Mom says. She cups a hand around her mouth and shouts, “Landon, sweetheart, can you come here?”
I sag back into my seat with a sigh as Taylor says, “Nice try.”
I flash her a tight-lipped smile. I adjust my apron as I sit back down, deflated.
If there’s one thing my mother loves, it’s a theme.
She had custom “Cookie Crew” red and green plaid aprons made a couple years ago and insists we wear them every Christmas Eve.
I was surprised when Mom pulled out an extra one for Harlow who looked so startled and grateful, I felt like an even bigger asshole about unknowingly stepping on a land mine that is her family history.
I also can’t help but notice how adorable Harlow is in her apron.
After a blissful period of silence while everyone respectively works, Taylor has to go ahead and ruin it.
“So, Harlow. How do you and Mrs. Lewis know each other?”
I widen my eyes at Taylor, annoyed she’s crossed our invisible barrier and is drawing not only Harlow, but Harlow and Mom into a conversation.
“Oh. From work.” Harlow scrapes the sides of the mixing bowl and flicks the KitchenAid mixer back on.
“Work?” Taylor asks. “Aren’t you retired, Mrs. Lewis?”
Mom’s cheeks go pink, and Harlow frowns slightly as she glances between Taylor’s confusion, Lucy’s look of disappointment, and Mom’s uncharacteristic silence.
“Um?” Harlow says.
“Oh, my goodness. Fine, yes. It’s no big deal,” Mom says while brushing flour off on her apron. “I’m doing a little freelance at The Sweet Shop,” Mom says with another forced nonchalant shrug. “No big deal.”
Lucy glares. “For how long?”
Mom busies herself with peeling open Hershey kisses for the peanut butter blossoms. “Two. Three weeks.”
“A month,” Harlow answers at the same time, then cringes at accidentally contradicting Mom.
Lucy groans while I say, “Oh, come on! You couldn’t have held out for two more weeks?”
“I was so close!” Lucy sighs.
“But not as close as me!” Landon sings while returning with hands full of Meijers shopping bags. I try to sneak a look since he was only sent out for eggs. Landon sets the bags down and throws his hands out in a gimmie motion to Lucy and me. “Pay up.”
“What is going on?” Mom stares at us with a fist propped on her hip and a scolding frown on her face.
“The kids had a bet on when you’d start working again,” Dad says as he walks into the kitchen and pops a snickerdoodle in his mouth.
Greg looms behind him, a serious look in his eyes as he tries to subtly tap his watch to Lucy.
I roll my eyes. God forbid he spend a second longer with us than absolutely necessary.
Lucy blames his need to always rush them out early on work.
I know attorneys are busy, but I’ve long suspected it’s a cop-out.
“Are you serious?” Mom gasps. “That is so rude! And you knew about this, Jonathan?”
Dad flinches. “If it helps, I said you’d hold out until February.”
“You bet?”
Dad smiles sheepishly.
“And lost,” Landon confirms. He sticks his hand up to high-five Taylor across the kitchen island, and she giggles and slaps his hand.
Harlow watches everything go down with raised eyebrows and a bemused smile.
“Also, whose sick-ass van is outside?” Landon asks, his gaze darting around before landing on Harlow. “Yours?”
“Yes.” The corner of Harlow’s mouth quirks up, a proud warmth taking over her features.
“Harlow’s a world traveler.” Mom elbows Harlow, her gaze almost imperceptibly flicks toward me, checking that I’m listening, and ha! I knew it. Harlow may not be aware, but Mom definitely has something up her sleeve.
“She’s been all over the country,” Mom adds. “And has a recommendation for the best places to eat in every state.”
Harlow’s cheeks go splotchy, and she shakes her hands in the air. “No, it’s not me. I follow this account on Instagram that I find my best hidden gems from.”
“I never got that,” Landon says. “Why post hidden gems online to hundreds of thousands of people?”
“It ruins the secrecy and like the specialness of it,” Taylor agrees.
Harlow is nodding along. “No, I know. And that is a real problem. But this account I follow is private.”
“Oh, my god. Are you talking about TeresasTravels?” I ask excitedly.
Harlow freezes. We stare at one another. Warmth creeps up my neck, and I start to shrink back on my heels. I didn’t mean to cross our unspoken agreement to avoid one another, but I got so excited to find another person who follows my favorite traveling influencer in the wild.
“Yes,” Harlow says softly.
“That’s smart.” Landon points in emphasis. “Keeps it exclusive.”
“Or like she’s gatekeeping,” Lucy says. “How does she decide who gets to follow her? What’s her criteria?”
“She approves everyone who agrees to be kind and respectful while traveling,” I snap, feeling oddly defensive.
I’m very aware how creepy and dangerous parasocial relationships can be.
And while I don’t feel like I really know Teresa or think we’re friends because we’ve interacted a few times online, I still don’t want my sister making harsh judgements about someone she doesn’t even know.
Then I glance at Harlow. Shame floods me once again as I remember doing that same thing.
“She keeps her account private to avoid going viral,” Harlow explains. “Limited exposure helps keep foot traffic light while letting people who want to explore new and cool places find them.”
“That’s awesome,” Taylor says.
Harlow nods. “And she’s really into supporting the local economy.
A while ago, she put on this scavenger hunt where the clues led to struggling restaurants.
If you were one of the first hundred people to order a meal, then you got one of these special souvenir magnets.
It was from before I found her account, but I always thought that was so cool, and I wish she’d do it again.
I’m so jealous of everyone who got one of her magnets. ”
“Oh, how thoughtful,” Mom says.
Greg clears his throat, and Lucy turns to wash her hands. Her shoulders are tense, and she sounds annoyed when she says, “We’re going to head out early.”
“Oh no. Leaving so soon?” Mom asks.
“Greg has a big case he’s preparing for that starts trial on Monday.”
Greg nods curtly. “It’s been a pleasure.”
Has it, Greg, has it?
“I’m going to call it a night too,” Harlow says.
“Oh, not you too!” Mom’s face falls.
“Daisy needs dinner. She gets a little hangry and will eat my throw pillows in retaliation if I’m home too late.”
I smile.
“But thank you so much for having me,” Harlow says. “I loved meeting everyone.”
There’s a little flutter of hope in my chest that “everyone” includes me, but the second her gaze lands on me, her bright smile drops.
“Well, I’ll walk you out.” Mom holds her arm up in the direction of the front door. “I understand having obligations. And it’s so good you’ll be joining us tomorrow.”
I freeze. She is? I assumed I’d never have to see her again after my fuckup.
Sure, she has an apparent friendship with my mom, but I’m rarely in Michigan.
Knowing we’ll spend all Christmas together, I should apologize so tomorrow isn’t as awkward as today was.
I just hope she hasn’t already unmatched me on SapphicSingles.