22
“Man, I’ve missed New York,” LaTasha says as she drops her bag by the door.
Liam catches my eye and gives me a pained, mildly panicked smile as LaTasha excuses herself to the bathroom after her long
flight. He grips the back of his neck and sighs. “Sorry about this. I wasn’t expecting her.”
My heart is racing, but I attempt to stay calm and not jump to conclusions. “Who is she?” I shift from foot to foot in my
beat-up combat boots. Inside, I feel as though my heart is closing and I am on the verge of losing both Liam and my career
in a single night. But maybe she’s just a friend. Maybe I can still have my happy ending.
“She’s...” Before he can answer, LaTasha reappears and squeezes past Liam into the kitchen, making herself at home. She
uncorks a bottle of wine and flips a braid over her shoulder.
“So how do you two know each other?”
There’s an awkward beat before Liam explains. “She’s a friend of Kendall’s. I lent her my studio so she could make something
for Rita Clementine’s gallery.”
His explanation hurts more than I thought it would. A friend of Kendall’s. Not a friend of his. Not a lover. Not anyone.
LaTasha rolls her eyes. “Always the martyr, my love. Did you finish?” Her eyes swing back to me, but I’m still hung up on
the words my love . So not a roommate, then.
“I did,” I barely choke out before staring at my shoes. “You know what, why don’t I let you two catch up? I’m going to get
out of your hair.”
I grab my backpack and stuff random items inside. I practically sprint to the bathroom, scoop all my belongings into my shaking
arms, and force them into my bag. I can hear them talking in hushed whispers but can’t make out what they’re saying. In the
main room, my eyes linger on the refrigerator, where the photo of us hangs, a potent reminder of our time together this week.
I can’t very well take it when LaTasha is standing right next to it, so I zip my bag and contemplate my choices. I have nowhere
else to go, but I know I can’t stay here.
“You don’t have to go,” Liam rushes to add when he sees my full bag, sloppily packed, but I can tell LaTasha wants alone time
with him, that she is eager for the “friend of Kendall’s ” to scram.
“No, it’s fine,” I say, my eyes lingering on the art supplies I will have to leave behind. “I appreciate you letting me stay
here.” My words are cold, and we both know it. I wave goodbye and practically sprint out the door before tears sting my eyes.
I rush down the stairs and hit the street in a total panic. I have no idea where to go.
I need to find a pay phone to call Kendall. Is this what she was really trying to warn me about, because she knew I’d end
up hurt? Before I can decide what to do or which way to walk, Liam bursts from the main door and sighs.
“Hey, Harper. Don’t go. Please.”
Something is happening between my brain and body, because I can’t make myself register what he just said. I keep seeing LaTasha’s
beautiful eyes and her long, brown fingers touching every part of the man I am madly in love with. My mouth is dry, my muscles
tight. I stab a shaky finger up toward the loft. “Who is she, Liam?”
Liam may be many things, but he’s not stupid, and thankfully he doesn’t say something like “no one.” Instead, he sighs and
leans against the blood-red brick. He kicks a shoe against it, jutting his heel roughly against the surface in a staccato
motion. “I haven’t been entirely honest with you.”
My heart ratchets up to my throat, and I think I might be sick. Deep down, I knew all of this was too good to be true: Rita.
Brooklyn. Liam. I know I’m doing what I always do and I’m closing up before I have all the facts, but I can already tell how
much this is going to hurt either way. “Just tell me.” My voice sounds odd to me, flat and hard.
“LaTasha is my ex. She’s been in Bali for a year working with a nonprofit to protect sea life. We broke up because of the
distance, but she’s back. We’re not together,” he adds, “but we are friends. She just needs a place to crash for a few days
until she finds a new apartment.”
I shake my head. Nothing about LaTasha’s mannerisms screams friends . I smack away a few tears, humiliated. “She called you my love , Liam. How is that friendly?”
“Harper, look. We were together for five years. She’s an important part of my life, but trust me when I say it’s no longer
romantic.”
“Did you live together?”
His eyes catch mine, and there is a flash of guilt there. How had this not come up? I’d cracked myself open to him, told him everything, and he’d left out this vital part of his story? Why? When I’d asked him if there was anyone special in his life, he’d just said there was someone but not anymore. A one-sentence summation now standing in his kitchen while I’m down here on the street.
“When we were spilling our hearts out to each other, you didn’t think to tell me about her?” To be fair, my side of the conversation
had been short, mainly because I had nothing to share. But apparently he did. I know Liam has a past, and I’m okay with that.
But not when that past shows up at his doorstep with me still inside.
“I didn’t think it was relevant. This week was about us.”
Until it wasn’t. “I’m an idiot.” I spin in a circle, gauging which way to walk. “You know, this whole week has been make-believe.
All of it. It all felt too good to be true, and now I know why.”
“Harper, don’t.” He pushes away from the wall, but I’m just out of reach. “This week has been real. I’ve never felt this way
about anyone.”
I lift a hand to stop him. “Please don’t say something trite like that. It only makes it worse.” I don’t know which direction
Kendall lives, but I begin to walk. Liam jogs easily to catch up.
“Harper, seriously. Stop. Let’s talk about this. I don’t want you to go.”
“What is there left to talk about?” I whip around so fast, my overstuffed bag slams against his chest.
“Us,” he says. “How you’re feeling. Our future. All of it.” He reaches for me, but I step back.
What future? The fact that he kept a secret from me hurts more than the fact his ex-girlfriend has returned. I thought I knew
him, really knew him, but how can someone know anyone in just a week?
“I need to go home,” I finally say. “Back to Chicago.” My voice echoes on the nearly dead street. Suddenly I am embarrassed. I don’t want to react this way. I don’t want to feel this unglued or shut down, especially over a guy. But this, all of this , has opened my heart in a way I did not expect and am clearly not ready to handle.
He sighs and drags a hand down his face. “Harper, please don’t go back to Chicago. Let’s just take a breath and we’ll figure
all this out, okay?”
“And what? Be a third wheel with you and LaTasha? No thanks.”
“Hey, come on. You’re not a third wheel. I promise.” He moves toward me. “Besides, you have to wait to hear back from Rita,
right?”
I shake my head, and the slow, sad truth shifts into focus. “Come on, Liam. She said she’d be in touch. We both know what
that means. It wasn’t good enough. I’m not good enough. This week was a total waste of time.”
The words land like a bomb. Liam’s eyes dim, and he takes a shaky step back. “You don’t mean that.”
This is my moment to undo all of the damage I’ve just done, to tell Liam that he’s right, I don’t mean it, that I do understand, that I’m just being petty and jealous and am clearly self-sabotaging and that we can work it all out and begin
again.
I realize, as I stare at him, that this isn’t about LaTasha at all. Because deep down, I do believe Liam. I trust him, even
if I don’t know him as well as she does. What I don’t trust is having what I really want: him, this city, my art. It feels
like too much to lose.
I grapple with what to say, knowing how easily I could make this tension disappear. I simply take a step forward. I move closer. I show that I trust him, that I trust myself, and believe that it will all work out in the end.
But instead, I do what I’ve always done when I’m afraid of getting hurt. My self-preservation kicks in, and I shake my head
as I stare into his eyes.
“I do mean it,” I hear myself say. But I don’t. Of course I don’t. I waver for a moment, understanding that by leaving, I
am tarnishing everything good between us. Maybe just for this moment. Maybe forever. Am I willing to take that risk?
“Harper, please.”
His words burrow a hole in my chest as he reaches for me, his fingers brushing mine. My hand tingles as my eyes catch his.
Oh, how I love this man. I hesitate again, my heart and mind ripping me into two distinct pieces: Go or stay. Hurt him now or hurt him later. Be hurt
now or be hurt later. He waits, eyes pensive, before I shake my head.
“I’m so sorry, Liam. I can’t.” Better to cut it off now. Better to run.
I turn and walk away before I can see the devastation cross his face.