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As the time ticks down and we get closer to home, my muscles grow tenser, and I’m pretty sure my best friend can tell. Otherwise, she wouldn’t be asking me that question. But I shake my head. “Nah. I need to get home. See my mom, check in. Plus, your mom hates it when you spring me on her.” I laugh, and Kinsley gives me a wry smile.
Too many times I’ve woken up to Kinsley’s mom huffing about my presence in their house. It’s not that she doesn’t like me—she does … or she did. She just likes her home being guest-free, and I can’t blame her for that.
“You know I’m only a call away if you need me,” she offers, grabbing both our cases from the conveyor belt before sliding mine into my waiting palm.
I throw my free arm around her shoulders, tugging her in close. “Thanks, Kins. What would I do without you, hey?”
“Live a sad and lonely life.” She chortles, nudging me away and starting toward the exit.
“Ain’t that the truth? Hey, at least I don’t have to deal with any teenage assholes for the next two weeks,” I say, ignoring the fact I have to live with a gigantic asshole while at home.
The sun beams down, though the air is tepid as we push outside. The moment I spot Sam, our driver, waiting in the pickup line, I blow out a slow breath. I’d texted him my flight details when I’d received them, but I hadn’t been sure he’d come. I hug Kinsley goodbye with one arm. “Text me when you’re home, yeah?”
“Will do,” she says, blowing me a kiss as she moves over to where her dad waits, leaning against his Volvo. “Love ya.”
“Love you too.” I sigh but drag my suitcase along.
Sam smiles brightly, taking my case from me when I reach him. “Good to have you home, Miss Harper.”
“Yeah.” I scoff. “Good to be home, Sam.”
The moment I walk through the door of my family home, Dad stalks into the hallway. I’d been hoping for at least an hour to collect myself before dealing with him, but the wish of running up to my bathroom and locking the door is fruitful as he takes one look at me, his eyes filled with disdain, and sips the amber liquid in his glass.
“What are you doing here, Harper?” That … is not what I was expecting.
“Erm, I’m back for Christmas?” It comes out as a question, even if I’m answering him, the confusion addling my brain. What other answer does he want?
“You’re not invited for Christmas with your mother and me this year.” My mouth falls open at the casual way he excludes me.
“What?” What made them change their minds?
“You heard me.” He sneers as he looks up and down at my sweater and leggings combo. “And you really need to pull yourself together. It’s embarrassing that you walk around like that.”
I snort, shaking my head in frustration. “God forbid I grieve my best friend.”
I know better than to speak back to my father, and still, the moment his palm collides with my cheek, I’m taken aback. My mom gasps from wherever she’s hiding, but she doesn’t say anything in my defense. She never has. She doesn’t care nearly enough to. The only way to get a reaction from her is to take the wine away.
“If it hurts, good. You did that to yourself. Now you’re excused so your mother and I can enjoy the holidays.” He walks away, happy with the casual way he’s dismissed me. What aboutmyholidays? And why the hell did they buy me a ticket home?
“Great chat, Dad,” I mutter as I pick my bag up and head straight back out the door I’d only just entered.WhenwouldI be welcome back?I wonder.And really, do I even want to be?
I sit in the coffee shop around the corner from my house and try to think. My hands are shaking around the pumpkin spice latte I recklessly bought, but I was stressed, and I’m not used to having to think these purchases through yet.Okay, it’s fine. You have options.Of course I do. I just need to focus for a second and think them through, but I’m still stuck on how easily my father ostracized me. He’s never exactly been welcoming, but I thought the loyalty of family was always there. I guess not.
“Harper?” I jump and look up, straight into the eyes of Caleb. Not literally, and I’m able to shake myself out of that thought, but Caleb got his eyes from his mom, and they’re so similar that looking into her eyes has always been unnerving. He and Madden were pretty much identical to strangers, but there were some obvious differences once you knew them both. The clearest was their eyes. Caleb’s were all his mom’s brown, whereas Madden unexpectedly got a pair of vivid green. “I thought it was you!”
I’m tense. I can’t help it. I’m expecting her to start cussing me out right here in the coffee shop, and I’m going to have to sit here and take it. So, when she pulls the chair out next to me and sits before leaning over and enveloping me in a hug, I’m not prepared for it. I break down.
Mrs. Taylor’s hugs have always been therapeutic. She means every second of it, and she passed on the art of a great embrace to both of her sons. The two guys who used to hug me daily, and who I haven’t had that comfort from in months. It’s all too much.
She doesn’t act surprised or ask any questions; she just holds me while I drench her top and shake in her arms like a child.
I don’t know how long it takes, but eventually, my tears slow, little hiccups coming from my chest, and I pull back, looking anywhere but at her.
“I’m so sorry,” I mumble about my meltdown, but then realize how that could be construed. Drawing on all the bravery I can muster, I meet her eyes and apologize for the important thing next. “I’m so, so sorry, Mrs. Taylor. For Caleb. I’m so, so sorry.”
“I know, Harper. We’re all sorry.”
“But I—”
