39. Harper
HARPER
People always talked about peace within a relationship, as if it were something extraordinary. A feeling so overwhelming that it changed the way you saw the world.
I used to think they were exaggerating. That happiness couldn't possibly feel that simple.
But standing in my mother's kitchen, sharing a glass of wine while Elliot joked about the amount of cheese Mom noted I liked in her lasagna... I finally understood.
Love wasn't always fireworks.
It was this.
Elliot is reading a section of Will’s journal when I hear a car pull up to the house. I perk up because no one should be here. The last I heard from my father, he wasn’t planning on coming to New York for at least another week.
Elliot pulls me close, asking, “Do you want me to go check?”
I pull up the security app on my phone with a view of the driveway and see my father's car, but he is just sitting in the driver's seat, making no move to come into the house.
I give Elliot a quick kiss before turning, heading out of the kitchen saying, “I am going to go check on him. Can you keep an eye on the lasagna?”
I don’t wait for an answer; I move quickly to the front door, nervous about whatever has my father stuck in his car.
I make it outside, the cool spring air wrapping around me as I make my way barefoot to my father's car. He sees me approach, and I watch him try to school his features as he steps out of his car. He looks exhausted; his suit looks well worn and his tie is already loose.
He pulls me into a familiar hug when I make it to his side, letting out a deep breath and squeezing me tight.
When he relaxes the hug, I pull back slightly, trying to gauge what is going on.
It seems like he is studying me in return; he gives me a soft smile when he seems to have found what he is looking for and says, "It's done. "
A chill runs through me that has nothing to do with the weather. Because in those two words I know he is saying he has succeeded in going after his father. I just don’t know to what level yet.
But that isn’t what’s important, he is. So I ask, "Are you okay?"
His smile looks almost sad when he says, “I hope to be.”
I squeeze his hand and help him grab the bags from the car, and we walk to the house. The wind blows around us bringing with it the smell from the kitchen. Dad slows for a minute before looking down at me, asking, "Is that..."
I smiled up at him, adding, "Mom's lasagna."
As we make our way into the house, I swear I hear from behind me, “I knew he could do it.”
“What did you say?” I ask because I am not exactly sure what he is talking about.
My dad doesn’t respond at first, just chuckles, following behind me to the kitchen, before he says, “You seem good, Harper, happy.”
Before I can respond Elliot calls out to me, while looking down at one of Will’s journals, “Harper, I think you may want me to skip this section, because I am pretty sure this is around the time big Will discovered little Will.”
My father chokes on a laugh, and Elliot stands up straight, a blush covering his cheeks and murmurs, fuck me, under his breath and then steps around the island, hand held out to my father, “Mr Montgomery.”
My father chuckles, taking in the scene in the kitchen: Will’s journals on the counter, Mom’s cookbook open, and the smell of lasagna and garlic bread filling the house.
“You can call me Alexander.”
He steps up to the island, and I can see his eyes trailing over the evidence of life being lived in the house again. I don’t know what to say, so instead I pour him a glass of wine as I watch my father trail his fingers over the stack of Will’s journals.
His eyes meet mine, a question in them. I nod in response and look at Elliot, conveying everything that needs to be known.
Elliot brought Will back for me, in the only way anyone ever could.
When my eyes meet my father's again, they are glassy, and he smiles wide at me.
He removes his jacket and rolls up his sleeves; the tie comes off, and he takes a seat at the island and starts making small talk with Elliot. They both fall into easy conversation, and I can see Dad relaxing as the evening progresses.
I set the informal dining room while they chat and Elliot checks on dinner, listening to them talk about everything from the weather to the stock market, and then dad eventually getting into vineyard partnership opportunities, which Elliot agrees to after he finds out Oliver invested, but only if he can invest in a larger percentage.
My dad’s laugh is big, and I smile as a tear slips free. I lean against the wall outside the kitchen, listening to them. Once again, I can’t help but think just how much Mom would have loved Elliot.
Once dinner is served and we have eaten our way through most of what we made, I finally ask, "So… what happened?"
Dad leans back in his chair, taking a long drink, before setting the glass back down on the table and playing with the stem between his fingers. He sighs, and it sounds like he is bone-deep tired. A tiredness that comes with carrying grief and hatred for far too long.
“My investigations and accusations encouraged several other people to come forward and go after your grandfather. The board voted him out of his own companies, the investigations are expanding to corporate law, as well as at least two criminal charges being filed.” He takes another sip before continuing, “Executives who are being implicated are resigning; some companies are imploding because they don’t have enough leadership left.
The Montgomery Empire and Legacy that he cared so much for that he…
” he clears his throat, trying to push down either his grief or anger, “... all the things he plotted and sacrificed to keep are being torn away from him. When it is all over, he will be left with nothing.”
We sit in silence for a while; I had spent my whole life believing that giants like my grandfather couldn't be beaten. Tonight my father proved he could.
He chuckles, but it isn’t a cheerful sound, saying, “The board had the audacity to ask me if I would step in and try to save his companies.”
Elliot scoffs, and my father takes another drink before raising his head, his eyes locking on me, saying, "I kept thinking I'd feel something. Relief, or maybe even victory. Mostly I just feel tired."
I reach across the table, resting my hand over his free one. I give it a small squeeze because he doesn’t need a pep talk; he needs time to heal and finally find peace.
“Maybe you should take some time to rest.” I offer.
He raises an eyebrow at me, and I laugh.
The night goes on and it feels effortless. Elliot offers to tidy up the kitchen, giving us some time alone.
In the sitting room, next to my father, I ask him again, “Tell me the story.”
And my father does. This time the story feels less heavy, as if his facing his father and the truth took a weight off his shoulders.
I have heard this story more times than I can count over my lifetime, but somehow tonight it feels like a different love story.
And when he finishes his story, I look up and catch Elliot watching us from the doorway with tears in his eyes.