Page 72 of How To Not Need You

“No Grace today?” I ask as I dig in.

She smiles again, “Alexander's having a daddy-daughter night with Grace so Leo could come see Tilly.”

I feel that annoying prickle behind my eyes again. This woman. Can’t she just let me not be an emotional mess for one minute!

I blink them back, but her smile tells me that she saw it all. I scowl back at her which only causes her to laugh.

We eat more chips. Grudgingly share with the children and we drink wine that is decidedly mid-tier. Harper goes quiet after a while.

It’s not the comfortable quiet between friends though. It’s a weighted quiet of Harper deciding whether to voice a thought. It usually precedes something I don’t want to hear.

She’s watching me and the way my eyes keep drifting to the play area where Tilly is now attempting to climb Leo like he’s a jungle gym, her small arms wrapped around his middle, both of them laughing too hard to maintain balance.

“I never thought I’d see you like this,” Harper says.

Her voice is quiet and almost careful. As if she is approaching a wild animal, which I have to admit, often isn’t far from the truth.

I turn. “Like what?”

She meets my eyes with conviction. “Happy. Domestic. And in love.”

The three words hit me hard, causing me to swallow harshly. My mouth opens. The denial is right there, the same deflection I’ve been using since I was twenty-two and learned the hard way that loving someone means eventually watching them walk away with pieces of you they didn’t ask for. I have entire speeches prepared for this moment. Entire paragraphs of reasons why what Harper is seeing isn’t real, isn’t permanent, isn’t safe.

I look at Tilly.

She’s got both arms around Leo’s neck now, hanging off him like a monkey, her face pressed against his shoulder, laughing so hard she’s practically silent. Leo is spinning in a slow circle, arms out, letting her dangle, and the expression on his face is pure, unguarded joy. The kind kids have before they learn to hide it.

And every argument I had ready promptly fucks off.

“Dammit,” I whisper.

The word comes out so small I’m not sure Harper hears it. But she does. Of course she does. Harper hears everything, especially the things people don’t want her to.

Her hand finds mine across the table. Warm fingers wrapping around my cool ones, squeezing once, gently.

Harper's mouth twitches. “That’s what I thought.”

“Don't.”

“Didn't say anything.”

“Your face did.”

“Apparently everyone's face is very chatty lately.”

I don’t pull my hand away.

We sit like that. Her thumb tracing small, absent circles against the back of my hand. The chips basket between us, half-empty. A crayon lying on the table where Tilly abandoned it. Through the low fence, Leo has somehow convinced Tilly that the correct way to go down the slide is backwards, on her stomach, and she is attempting this with fearless commitment.

Harper’s hand is still in mine. I’m still letting her hold it.

The noise of the pub rises and falls around us. Someone orders another round. A child wails briefly near the bathrooms and is comforted. The laminated menu sticks to my forearm, and I peel it off with my free hand, because Harper hasn’t let go of the other one, and I haven’t asked her to.

I am in love with Jake Reid. And worse, so much worse, I am in love with his daughter. And I don’t know how to stop any of it, or even if I want to.

I take a sip of wine. Harper’s hand squeezes mine one more time before she releases it to reach for her own glass. We fall back into conversation, into chips, into watching the children destroy a play area.

I have made a mistake in bubble bath calculations. The bottle said “a capful.” I poured what I thought was a capful, which turned out to be a lot more than that because I was distracted by Tilly explaining that there was a sauce stain on her sleeve. By the time I turned back to the bath, the water had transformed into something that resembled the aftermath of a foam party at a club.