Chapter 16 Harlan
The rest of the weekend in San Francisco felt like an eternity.
Now that I’m on a plane home to London, I feel like I can breathe and really dissect my feelings.
It’s not like there’s much else to do when we’re up in the clouds.
Oliver was so understanding of the whole run-in with Dare, even holding me all night while I cried.
It probably makes me an arsehole that I sought comfort in him, but short of getting on a plane and heading home, I had nowhere else to go.
When we got back to his apartment that night, Oliver asked if I wanted to keep seeing him.
I swore to him I did, and I do. I couldn’t keep holding on to my past. I need to allow myself a chance to move on, and Oliver is offering me that chance.
His words play on repeat between the conversation with Darío.
The way that he assured me it was ok to feel however I was feeling, and that it made sense that I still loved Dare.
I immediately got defensive. “I don’t still…” I started to deny it, and he brushed a finger across my lips. The truth of the matter is, I’m not sure I’ll ever stop loving him.
“You don’t have that type of reaction if you don’t still love someone, Harlan.
I knew going into this that you were still working through whatever happened.
I’m not going to push you to choose me. We can keep seeing each other when we’re able to and see where it goes.
Or you can take your flight back to London and tell me that you aren’t interested in dating.
” He kissed my forehead while rubbing soothing circles on my back.
“I don’t want to love him anymore,” I cried. “I just want it to stop hurting so fucking much.” It shouldn’t be this hard when I have this wonderful man holding me, supporting me, and giving me everything that I need to feel stable in this relationship. Oliver just continued to rub my back.
“Healing takes time, baby,” he whispered against my hair.
“You’ll get there—wherever ‘there’ is—when you’re ready.
” I fell asleep with tears still streaming down my cheeks.
It’s a wonder he didn’t pack my shit and drop me off at the airport that night.
I would have deserved it for the mixed signals I was waving all over the place.
We spent the rest of our time sightseeing and hanging out on his terrace with tea.
I told him he’d make a good Brit with how often he made tea.
We didn’t talk about the night at the festival again, but there was a shift in our dynamic.
Whether it was me or him that did it is unclear.
Oliver remained attentive and affectionate, and we spent quite a bit of time kissing, but didn’t take it further than that.
When I tried to apologize at the airport, he shushed me with a sweet kiss and a promise that I wasn’t going to lose him.
I decline food when the flight attendant comes through with the trolley of meals, because my appetite is nonexistent.
I also decline alcohol, since drinking on an empty stomach on a long flight is definitely a terrible idea.
When I finally fall asleep, I’m met with Darío in my dreams. Instead of replaying the conversation from the other night, I keep seeing his face as I tell him I cheated on him.
The utter devastation on his face when he hears the words breaks my heart over and over.
I wake with unshed tears pooling in my eyes as the plane descends in London.
I hurry through baggage reclaim, desperate to see my best friend.
The moment she’s in reach, I collapse in her arms. “Babes, you look like shit,” she says affectionately.
“Let’s get you home and in bed.” I had texted her about my run-in with Dare, but didn’t have a chance to go over the conversation in detail.
I’m sure she’s eager for every word, but like the best bestie that she is, she doesn’t push as we make our way to the car park.
“I’m afraid that Oliver and I may not work,” I offer once we’re on the road and headed for my flat.
Despite his constant reassurance, I can’t see how he’d want to continue to see me after that humiliating display of emotion.
Part of me is terrified that I’ll never feel normal or truly happy ever again.
“How do you feel about that?” Pen asks as she slows to a stop at a junction.
She’s adapted quite well to life in London, and it makes me wish she could stay with me forever.
At this point, she’s more familiar with the streets than I am, since she’s taken to sightseeing on her own, or with friends from the office when I can’t go with her.
I keep joking that she’ll start speaking with a British accent soon, but so far, she’s holding strong with her Brooklyn one.
“Like shit. He was so nice to me all weekend, even after I cried myself to sleep over my ex-boyfriend,” I say, embarrassment heating my cheeks at how much I cried in that man’s arms.
“Oliver is a decent guy, Lan. It’s not like you agreed to marriage and suddenly decided you wanted your ex back.
After you’ve gotten some sleep, we can analyze your whole weekend.
You’ll feel better once you’ve showered and slept in your own bed.
” I don’t know how I’m going to survive without her when she goes back to Brooklyn.
Where I’m an absolute nightmare as an adult, Penelope genuinely has her shit together.
I watch the rainy streets of London streak past my window.
“God, it’s always so fucking rainy here.
” Being back here just reminds me how much I miss Brooklyn.
The number of sunrises I’ve missed on my morning runs because of the shit weather should be illegal.
I live for the still moments right as the sun crests the horizon, where it feels like I’m the only one in the universe.
It’s quiet and calm, and a reminder that each day is a new beginning.
“We had sun here twice while you were gone. The Brits were going insane,” she laughs. “I don’t know how they do it. I’m guessing it takes a lot of vitamin D.” Pen lives for gloomy days, though. She says it fits her ‘vibe,’ so maybe London is exactly where she’s meant to be.
“Speaking of D, did you get any while I was gone? I hope one of us was getting fucked properly this weekend.” I turn to see my best friend blushing. “Details, Penelope.” Her face flushes a deeper crimson, and she averts her eyes. “Good job you had the flat to yourself then,” I tease.
“After you’ve slept, I’ll spill all of the details,” she promises.
She parks outside my flat as the rain goes from light drizzle to torrential downpour in a span of seconds.
“Fucking hell!” With a shout, she runs from the car to the front door.
I watch her with amusement before I grab my luggage from the back seat and race for the open door.
I strip my soaked clothes in the foyer, kicking my shoes off to the corner to dry.
Briefly, I wonder if the rain will suffice in place of a proper shower.
The time difference feels significant, and I’m grateful I took a couple of extra days off so I can get back to my normal routine.
Primarily running. Oliver took me near the bay for a jog each morning at sunrise, but we didn’t go nearly as far as I’ve been used to these last few months.
Running has been one of the few things that keeps my head clear of noise and catastrophizing. Another tool in that handy toolbox.
Once I’m showered and dressed in a pair of L&L sleep shorts, I climb into my bed.
The familiar smell of my fabric softener greets me as I bury my face into my pillow with a dramatic groan.
I send a quick text to Oliver, letting him know that I’m home safe with a promise to call him soon.
My to-do list runs through my head as I close my eyes: unpacking, washing, checking my work email.
All of these things can wait until later, though.
A persistent buzzing from my phone pulls me from sleep.
I feel groggy and disoriented, as though I haven’t slept at all.
It takes me longer than it should to locate the noisy device, and longer still to focus on the number calling me.
It’s a New York number, which has my pulse quickening.
With no coordination whatsoever, I stab at the screen to answer the phone. “Hello?”
“Mr. Bishop?” A woman’s voice that I don’t recognize comes through the line.
“Yes, this is Harlan Bishop.” I scoot so I’m sitting against the headboard.
I still have no idea who this is, but my anxiety is soaring.
I try and fail to rub the sleep from my eyes, dragging my hand down my face.
The stubble on my cheeks has me adding shaving to my list. It takes forever for me to grow facial hair, and it’s patchy at best, making me look like a pubescent teen trying to appear older.
I’m less picky about body hair, but I’m diligent about my face.
“This is Mariella Sanchez, the attorney working on your visa with your manager, Shawn.” Any remnants of sleep are gone as she introduces herself. I’ve been attempting to be patient with this process, but I’ve been desperate for her call.
“Ms. Sanchez, yes, I remember you,” I say, trying to keep the nerves under control. I don’t know that I’ll survive bad news from her, so I cross my fingers that she tells me what I need to hear.
“I wanted to reach out to let you know your work visa has been approved. You’ll be able to return to Brooklyn in August for Lust & Lace,” she tells me. My stomach swoops, and my pulse kicks up at her words. This can’t be real.
“Oh, wow. I...I can’t thank you enough for this! Is there anything I need to do?” It’s taking every ounce of self-control I possess not to jump up and down. The wild swing in emotions from the last few days has me reeling.
“Not right now, Mr. Bishop. I’ll be sending some documents to sign, and we’ll just need an address for you when you return, so we can log the paperwork appropriately.
I’m terribly sorry for the extensive delays in this process.
” I hear her typing, and I can’t help but wonder how many hundreds of dollars Lust & Lace is going to be billed for this phone call.
“Thank you again, Ms. Sanchez. I’ll keep an eye out for the paperwork, and I’ll contact you once I have my living arrangements figured out.” I end the call and scream for my best friend, who comes charging into my bedroom.
“Harlan, what’s wrong? Who died?” Pen is scanning my room and me, and when she doesn’t find an emergency, her eyes narrow. “Jesus Christ, what is going on?”
“It was the lawyer. I’m going back to Brooklyn.” I can’t disguise the elation in my voice as my best friend squeals and tackles me to my back.
“You’re coming home, bestie! Fuck yes!” She’s practically choking me in her excitement, but all I can focus on is ‘home.’ Brooklyn is home.
But it’s more than that. Darío was my home, so if this celebration is bittersweet, I can’t help it.
I hug her back tightly, letting myself feel the genuine joy that has been lacking recently.
“How about takeaway from that Indian restaurant that you love for dinner?” I ask, knowing that she’ll jump at the chance. We order from there at least once a week. More if the hours are long in the office.
“Yes, perfect! Lamb jalfrezi, please,” she says, as if I don’t know her order as well as my own. “We can share the pilau rice and peshwari naan.” I have the food delivery app open and choose my normal chicken tikka karahi along with Penelope’s food. My stomach grumbles as I enter my card details.
“I’m going home.” I smile softly and snuggle into Penelope’s chest while we wait for our food.
When I think about contacting people to let them know, it shouldn’t come as a surprise that Darío is second only to my best friend.
How would he react if I sent him a text?
The way we left things in San Francisco didn’t feel as final as the morning I left for the airport.
“Will talking about your weekend ruin the vibes?” Pen asks as she strokes my back. “We don’t have to, but I know you need to talk things through sometimes.”
“We can talk about it,” I hedge. “Nothing has changed, obviously. There were no big declarations, and I wished him well with his new boyfriend. I want him to be happy. More than anything else, and no matter how much it hurts me, I want him to be loved, Pen. There’s no one who deserves it more.
” I think about Oliver and how kind he was.
He also deserves to be loved well. I just need to figure out how—or if—I can give that to him.