Page 142 of The Truth of Us

"Oh, my God... You are... you’re her!"

Harper immediately braces herself. I feel her body go tense beside me, feel her putting up the shields to protect her from whatever comes next. The girl has stars in her eyes and doesn't even realize that Harper is shrinking right in front of her. I feel the shift; Harper straightens, the tight public-facing smile creeps onto her face, but fuck that. So I reached my hand out to the girl before Harper could respond, saying, “Hi, I am Elliot, and this is my girlfriend, Harper. It’s so nice to meet you…”

I feel Harper’s eyes on me, but I keep my focus on the girl before me, hoping she understands and plays along. She looks from me to Harper, and the colour drains from her face, as if she realizes what is happening, and I don’t want her to feel bad. So I repeat, "It's really nice to meet you…"

Immediately she relaxes, her hand finding mine in a tentative shake, saying, “Emma, my name is Emma. Nice to meet you too.”

Harper squeezes me, and when I look down at her, her eyes are shining, and she mouths, ‘thank you’.

I am about to move on to the next area when Emma blurts out, "I just wanted to say... thank you."

I look back at her, but she is looking directly at Harper, who is looking back at her, confused.

Emma clears her throat and explains, “I am in school for journalism, and we have been talking about your family.” Harper tenses, and Emma must notice because she brings her hands up and adds, “In a good way, everything that has been brought up, even how you have handled situations as a public relations manager… We've actually done case studies on them in one of my classes. It has started a conversation, and people have been speaking openly about being harassed online, about social responsibility, and the issues our generation is facing with being keyboard trolls, and what that means about journalism in an age of fast, public-led media.”

Emma looks like she is holding her breath after that round of verbal diarrhea, but my attention is on how Harper is taking what she just said. I see her process the information, and then she gifts Emma with a soft smile, saying, “It is a tough and important topic to discuss. There are so many implications for what should be allowed with free speech and yet how people don’t treat others as humans when they get a phone in their hand.”

I whisper to Harper that I will get us fresh drinks and step away briefly to let her chat with Emma.

I keep an eye on her as I wait at the bar and make my way back, and that is when I notice a guy off to the side where Harper is talking passionately with Emma; he is trying hard to make it look like he is studying a sculpture, but he has his phone out at an angle that shows him taking video of Harper.

I walk in front of his line of sight, blocking his phone. The guy looks up at me and swallows hard. I smile in return, saying, “Hey, my name is Elliot. Did you want a picture with us?”

The guy freezes, and embarrassment floods his face. My instinct is to lose my shit on this guy for invading Harper’s privacy, but he isn’t the root of the problem, and me causing a scene won’t fix anything.

The guy is beet red and stutters, "Uh..."

I try to make my smile less predatory and more comforting when I say, "It's okay."

I gesture to Harper, my eyes going to her to make sure she is ok; she is watching me with curiosity but seems fine otherwise, and then I look back at the guy, saying loud enough for people to hear, “It’s better if you ask.”

The guy apologizes, and we take a quick picture with him.

The rest of the night I can feel Harper’s eyes on me, a look I pray I am not misunderstanding, because that look is giving me so much hope.

But that hope dwindles on the ride back to the Montgomery Estate. Harper is quiet, staring out the window into the night. The further we drive, the more I panic and spiral, worried I did something wrong. So I blurted out, "Did I embarrass you?"

Harper turns to me, her face unreadable as she says, "No."

"The phone thing?" I ask, the panic edging in further.

"No," she repeats.

"Was it the art?"

"Elliot..." Her voice is soft, and she doesn't seem angry, but maybe it's soft because she’s decided she doesn't want this with me?

"Was it the weird cheese?" I ask and have no idea how my brain latched onto that causing her silence.

She laughs and says, "Pull over."

Immediately, the panic is a bubble in my throat threatening to pop; my hands grip the steering wheel, my knuckles turning white. I am terrified, and I do not know what is happening.

"Harper..." I don’t know if it's a plea or if I am begging, and I am not even sure what for just yet. But I will beg...

"Elliot, pull over."

I can’t look at her, or I may lose my shit altogether. I try to breathe through the fear and find a quiet overlook where there is room to park safely. I pull over. Shift to park, my heart in my throat, ready to beg, plead my case. Because Harper owns my heart, and this can’t be it.