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“I love you,” he tells me a dozen times.
I kiss him and hold him tight, splaying out first underneath him, and then on top of him, stealing his sorrow with my touch. It feels like we’re trying to burrow into one another. In the end it feels like we’re a shared heart pulsing together.
I try to take away every ounce of anguish he feels, though I know it’s futile. I’ve grown up with Luke. I know how dejected Grant feels right now, and I also know in a few days, he will resurface, recharged and reinvigorated for next season. For now, I commiserate with him because he needs it, and he’d do the same for me. I tell him I’m sorry a million different ways, and we end up falling asleep together sweaty and tangled in the sheets.
One Saturday in spring, I spend an afternoon with Harper. We get hot chocolate at Serendipity and then walk around the city bundled in hats and long coats. We get our nails done sitting side by side in massage chairs. “Ah! It’s punching my back!” she cries when she accidentally turns her spa chair up to its max speed.
Once we’re sporting matching Barbie pink nails, we eat a late lunch at Dim Sum Palace and she tells me she kind of wishes Grant were with us.
I smile. “He’s fun, isn’t he?”
“Yeah, and you’re always so happy when he’s around.”
“I’m happy now,” I tell her, reaching over the table to steal one of her dumplings. “I’m spending the day with you.”
“No, I know. It’s just different. I really like him too. So does Dad, but he probably doesn’t say so. I’d be sad if you two broke up. You won’t, right? You’re gonna marry him, aren’t you?”
I choke on my bite of food. “Uh…well…”
“Dad thinks you’re going to marry him. He and Chloe were talking about it last night at dinner. They did bets. Is that what it’s called? Bets?”
I laugh. “Yes. That’s what it’s called.”
She shrugs. “Anyway, I would like that. Having him as an uncle, I mean. He’s really nice to me even if no one is paying attention. Chloe says that’s important, how people act when other people aren’t watching. I forget why, but anyway, when you aren’t looking, he’s still nice to me. He plays Legos with me and he brings me my favorite candy even though Dad says it’ll rot my teeth out of my head.”
“That’s…descriptive.”
“Also I think you really love him.”
“Why do you say that?”
“You just…you look at him like he’s your favorite person you’ve ever met. Can you pass the soy sauce?”
I had no idea I was so transparent or that Harper was so astute. “He is my favorite person—besides you, of course,” I add with a wink.
“So just marry him already.”
She says it like, just take out the trash, just brush your teeth, just do your homework. What’s the problem?
“Okay, yeah. I just might.”
“Good because I was already thinking about how we should do it. I stole one of Chloe’s wedding magazines and I tore this out.” Harper reaches into her coat pocket and extracts a crumpled piece of glossy paper. “I think you should wear something like this.”
She points down to the dress in the picture. It’s…large. I’ll give her that. It looks like one Cinderella dress gorged itself on another Cinderella dress. You can barely make out the bride’s tiny face among all the layers of tulle, beading, lace, and glitter.
My silence is audible.
“Or if that’s not what you like, how about this?” she continues, drawing out another crumpled magazine page.
The needle has swung in the opposite direction with this one. The bride is wearing a barely-there tube top paired with a low-slung mermaid skirt. She could be going clubbing.
I barely manage to keep the judgment out of my voice. “Those are certainly…options.”
She taps the page. “Good. Okay. I’m glad we agree. Also, I’m the flower girl, right?”
“Obviously. Though to be clear…Grant and I aren’t getting married.” I worry she somehow missed that part.
To her this is a minor issue. “Eh, we’ll see.”
Will we?
I narrow my eyes.
“What do you know, Harper Allen? Spill it.”
EPILOGUE
Tate
* * *
It’s getting really late, and I’m bored of sitting in this private lounge at the stadium. I’ve scrolled through my phone to my heart’s content, and you know what? I found the end of the internet. We can pack it up now.
I check my phone again, but there’s no new call or text from Grant. I’m really antsy to see him, not only because I’ve missed him all day and it’s getting late and I’d like to go home now, but because I had the strangest thing happen to me at work today and I need to tell him about it.
Michael has found love, and not just with anyone.
“I actually met someone,” he told me when we bumped into each other at the hospital and were forced to do the obligatory small talk.
