“Of course, I had a good time,” I reassure her, picking up my water and taking a sip of it. “It’s just been the insane case load we’ve had recently … We’ve both been running around like chickens with our heads cut off.”
And I still haven’t gotten anything back from Weston.
“You’re right, you’re right.” Harlee lets out a light laugh. “I guess I was just worried that maybe Florida wasn’t as great as you’d thought it’d be, or that you’rereallygood at faking having a good time.”
“Definitely didn’t fake it.” I giggle, shaking my head as I pick up the menu. This is a newer café, and while Harlee and I usually hang out on work days, she asked me to meet her on a Saturday, and I couldn’t tell her no.
We spend the next few minutes perusing the menu and discussing whether or not we should be adventurous and try a Mediterranean dish or play it safe with just a chicken club sandwich. We both end up deciding to play it safe, and as we hand over the menus, Harlee grins at me.
“You know, I’ve been texting him.” She giggles, pulling out her phone.
“The Georgia guy?” I ask, thinking back to the guy who was stuck to Harlee through most of our Florida trip. “Does this mean he’s not just a vacation fling?” I wiggle my brows at her as her cheeks grow red.
“I mean … I think he’s going to visit me in a few weeks.”
“Whoa!” I can’t hide my surprise. “Seriously? That’s amazing, Harlee. I’m so happy for you!” And Iamhappy for her.
But I’m also jealous, and then instantly guilty for feeling jealous.
“I’m trying not to get too excited about it,” Harlee admits, her smile fading to more of a straight line. Not quite a frown, but not a smile anymore, either. “I want to be realistic about the whole situation. There’s no way something serious will come out of a relationship that’ssolong distance.”
“But he’s flying to see you,” I reason, shaking my head. “I think that counts for something. It shows how serious he is about it. There’s no way a guy would pay for a plane ticket just for something casual.”
“Maybe he has the money to do that though.” Harlee plays the devil’s advocate, her bubbly personality fading quickly.
“I can’t speak for that part of him,” I say carefully, not wanting to put false hope in a place it doesn’t belong. “But I don’tthink you should automatically assume the worst, either. I think there’s a good chance he’s into you as more than just something casual. Actions speak louder than words.”
“And doubts,” Harlee adds, leaning her chin against the palm of her hand. “I just worry I’m too used to being let down, you know? What if that ruins it? No one likes to be doubted just because of someone else before them. That’s unfair.”
I nod, not having ever really thought of it that way. “I guess maybe we should all work on that—not assuming the worst in people because of our past partners. It’s hard, though.”
“That’s why it’s calledbaggage.” Harlee laughs, but it doesn’t come close to reaching her eyes. In fact, she almost looks sad.
Before the conversation can deepen, the waitress appears with our food, setting the plates in front of us. We both tell her “thanks,” then avoid the sobering conversation by digging into our food. It seems to be our routine—we talk until the food arrives, then focus on eating for a while.
My phone starts to vibrate in my bag, and I fish it out while chewing on the last of my fries. I’m surprised to see Parker’s name on the screen. I spin it around to show Harlee. “I’m going to step out and take this. My brothernevercalls me.” I hit the answer button as I stand to my feet and Harlee nods.
“Hey, sis.” Parker’s voice is flat as I make my way to the exit of the restaurant.
“What’s up?” I keep my voice calm, but also leery as I step out into the sunlight. If there’s one thing I do miss about Florida, it’s the warmth. Coming back to a chilly March was not my favorite. I shiver under my cardigan and wrap my free arm around myself.
“I was just calling to check in…” His voice trails off in the most awkward way, and I can’t help but smile. “We don’t talk all that much, and we used to be really close growing up.” The lack of confidence in his voice is amusing.
“We were basically glued together as kids,” I say softly. “Kind of had to be.”
“Yeah.” He exhales. “Back when everything was loud, and messy. And … not great.”
I swallow. We don’t usually say it out loud like that.
“Did Amy put you up to this?”
“No, she didn’t, but she does make me think a lot harder about family. And the other night, when we were at Weston’s…” My heart skips a beat at the mention of his best friend. “We were playing Monopoly, and you know how much I love that game.”
“I know how much you love towinthat game.” I snort, shaking my head. “I don’t think you can actually love something that makes you so angry.”
He lets out a laugh. “Yeah, you have a point there. But seriously, I just wanted to call and tell you that it reminded me of you, and all the times we played it growing up—killing time in that tiny kitchen, trying to drown out everything else.”
My chest tightens at that. The shouting. The slammed doors. The way Parker always found something, anything, to distract me.
