Nineteen #2
In an instant, Sully leaned forward and grabbed at the phone with both hands.
“Hey—nope, that’s not yours.” Harper laughed, shifting her grip as the baby’s fingers smacked the screen anyway. The image blurred for a second, a close-up of tiny fingers and Harper’s fuzzy red sweater filling the frame. “Mine,” Harper said, pulling the phone back into focus.
London leaned in. “Hi, Sully,” she said softly.
The baby stilled and looked directly into the camera, then broke into another wide, open-mouthed grin. A string of drool followed.
“Sorry about that,” Harper said as she grabbed a small cloth off her shoulder and wiped Sully’s face. “She’s determined to hang up on you.”
London made a funny face at the phone.
“You like her, huh?” Harper bounced again, rhythm of soothing her niece already in her hips. In a beat, Sully was on the floor, crawling through paper again.
“Yes, and she likes me, too—or—she just likes phones.”
“Probably both.”
In the background, someone called, “Harper, have you seen—” followed by something falling and a burst of laughter. The dog barked and she could hear his tail thumping against something hollow, creating a bass drum-style beat.
“Hold on,” Harper said, shifting the phone slightly. “No—don’t let her eat that. No, Sully—”
A man stepped into the frame, scooping the baby up, her fist full of wrapping paper, soggy evidence at the corners of her rosy lips. He glanced at the phone and lifted a hand. “Hi, London.”
“Hey, Rowan,” she said, caught a little off guard, but smiled anyway.
“Say bye,” he said to the baby, who was now more interested in his collar than anything.
Harper kept the phone trained on them as they walked away, then turned it back to herself.
“Sorry,” she said. “Babies are a lot.”
London shook her head. “Not at all. That was great. Thank you for including me.” She imagined her in-laws passing Sully around, making faces and asking her questions she couldn’t possibly answer yet.
A long table with a highchair at the end.
A family enjoying each other’s company, made better by the presence of a baby.
“All good with your guests? No Potter incidents, I hope?”
The mere mention of the Potters made London huff.
“Thank God, no Potter incidents. One flipped breaker. Someone stubbed a toe. An older lesbian couple, a handful of families. So far, so good. How long are you there?”
The noise in the background didn’t go away, but it softened—like she’d stepped outside of it. Defined voices and music became a blur, a watercolor where there had just been sharp edges.
“A few days,” Harper said, and her voice had changed register. Less chaos management, more her. “Hey—I hope you’re doing something for yourself today. Not just hosting. Maybe go take a bath.”
London sat with the suggestion, looking over the phone at a framed print they’d bought on a trip to Spain, years ago. The honest answer was she’d taken a walk and called her mother and thought about things she’d avoided thinking about until now.
“Working on it,” she said finally.
Harper studied her through the screen. Her shoulders fell. She squinted—just barely. Then she nodded, like she understood. “Good,” she said. Quietly.
They sat in the discomfort of not knowing what to say next until Sully shrieked with delight about something—the dog, probably—and the spell broke.
“Well, I should get back—” Harper started.
“Yeah, of course,” London said, talking over her, knowing where this was going. Just like Liz and Joanne. “Thank you for this. She’s wonderful.”
“She really is.” Harper smiled, in a way that reached her eyes and made London acutely aware of the lump in her throat. “Merry Christmas, Lon.”
“Merry Christmas.”
The screen went dark and London sat with her phone in her hand. Outside, she could hear guests in the hall, someone’s child was demanding hot chocolate with a peppermint straw. The inn had a heartbeat that day. Full and warm—entirely indifferent to what had just happened to her.
She set the phone down and ran her hands over the tops of her thighs.
Working on it.
She hadn’t been lying, exactly. She hadn’t been telling the truth, either.
Harper had known it.
That was the thing about people who knew you. They heard what you didn’t say just as clearly as what you did.
The list that signaled she was evolving sat untouched in her nightstand drawer—fifty things to accomplish to prove to herself she could start over, waiting more like a question than an answer.
London pushed herself up, her body reminding her in a dozen ways how hard she’d been working. Her shoulders were sore. Her lower back, worse. She hadn’t stopped moving in weeks.
“A bath,” she muttered.
Still—it wasn’t a bad idea.
The bathroom light came to life with a click.
Everything was where it should be—just as the cleaners had left it.
Towels folded in thirds and hung side-by-side on the rack.
Soap, restocked. Mirror, glistening. London turned the left handle on her clawfoot tub to full open, then the right handle just a bit—balance she’d learned over decades.
At first, she didn’t notice it. It was so perfectly fitted, it looked like it had always been there.
A custom tray spanned the edges, made of dark wood and sealed to a matte shine. There was a shallow groove cut along the top, just wide enough to hold a book—or her phone. A bath bomb sat in a circular cutout that appeared to be a cupholder.
Harper.
She hadn’t said anything about it. Hadn’t made it a thing. She’d simply suggested a bath and left it alone.
London leaned her hands on the edge of the tub, taking in the solid tray that looked like it had always been there.
She hadn’t asked for this.
And yet. It was so Harper. To see a need and do something about it. No acknowledgement required.
London straightened slowly, reaching to turn off the water before it got too hot, and stopped herself.
Working on it, she said to no one.
The water kept running.