Chapter 24
Almost a week later, over dinner with Claire, I tick off the points on my fingers. “Let’s see, I hurt my only sister to the point that we’re not speaking.”
“Necessary,” she interjects.
“I completely lost it to Steve’s best friend.”
“Also necessary.”
“I quit all of my volunteer jobs only to consider buying a ranch I’m sure I don’t need.”
“Love it so much.”
“And to top it all off, I’m in a serious relationship with a movie star.”
“There it is.” She points her fork at me, Caesar salad and all.
“That’s what I want to talk about. I’ve forgiven you, by the way, for not telling me about Hercules earlier.
While I would have liked to have been on ground zero when you broke Famous People Probation, I always knew when you dated again you’d keep it to yourself for as long as possible. ”
Claire always knows how to keep it light and give me space.
“Well, that’s good.” I nod, knowing we’d come back to that now that we’ve finally found time to catch up. “Because I haven’t talked to Stanley or Molly. Maybe they’re in a support group, plotting an intervention for me. So I need you to still be my friend.”
“Done.” She shakes her head. “Watching Stanley meet Harlan was so dang awkward. He was the perfect storm of anger, judgment, and betrayal, all wrapped up in a nice-guy package.”
“Worse than watching my sister become the worst version of herself?”
“Meredith, this blowup with Molly was bound to happen. You recognize that, right? She’s always been on the codependent side of protective big sister.”
“She held pieces of my life together for a long time. Her smothering did provide comfort.”
“Doesn’t make it okay,” she says before she shovels salad in her mouth.
“No. It doesn’t. Everything I’m frustrated with, I allowed, so I’ll take ownership of that.
But change is here, and I think she’s filled with fear because she can’t predict or control it.
” I shake my head, disgusted and still a little bit in disbelief.
“I believe her parting words were something about my ungratefulness and that I’m only alive because of her. ”
Claire gapes, but she says nothing.
“The thing is, it’s true. She orchestrated getting me professional help when I couldn’t advocate for myself. But I’m hoping while I taste the freedom of change, she gets her own morsel of it too. She needs to go back to her life, and I’m figuring out what mine looks like now.”
“She’s a piece of work. Let’s talk about the good part.” My childhood friend grins at me. “How are things going with Mr. Change?”
I chuckle. “We’re going to talk about him like he’s normal?”
“I teach high school kids. Nothing fazes me.” She looks at me with a pleased smile. “Plus, you now talk about him like he’s normal. And I love that for you.”
“I think we’re settling in.” I take a drink of my water and know that I’m glowing when I smile at her. “And that feels really good.”
It turns out Harlan has strong long-distance-relationship game.
“Did you get them?” he asks over FaceTime the next evening. “Show me.”
“I did,” I say, grinning. I point the camera on my phone down at the pink cowboy-hat-covered flannel pajamas he sent me.
“We match,” he says, showing me his blue-with-cowboy-hats pajamas.
I get settled into the cushions of my couch and pull a throw over my legs. “What are we watching?”
“In honor of the showdown last week with Stanley and Molly at your O.K. Corral, we’re going to watch Tombstone.”
Giggling, I lie down, hugging a throw pillow and keeping Harlan’s face in my sights while I pull up the movie.
“Ready?” he asks. When I nod, he says, “Hit play.”
A few minutes into the movie, I glance down at Harlan. He’s propped on his elbow, staring at me.
I smile. “Are you watching the movie?”
“Nope. I found something better to watch.”
And then I melt.
A week later, he orders me dinner to be delivered to my house. We were to receive our food at the same time and eat it over FaceTime together. Virtual date night.
I thought it would just be casual takeout. But Claire shows up dressed in all black with a long white apron, will not say a word to me, and sets up beautiful white linens, fine china, and exquisite crystal.
“You’re seriously not going to talk to me?” I ask, arms folded, watching her in my dining room.
“I’m following my instructions,” she says, unable to contain the grin on her face.
“He told you not to talk to me?”
“He told me not to steal the show,” she says while lining up the silverware like a professional.
I laugh out loud. “He’s a quick learner.”
“He is. And I respect that about him.” She pulls out a silver crumber to smooth over the table and ensure the presentation is pristine. “I also respect Penelope, by the way. She set this entire operation up, and I’m pretty sure she could run the country if asked.”
“And it would probably be easy for her,” I murmur. Harlan’s assistant has proven herself to be a gem—not that she needed to. She just does it naturally. And she has become someone I hope I get to spend more time with.
ABBA announces to me that Harlan is calling, and I hit the screen to accept the FaceTime call. When I see his beautiful face, I say, “You told me to wear sweatpants and then brought in formal tableware.”
“Let me see those sweats.” I show him, and he whistles. “You look comfortable.”
I laughed. “What have you done?”
“I’m providing you with a fine-dining experience while you get to be in comfy pants.”
“You’re my dream man.”
His voice lowers. “Working on it.”
Two days later, little Alex is live on my phone screen. Face scrunched up in concentration, she stares down at the playing pieces to Candy Land.
We don’t want to overwhelm her with my presence in her life, so this is a first step to easing me naturally into the conversation.
So far, our Candy Land playdate is not going as planned.
“I want pink,” she says.
I heave a dramatic sigh. “Me too,” I say sympathetically.
Harlan moves his phone so I can see his face. “Are we going to be able to get over this?”
“I don’t think so,” I say. “The color of your playing piece is just too important. I’m with Alex on this one. We want pink.”
He raises his eyebrows and says in an amused tone, “I don’t think I saw this coming.”
I shrug, loving the dramatics. “Do you have something else in the house that we could try to use for playing pieces? Preferably pink?”
He leaves the phone face up so I’m looking at the ceiling, but I can hear Alex’s sweet voice singing “Row, row, row your boat” in the background.
When Harlan returns, he grabs the phone and holds up a can of pink Play-Doh.
“Pay-Doh!” Alex grabs the can.
Harlan laughs. “Let me get it open for you, sweetie.”
At once, Alex begins to mash and push the Play-Doh.
“Do you have any of this stuff at your house?” Harlan stage-whispers.
“No, but I’ll get some for the future.”
The future. A future with Alex in my life. A future with Harlan and his daughter in my life. That feels good just thinking about it.
“That would be great, Meredith. Thank you,” he says with a thick tone. He’s thinking about it too.
“Guess!” Alex thrusts her creation at the phone’s camera in a way that allows me to see only a dark pink curtain.
“Oh,” says Harlan in his best game-show-host voice. “Ladies and gentlemen, we’re playing Guess the Animal. Today, our guest, Meredith Harper, is playing for a trip to Colorado.”
I giggle.
Harlan draws back Alex’s arm so I can see her creation. An unrecognizable, four-legged pink thing.
“That’s beautiful,” I say, dragging out the word.
Alex smiles proudly at me.
I tap my temple as if I’m thinking really hard. I go for the big guns, knowing that my guess might be a complete disaster. “There’s really only one appropriate guess. It looks like Rocky, the Rocky Mountain bighorn sheep.”
“Wocky!” Alex throws her arms up and runs around in circles, holding her creation in the air. “Wocky wocky wocky!”
“You’re unbelievable,” Harlan says to me while we laugh.
Alex stops, wobbles, and looks at her dad. “I want to see Wocky.”
I watch as it occurs to Harlan what I’ve done.
“Sorry,” I say through giggling, knowing full well she will hound him until they go.
“You’re unbelievable,” he says, this time in a humorous but incredulous tone.
The next day, I receive a special delivery. A box of gorgeous pears with the message, “It apPEARS I really like you.”
I pick up the phone and call immediately. When he answers, I say, “I’m going to post this card on Facebook just to out you in the cheesy department.”
“I was going to send cheese”—I can hear the smile in his voice—“but I could only come up with things about strong smells to put on the card. It didn’t seem as romantic.”
“But pears did?”
“They made you call me, didn’t they?”
“And that’s how the last few weeks have gone,” I say to Claire.
Her belly laugh fills the store as she clutches her stomach in mock pain. “Hercules is a dork.”
“He is,” I say with full affection, thinking of the most handsome man I get to call mine. “He is a total dork.”
I stare at the full-length mirror propped on the brown-carpet floor at Western Warehouse, assessing the latest cowboy boots I’ve tried on.
Claire stands next to me, arms crossed, head cocked. “I like these the best. The black goes with anything, but the stitching gives them some personality.” She steps behind us to a bench where ten boxes of rejected footwear tower dangerously.
Turning my body, I study the boots from the opposite side. “Yeah. I agree. This pair is a solid option.” As I observe the crowded store, I shake my head. “I cannot believe I’m boot shopping on the way to the airport. On December twenty-second, no less.”
When I shift to face Claire, she cradles an oversized shoebox to her chest. “Your boyfriend’s taking you square-dancing on New Year’s Eve, which means you need to shed your city-girl shoes.” Her eyes glitter with mischief. “And I think you should go with this pair.”
“Where did these come from?” I snag the box and sit down on the bench. After a failed attempt to pry off the left boot, I straighten my leg toward Claire. “A little help, please.”
Pulling, she grunts out her answer. “I picked them up as an afterthought. But they might be the exact thing to complete your travel wardrobe.” When the shoe releases, she falls backward, landing on her tail end. Her surprised eyes find mine, and we both laugh.
I open the shoebox and grin. “What are these?”
“Perfect, right?” Claire sits next to me and gazes at the Texas flag–embroidered boots in my lap.
While pulling the left boot out of the box, I remove the tissue paper from the toe.
Claire claps her hands together and rubs them back and forth. “I have a good feeling about these boots.”
“This pair will make everyone in Colorado hate me. We Texans are so obnoxious.” As I push in, my heel gets stuck. Folding my body over to wrangle the boot on, I shake my head.
“Wear them with pride.”
“Well, he’s also a terrible dancer.” I step to the mirror, studying the different boot on each foot. “But either of these should protect my toes on the dance floor.”
My eyes dart from one boot to the other. One is a neutral color, safely matching the other items in my existing wardrobe. The other is an uncertain purchase, destined for one use, then for years in the back of my closet.
“Finding where you belong isn’t easy.” She flashes a smile and taps her toe to my foot wearing the Texas boot. “But it kind of feels like you should do it dressed in this pair. Take a piece of your history with you, but walk boldly into the next phase.”
“What am I doing?” I murmur to myself in the mirror. Christmas in Colorado with Harlan. This feels like a big step. One that I’m excited about. But nervous about all the same.
Claire rises, wraps her arms around me from behind, and rests her chin on my shoulder. Holding my gaze in the mirror, she says, “You’re living.”
Living. That word settles somewhere deep. Somewhere important.
I am living.