Chapter 24
Harper
I’ve spent a lot of time learning how to fix things.
I guess that’s a side effect of having parents that were too drunk or too high to teach me.
I know how to change a flat tire, unclog a toilet, and snake a drain.
I have tiled a backsplash and fixed a burner on the stove, coils and all.
I’ve even changed my own oil. I think it’s safe to say that I am not a helpless girl.
One thing I haven’t done is fix a leaky pipe.
And so far, unlike my other handy-woman adventures, YouTube is offering no help.
Apparently, leaking pipes are a touch more complicated.
It’s Sunday, and it’s raining. If I had to guess, later tonight when the sun goes down and the temperature drops another fifteen degrees in all of two hours, as it often does in Colorado in late January, it’ll be snowing.
But for now, everything is just dreary, wet, and cold.
Including my kitchen counters, which are flooding thanks to a leaking faucet.
I sit on the floor in gray sweatpants and an oversized purple sweater that is falling off my shoulders.
My hair is pulled up in a messy bun and my face is make-up free as I scroll endlessly through videos and articles on how to fix a leaking faucet.
Unfortunately, I’m starting to think the whole thing just needs to be replaced.
My aunt was a low-key hoarder and the previous owner of this chic little brick apartment, so there must be a spare one somewhere.
I pull myself up and head to the closet situated under the stairwell.
Most of the things in this dark, triangular room have been here since I moved in.
Aunt Blanche kept everything. So far, I’ve found an old sewing machine, a set of outdated encyclopedias, boxes filled with crystal glasses and cloth napkins, and spare doorknobs…
maybe, just maybe, I’ll find a replacement faucet.
Aunt Blanche was an estate sale rummager with a weakness for buying things she didn’t actively need but might one day.
I’ve learned over the years to never buy something new before looking through the stairwell closet first.
Blanche was my dad’s older sister. They never got along.
He was a businessman who turned to the bottle every day after the office closed.
She was a bit of a gypsy. She worked as a book editor, never married, drank nothing but Dr. Pepper, and smoked menthols like they were going out of style.
She did own a parakeet named Mr. Mustard.
He was loud and bothered and chased most visitors away.
Personally, I loved him. He was good at reading people.
When my parents were officially MIA and Jaylen was going to school and working to support us, I spent a lot of time with my Aunt Blanche.
She wasn’t everyone’s cup of tea, with her loud bird and her chain smoking, but I thought she was great.
Since then, the bird is gone and so is the smell of the cigarette smoke.
After pushing a couple boxes around, rifling in the dark cracks and corners of the closet, I find what I am looking for.
A spare faucet. Sometimes I think I come across these things because she really never threw anything away.
Other times I think she’s watching over me, possibly haunting the house and stocking the closet with things she knows I will need.
I take the box to the kitchen. Then I look at the current broken faucet and then at the new one. That’s when I realize that this is going to be a lot more complicated than I thought.
I sigh, set the box down, and pick up my phone.
Harper: Hey. You busy?
Jaylen: Depends on what you need.
I roll my eyes. He’s with a girl. Or about to be with a girl. Either way, that’s Jaylen speak for unless you are stranded on the highway or actively bleeding, I’m not available.
Harper: I suppose you aren’t in the mood to help me install a new faucet in the kitchen.
Jaylen: You supposed right.
Harper: It’s leaking.
Jaylen: It’s ancient.
I sigh.
Harper: Are you going to help me or not?
Jaylen: Sorry, sis. I’m kind of in the middle of something. Maybe call Asher?
My stomach sinks. Calling Asher is the last thing I want to do. Being alone with Asher is the last thing I can handle right now. I’ve spent the last forty-eight hours trying to recover from the last time I was alone with him; it has been a struggle.
But seeing as how my brother is not going to help me, I realize I have no choice but to ask Ash for help. Things here are flooding fast, and unless I want the whole apartment to go down like the Titanic, I need help.
“Well,” I sigh. Can’t say I didn’t exhaust every other option. I dial Asher’s number and am almost surprised when he picks up on the first ring.
“Hello,” he says, and my throat catches. “Hello?”
“Hi,” I say. “What’s up?” I ask, and literally facepalm myself.
“Uh…you called me,” he points out. “What’s up with you?”
“So, I’m kind of in a bind,” I say.
“What is it? Is everything okay?”
“Yes. I mean, no. I mean, it’s not an emergency.
Well, not like a 911 emergency, but…” Jesus, what is wrong with me?
“My kitchen faucet is leaking and water is everywhere on the floor. I can’t figure it out myself, and Jaylen is out with some girl or in with some girl or possibly just too lazy to help his sister and I–”
“I’ll be right over,” he cuts me off.
“Really?” I ask.
“Yeah. I’m not doing anything important. I can take care of it.”
“Oh. Great. Okay.”
“Just wait for me, and don’t try to do it yourself,” he says, and I go from appreciative to slightly offended.
“You think I can’t handle it?” I ask.
“You wouldn’t be calling me if you could,” he says smugly.
“I don’t need you to do everything for me. I just want to make sure I don’t–”
“Just don’t touch anything until I get there, okay?” he laughs.
The call ends, and a surge of stubbornness boils through my veins. Darlene would say, step aside and let the man do the job while you admire his muscles while he does it. But Aunt Blanche would say, figure it out. You don’t need a man.
Considering the color of my hair, I bet you can guess which voice wins. I never said I wasn’t stubborn.
I follow the YouTube videos as closely as possible, all while trying to fix it before he gets here.
The only thing better than watching Asher’s muscles while he fixes the sink would be watching his face when he sees that I did it myself.
I smile at the thought of that. That smile fades when the faucet cracks and a geyser of water shoots clear to the ceiling.
“Fuck!” I say, mentally kicking myself for not shutting the water valve off before trying to remove the old faucet. I open the cabinets underneath, searching in vain for the lever. Meanwhile, my kitchen is turning into a swimming pool.
“Shit,” I scream, looking for the water main.
“What the hell?” I hear Asher’s voice as he rushes in.
“Wait, it’s–” I hold out a hand to warn him, but Asher slips, sliding straight into me. We crash together, and he wraps his arms around me, taking us both to the floor.
“Oh my God,” I groan under the weight of him.
“We really have to stop meeting like this,” he says.