7
Early the next morning, I go for a run and make us coffee and breakfast.
We sit on our small balcony and watch the tourists below. Ben’s eyes are pensive as he surrenders to being a witness up here
while others live their lives down there. At first, it’s what gutted him the most about treatment. He couldn’t go for hikes
or even long walks. He could barely get out of bed. He wanted to be out in nature, and instead he was confined to either the
hospital or home.
But today he looks good, present, and I tell him so.
He sips his coffee and smiles. “I feel good.”
Ben is freshly showered, in a black T-shirt and jeans. It’s the first time I’ve seen him in jeans in months, and something
stirs—a longing for the simple, normal things that used to define us. An outfit for going out, not staying in.
“Know anything about this journalist?” I ask, blowing on my coffee.
Ben tears a piece of toast with his hands and chews thoughtfully. “Just that he’s won all sorts of awards, apparently.”
I nod. My eyes scan the streets below and then up and beyond to the mountains. What I wouldn’t give to go for a Saturday hike or do a yoga class, maybe take a nap later. Instead, we are going to open our doors to a stranger and rehash the last year of our lives. I want to remind Ben that instead of talking to a journalist, we could just be together today.
Before I can decide what to say, the doorbell rings, and anxiety flutters through my chest. “I’ll get it,” I say. “You stay.”
Ben nods, and I smooth down my shirt and suck my teeth, rubbing the coffee from my enamel with my tongue. I unlock the door
and pull it open to find a tall, lean man with wild, dark hair pushed back off his forehead in an impossibly perfect mess,
standing comfortably in jeans and a fitted T-shirt with a blazer on top. He looks up from something he’s scribbling on a notepad,
and I almost faint.
“Liam?”
“Harper?”
We say each other’s names at the same time. Liam, Harper. Harper, Liam. The ground shifts. My world upends. I search for what to say. “What are you doing here?”
He lifts the lanyard around his neck, jokingly checking his name and the New York Times badge, which is embossed and shiny. “I’m the journalist.”
“I... How?”
He smiles that devastating smile, which manages to be both seductive and shy. Our one sacred week comes rushing back after
a wicked ten-year gap. Liam is my secret. Liam is my only what-if. Liam cannot be standing at my door right now.
“You look well, Harper.”
It’s a lie. I look tired. I feel exhausted down to my bones. But Liam? Liam looks sensational. The glasses are gone, and it’s clear he’s not a young twentysomething anymore, but it’s still him. Liam. “The last time I saw you...”
“Ten years ago, give or take,” he says, glancing down at his vintage Rolex. He swallows, those eyes roaming over my face,
drinking me in. I forgot how intense his gaze could be, that when he focuses on you, everything else dissolves.
I have a million questions, all of them slamming around in my brain like bumper cars. There’s no way that Liam didn’t know
who he was interviewing ahead of time, right? Yes, technically I am now Harper Foster, but I still use my maiden name for
teaching. “Did you take this job because of me?” It is audacious to even think it, let alone ask it, but to my surprise, he
shakes his head.
“I don’t do research ahead of time for my features,” he explains. “I like to go in cold so I can be completely unbiased. Which
means,” he says, shifting in the doorway, “I don’t read any previous interviews or dig into my subjects beyond the basics.
I didn’t even know Ben’s wife’s name.” He swallows again. “I know that seems counterproductive for a journalist, but it produces
the most unbiased work for me.” He shoves a hand in his pocket and offers a tentative smile.
If he had known it was me, would he have come?
All my brain cells seem to have liquified, but I manage to swing the door fully open and usher him inside. “Well, Ben is on
the balcony. Come in.”
Now that he knows it’s me, is he thinking about Ben’s crazy idea and how ironic this all is? Oh God. I stop for a second.
Does this also mean I have to tell Ben who Liam was to me?
“Ben doesn’t know about you,” I add, whipping around so fast I nearly crash into his chest. “Can we not, you know, bring up our past today?” Or ever?
Something like hurt registers in his eyes, but he swallows and nods. “Sure.”
Liam steps gingerly inside, assessing the contents of my personal life. It’s like having my diary on display for an ex-boyfriend,
a whole life lived in the decade since we’ve seen each other. There is not a trace of him in my furniture or possessions,
but when he locks eyes with mine, our story swirls around my organs like blood.
“Lovely home.”
I shrug. “It’s small, but we love it.” My face flushes, and I dig my fingernails into my palms. Not knowing what else to say,
I slide open the balcony door and Ben stands, extending a hand.
“Hey, nice to meet you. Ben Foster.”
“Liam Hale.”
Hale. His last name means “hero.” On our first date, we walked across the Manhattan Bridge, and he’d taken my hand and told me stories of how his great-grandfather
used to stand on that very bridge and recite poems about heroes to random passersby.
The two size each other up in a friendly way, and Liam whistles as he stares over the balcony. “This is quite the view.”
Immediately I think about the first time I saw the view from his loft in Brooklyn, how I wanted a place just like his someday.
Ben grasps the rail and stares out over the city. “It is. We’re lucky.”
I banish the memories that are cutting into me like blades. “Coffee?” I ask Liam.
He turns, his back against the rail. He looks so at ease, so comfortable here. How is this even happening? “Sure, that would be great.”
“Cream, right?” The words escape my lips before I can retract them. Liam started drinking coffee at sixteen. When his mom
got sick, he’d made her a pot every morning at her insistence, but she could manage only a sip or two. He’d always drink the
rest so it wouldn’t go to waste.
Ben looks quizzically between us. “Wait, do you two know each other?” A flash of curiosity passes behind his eyes, and I consider
lying but then concede.
“We do,” I say. “Barely.” That word is an affront to what we were, and we both know it. I avoid Liam’s gaze and shrug. “What
are the odds, right?”
I know how Ben’s mind works, so he’s probably ready to resurrect his Master Plan right now. I rush inside before that can
happen, Liam and Ben close behind. I busy myself with the coffee as Liam stands by the island, gripping his crossbody satchel
with one hand. I glance at his fingers, remembering the very first time he touched me, and how I’d never wanted him to stop.
Get it together, Harper.
Ben climbs on a barstool. “And how do you two know each other?”
The wheels are turning fast, his big idea sinking in like a fishhook. I need to shut this down immediately, before he knows
who Liam was to me and starts sending out wedding invitations to all our friends. Luckily, Liam motions for me to explain.
I appreciate the opportunity, but I can’t tell Ben the truth. At least not yet. I haven’t spoken about our week with anyone
except my friend Kendall, and I haven’t talked to her in years. I hoarded Liam, kept our time together a secret, mainly because
it hurt too much after it ended... which was really before anything began. It was easier just to pretend it never happened.
“We met in New York.” That part is true at least.
“Oh yeah?” Ben smiles. “When was that?”
Liam offers an easy smile. “A decade back. Thought this one was going to blow up the art scene.” He removes his satchel and
takes a seat beside Ben. As I pull down a mug and pour him a cup, I stare at the only two men I have ever had deep feelings
for: one is my husband, and the other is the one who got away. Or the one I let walk away. Though that sort of feels like
a lie. I was the one who left.
Ben steeples his hands together. “I always encouraged Harper to go back to New York. Maybe she can soon.”
I suck in a sharp breath at the casual toss of such impactful words. “Ben.” I say it once, a warning.
“I just mean that I know how much New York means to you.” He directs his attention to Liam. “She talks about it with reverence,
like it’s a person almost.”
Because it is! And he’s sitting right here! My mouth drops open as I toggle between Liam and Ben with what to do, what to say.
Liam smiles and looks Ben directly in the eye, always one of his best qualities. “Well, New York has that effect on people.
It’s a special place. Have you been?”
Ben launches into a diatribe about New York. It’s where so many people in his profession live, but he finds it crowded and
too emotionally charged. It kills his creativity. He needs mountains, fresh air, people who are friendly but will also just
let him be.
Silence stretches between the three of us, sticky and warm. “So did you two know each other long then?” Ben slurps a bit of
his coffee, and I look at Liam, almost warning him to stay quiet.
“Nope,” he says, taking a silent sip of his own. “Just a week.”
“A week?” Ben stares between us, and I can tell a little of his hopefulness slips. “Why so short?”
Yes, Liam. Why so short? It’s something I’ve always wondered, because Liam wanted it to be more, and so did I. More than anything. But then things
didn’t go as planned, and I flew back home, back to my life. And that was that.
I shrug and swipe an invisible crumb from the island. “I went back to Chicago.” Suddenly I feel desperate to extricate myself
from this situation. “Look, why don’t I let you two get started? I need to run a few errands.”
I slip on my shoes and am out the door before Ben can protest or even say goodbye. My chest aches, and I rub vigorously on
my sternum, willing myself to breathe. I take the stairs down to the main floor and burst outside, not knowing what to do
or where to go. I turn and look back up at our building, where Ben and Liam are inside, in my condo, becoming friendly, talking about our lives.
Our private lives.
Liam Hale is in my home.
A million memories of that week flood my brain as I take a left at the corner and keep walking. I have no destination in mind.
I just want to walk until I stop remembering.
I haven’t thought of Liam in so long...Except that’s not really true, is it? When you fall madly in love with someone
after a single week and then you never see them again... Well, that kind of aching can drive someone insane. That is, until
I met Ben, and he softened the edges, made me forget how much Liam once meant to me. Because Ben is a grown-up love. We know
each other beyond the initial consumption of falling, the way it swallows you so completely.
I squeeze my eyes shut as I wait for the crosswalk light to turn green. I tell myself it’s just a week, though the irony almost makes me laugh out loud. I, more than anyone, know how much life can change in a single week. I tell myself I’ll just keep my distance, answer the bare minimum of questions, and distract myself with friends and painting.
My brain betrays me and circles back to the moment of opening the door and seeing Liam again after all this time. Much like
the first time I saw him in Rita Clementine’s gallery, my heart nearly stopped. It isn’t because he is the handsomest person
in the room (though he inevitably is), but because back then I recognized something in him. I just knew , like some sort of premonition, that we were going to be together.
While I thought it would last forever, I’m learning that nothing good ever does.