Page 147 of The Truth of Us

When we are in the Northwell elevator, I give her a kiss, still holding her in my arms, whispering, “You love my brand of crazy though, baby.

41

HARPER

Morning light filters through the window, highlighting the tangled sheets on the bed and the almost white streaks in Elliot’s hair from the summer spent enjoying our time together. He has been consistent in planning real people dates for us, and we've even sprinkled in a couple of ridiculous billionaire dates, yacht included.

The air blowing past the open windows feels more like fall than late summer. Elliot is lying on his side, lazily tracing shapes on my hip as I scroll through an article an associate sent me.

A sound that is close to a growl escapes me, my annoyance bubbling up out. Another celebrity-like person, who made a simple mistake which resulted in a public pile-on and media-frenzy. It ended with the woman's daughter in the hospital, and yet nothing has been done.

Elliot looks up at me, saying, “You look like you are going to crush your phone. What’s got you so worked up? I thought I de-stressed you thoroughly last night and this morning.”

He kisses the exposed skin of my hip, his eyes never leaving mine.

I sigh, saying, "They're doing it again."

Elliot pulls back enough so that I know he is paying attention to me, "Who?"

I hand him my phone, and he reads the article.

I rub my fingers through his messy hair, something that I have found very calming lately, saying, "It's like no one learns anything. We are stuck in this vicious cycle, and even when someone is hurt or worse, there is this brief moment of outrage, then people just forget and we are back in the cycle of the next juicy story."

Elliot hums in agreement, his clear blue eyes watching me carefully.

Then I remember the journalism student we met, what we talked about at the event Elliot and I went to in New York. I blurted out, "Do you remember that student we met?"

Elliot nods.

My mind is spinning, and I don’t try to censor myself as I let the words fall out, "Journalism wasn't what killed my family." Elliot sits up beside me, giving me his full attention, and I keep talking, "People forgetting we were human beings behind the headlines did."

Elliot reaches for me, but I can feel something trying to work its way out of me. I twist and am kneeling in front of him, clutching the sheet to my chest with my right hand and flailing my left one around to highlight my brain dump. “What if…”

Elliot nods in encouragement, giving me a soft smile to let me know he is with me in whatever this crazy tirade ends up being.

“What if… There were ethical standards, resources… ohhh or training… Independent reporting reviews. Oh, scholarships… A research team, education, protection for those who need it…” I am breathing heavily with the weight of everything I am saying and what that world could look like if we could make even minor changes.

I look Elliot in the eyes, asking, “Do I sound crazy? I just feel like something needs to be done. I don’t think I have all the answers… but something should exist. Someone should do something."

Elliot doesn’t hesitate when he replies, "Then let's do something."

I laugh because that has to be crazy… right?

"I wouldn't even know where to start." I say.

But my mind is spinning with all the good we could do, all the possibilities, but when would I have the time? "I just started working with my father. I love what I am doing. Maybe I could create a foundation and just consult…"

I am lost in my head when suddenly Elliot is kneeling in front of me. We are both tangled in the sheets, knee to knee, on my bed. He tucks a wild piece of hair behind one of my ears, tilts my chin up so I am focused on him instead of my wild racing thoughts. He gives me a soft smile before saying, "What if I did?"

I blink, staring at him, sure I must have misheard him, because no way did Elliot just offer to start up my wild idea.

"What?" I whispered.

"What if I ran it?" he asked.

When I don’t say anything and just continue to stare at him, blinking like a crazy person, he continues. “What if we came up with a starting point? We can build it from there. You tell me what the end goal is, what it should become.”

I continue to stare at him because he is looking at me with an almost hopeful expression, like this is really important to him, but that would mean…