I laugh. “It really does.” But she’s right. I need to tell Charlie how I feel and beg him to forgive me. Standing, I discard the blanket and hug my sister. “Thanks, Harper.”
“Don’t worry, bro. He’ll forgive you.” She pats my back reassuringly. “It’s not like you robbed someone. And then maxed out their credit cards and left them penniless.”
I pull back to look at her. “That’s not funny, Harper.”
“It’s a little funny.” She holds out her fingers.
“That guy was an asshole.” We don’t say his name. Ever.
“That guy isn’t the point. The only person keeping you from achieving your dreams is you.”
I stare at her.
She shrugs. “According to my therapist.”
“You have a therapist?”
“That info is on a need-to-know basis.” She grins. “Now, let’s talk strategy. How are you getting your man back?”
“No—” The ringing of my phone saves me. Charlie. My heart leaps at his name and profile picture on my phone, hijacking my brain. “Charlie? I mean, Chas. Thank God. I’m so sorry?—”
“Stop. I—” He takes a few breaths. “I can’t get everything done for Mom and Dad’s party by myself. I need your help.”
“Yes. Of course. Just tell me what to do.” I almost break down and beg him to take me back. I miss him so much.
His voice wavers. “I can’t handle more than that right now, okay?”
“Whatever you need, Chas.”
Harper’s grinning at me, but I’m not sure it’s time to celebrate. This isn’t Charlie forgiving me. But it’s a start.
17
CHARLIE
Friday, February 14th
The next fewdays fly by as I work on getting my life in order. At the office and at home. Brad and I work together to finalize preparations for a spectacular surprise 30thAnniversary-slash-Valentine’s Day party.
We considered various venues, but decided early on that having it at my parents’ home, where they built their life together, would be the most romantic and practical. Mom’s receptionist, Shelly, keeps her at City Hall until we’re ready.
Harper arrives early to help Brad and me get everything set up. As we decorate with hearts, streamers, and balloons, she gives us looks, and I wonder what Brad told her. I’m arranging the food in the kitchen when she corners me.
“You did an amazing job. Your parents are going to love this.”
I don’t look at her. I’m not sure I want to see the pity in her eyes. “Thanks. Brad, um, helped.”
“He misses you.” The pity isn’t there. It’s more sadness tinged with guilt.
“I can’t do this right now, Harper.” I arrange the food from Mae’s. And then rearrange it.
“It’s my fault too.”
Some of my frustration fades. How long has she blamed herself for my life choices? “None of this is your fault.”
“I asked Brad to?—”
“Keep an eye on me. I know. I heard, remember?”
