Mine Would Be You (45)

Anyone I tried to date or talked to before never reached my parents’ ears. Not even close. No one since Myles. So, for Harper to spill this, a name, and for me to admit there is a date—for my parents that automatically means its got potential. Add that to the fact that I have a date tomorrow, and you can change my name to Horrendously Stressed.

The walk up to my apartment door seems ten times longer and feels ten times more exhausting with my gym bag hung over my shoulder. I kick off my shoes at the door and pick them up to put in my room. The smell of food hits my nose immediately along with the low hum of Sloan and Harper talking in the kitchen.

As soon as I see Harper’s frame bent over the counter, I glare at her. She smiles sheepishly at me as she nervously tucks her hair. “I take it you talked to your mom today?”

Sloan looks bored as she watches us, used to our never-ending antics, but I see her pour me a glass of wine out of the corner of my eye. I move everything to one hand so I’m able to pick up the glass, and I down half of it before looking back to Harper.

“Tienes demasiada suerte que estoy muy cansada como para gritarte.” You’re lucky I’m too tired to yell at you.

I shake my head before heading to my room to change as Harper shouts, “I love you!” after my retreating frame. Her and Sloan are as fluent in Spanish as I am since they spent so much time at my house when I was younger and my mom made sure to spend time teaching them.

Jenko is curled up on my vanity instead of my bed, and he simply flicks an ear to acknowledge my presence. The sun has almost completely set, but what’s left sends a warm light over my collages on the wall and has warmed the hard floor under my feet. A contrast to the cold air pumping through the air conditioning system. I don’t hesitate to change into my sleep shorts and pull Jackson’s Georgia hoodie that I stole over my head. The smell of amber and suede engulfs me, and straightaway, it washes away some of the exhaustion and stress resting on my skin.

I pad back to the kitchen, where the food has been allotted to plates, and I down the rest of my wine and pour another glass.

“So, how are you feeling about the Myles situation? Have you heard from him?” Sloan asks, glancing between us.

I shake my head, and Harper rolls her eyes, but sadness flashes in the gray of her eyes. He treated her like she wasn’t a part of his life too, and I know she’s sad, despite always putting up a front.

Maybe it’s the exhaustion or the stress or my annoyance, but I can’t keep my mouth shut. “Harper, you don’t have to act all hard all the time. I know it upset you.”

She turns her eyes on me. “No, it didn’t.”

“Harper,” Sloan and I chime at the same time.

She blinks and looks away, training her eyes on her food. “Fine. Yes, it upset me, him saying ‘your friend’ like we weren’t friends for years. Like I don’t exist. I’d rather him yell. It’s—whatever.”

I sigh. “That’s what you called Mom about, wasn’t it?” It’s silent except for the music playing in the background. She avoids both our gazes for a few seconds, slowly taking a few bites as Sloan and I wait.

“Yeah, it is,” Harper mumbles softly. “I just told her how it made me feel. How he acted, how he treated us. I just needed to get it out. But of course, she didn’t miss that we were in the Hamptons, and I let Jackson’s name slip.”

I nod, most of my annoyance dissipating at her honesty, and I send her a smile. “I’m sorry about Myles. He’s just got to grow up. And he can’t do it around us.”

Harper breaths deeply. “It’s not even that. I just, I’ve never seen him act like that. So malicious.”

“I think he was—is—angry for a lot of reasons. I think he knew that if he tried to express how he was actually feeling, he would’ve realized he’s not just angry.”

I take a small sip. “I think he’s hurt by the fact that Jackson and I, I suppose, didn’t say anything. Even if that was out of a place of honesty. He wanted me to feel bad, to feel the hurt he is feeling but can’t express. You and Jackson, though, are the easiest to take it out on when all he chooses to feel is anger.”

Harper nods. “But why me?”

“Because you get angry back. You egg him on, which—while enjoyable—only makes him angrier. I usually just shut down, which he’s always known.”

“Yeah,” Sloan agrees. “That makes sense.”

“I mean, maybe I’m giving him too much credit, and I’m not excusing it, I just think that’s what’s going on. And I think he simply needs to grow up.”

Both she and Sloan nod. “But let’s talk about something else.” I look at Harper. “Love you.”

Her lips quirk. “Love you,” she sighs. “As exciting as the weekend was, I don’t know how I feel.”

Sloan and I share a glance, but understanding floods my veins. “Roman?”

Harper shoves food in her mouth to buy herself some time. “Yeah. It’s a lot. Like I think he likes me more than just fucking around. And that’s too much.”

Sloan clears her throat. “What’s too much? Him? Or are you just worried you actually like him back?” I have to hold my laugh in. I cough softly to cover it as Harper flips us off.

“Obviously, I like him. As a friend. And the sex is great. And he’s funny. And sweet.”