Seven #2
Liv says, “You know what I think? I think it’s because you’re so busy being strong for Leo and everyone else that you forgot you’re actually allowed to be a mess. Like, on a huge level.”
Elsie squeezes my hand. “You are doing the best you can, Harper. Really. But I think you also need to see if Leo wants to talk to someone. You, too. Both of you.”
I nod, not trusting myself to speak.
Liv chimes in with a half scoff and half laugh, “I want to watch the therapist try to process you. I have read your books, Harper. You can be a bit twisted.”
Luca smacks the table. “Can I come as you explain that one murder contemplation scene in your first book?”
Elsie, who is usually the last to get the joke, gets it first. She laughs so hard she nearly drops her phone. Maisie starts giggling too, and soon the whole table is a mess of laughter, hiccupping and snot and too many tears.
There’s a moment, right at the centre of it, where I feel something warm in my chest. I’m still crying, but I’m also laughing, and the two sensations overlap until I’m not sure where one ends and the other begins.
Noah hands me a napkin, then just stands behind the table, steady and silent, like an emotional support sentry. Luca wipes under my eyes again, this time with more finesse, and says, “You are allowed to come undone, Harper. We’ll glue you back together as many times as it takes.”
Liv lifts her coffee. “To being gloriously broken, and to never pretending otherwise.”
Elsie raises hers too. “To surviving with style.”
Luca joins, “To not letting the narrative be written by anyone but us.”
I sit there, surrounded by the people who know me best, and I feel like I might be able to breathe again. Even if it’s only for this moment, I’ll take it.
I raise my coffee, voice still shaky, and say, “To being a mess. And to being loved anyway.”
The drinks clink, and for a few seconds, the world is not a disaster. Just a table, a corner of the café.
"I don't know what I would've done without you all," I admit quietly, looking around the table.
"Seriously. If I'd gone through this on my own..." I shake my head. "Most women do."
The words settle over the table in a strange way that makes me immediately want to take them back.
"That's actually kind of heartbreaking," Elsie says softly.
"It is," Luca agrees. "Divorce, betrayal, starting over… they're isolating by design. People don't know what to say, so most of the time, they say nothing."
Liv snorts. "Or worse, they tell you to 'communicate better' with the bloke who's been lying to your face for eight months."
"Thanks," I deadpan. "Now I'm angry again."
Luca points a spoon dramatically around the table. "This is the problem. Every woman thinks she's the only one it's happened to, when statistically…" He glances at me.
"Depressingly common," I supply.
"See?" Luca says. "So why isn't there somewhere they can go? Somewhere they don't have to explain why they're crying over supermarket pasta because it was his favourite?"
"That's… oddly specific," Liv says.
"Yet accurate," Luca replies. “We should start a group!”
Noah leans back against the wall. "You mean… like a support group?"
"Not one of those awkward church hall circles where everyone introduces themselves and eats stale biscuits," Luca says quickly. "A proper one. Coffee. Books. No judgement. Just… people who get it."
Elsie smiles. "People rewriting the ending they thought they were going to have."
I feel something build in my chest at the thought of offering support to others in the same position.
"I'd have gone to something like that," I admit. "Even if I'd sat in the corner and never spoken a word."
Liv taps the table. "Okay, first rule. Nobody gets to tell anyone they should've stayed."
"Second rule," Luca adds. "Nobody gets to tell anyone they should've left sooner."
"Third rule," Noah says. "Excellent coffee."
"Non-negotiable," everyone agrees.
Luca lifts his mug. "Well then. I officially declare the Rewrite Club open."
"You can't just declare things into existence," Liv says.
"Watch me."
I laugh at the sheer strangeness of this mismatch group we have formed. Loving every second of it.
Liv is the one to sidetrack the conversation, as usual. “We are going out,” she announces. “Tonight. No arguments. You need to be a person for one night instead of a plot device in Ethan’s downfall arc.”
I bark out a laugh, almost snort my latte. “I have a child,” I remind her. “And also, I look like I lost a fight with a weed whacker.”
“Leo can sleep at ours,” Elsie says, matter of fact. “The twins have been begging for a sleepover anyway. You’d be doing me a favour.”
“I can’t…” I start, but Liv cuts me off.
“Yes you can. You will. It’s decided.”
“Guess I’m babysitting.” Says Noah with feigned offense.
“I look like a cautionary tale,” I say as a last defence, seeing how they are all teaming up against me.
“Good,” says Liv. “You’ll fit in with the rest of us.”
I glance at Luca, searching for an ally, but he’s already texting with both thumbs. “Adrian says he’s free tonight,” he says without looking up. “And before you object, yes, he can help Noah handle three children. He’s a lawyer. This is literally less stressful than his day job.”
“I don’t want to…”
“Let me stop you right there,” says Liv, raising a finger. “Your options are to either sit at home and marinate in your own feelings, or go out, get buzzed, and let us reconstruct your dignity one tequila shot at a time.”
Noah catches my eye, and gives the world’s smallest, most encouraging nod.
I move my gaze between him and Elsie. “Are you sure it’s okay? Leo can be a lot.”
She waves the concern away. “He and Milo together are less work than either of them apart. And Maisie will keep them in line. She’s got dictator energy.”
“She’s two,” I say.
“She’s two and terrifying,” Luca agrees, then adds, “You should see what happens when someone touches her apple slices.”
Liv leans in, fixing me with the look she reserves for moments of mischief. “It’s settled. We’ll pick you up at eight. Wear something that makes you feel like you could eat Ethan for breakfast.”
I open my mouth to argue, but the protest dies in my throat. There is definitely a look in Liv’s eyes that almost dare’s me to argue with her.
“You know what?” I say. “Fine. Let’s go make some terrible decisions.”
Luca emits a sound that starts as a cheer and ends as something closer to a war whoop. “Yes. Rewrite Club is on for it’s first win!”
Liv: “Finally. I was starting to worry you’d turned into a hermit.”
Elsie squeezes my hand again, her eyes bright with excitement. “We’ll take care of everything. Just be ready.”
At the next table, the historical fiction reader looks up, as if catching the mood, and smiles at me.
We finish our coffees. I check my phone for the first time in hours. There are no new messages from Ethan, which somehow feels both tragic and the new normal.
We gather our things. Luca wipes my cheeks one last time with a fresh napkin, as if prepping me for a photo shoot.
Liv helps corral the twins, who are now both wearing sticker crowns courtesy of Maisie’s dark magic.
Noah packs up the picture books, double-checks that everyone has shoes on the correct feet, and shepherds the two kids out the door in a single, smooth motion whilst telling me that he will get Leo from school.
The afternoon sun hits like a benediction as we spill out onto the street. I stand there for a second, letting the light hit my face, feeling the familiar sharpness of hope and pain and something like possibility.
Elsie grabs my hand. “You’ll see,” she says. “Tonight will help.”
Liv, already halfway to her car, calls over her shoulder, “And if it doesn’t, we’ll just do it again until it does.”
Luca links his arm through mine, leans in. “You’ve got this, Harper. We’ve got you.”
I believe it, a little more than I expect.