I touch his arm, askingwhat’s wrongwithout using any words.
He shows me the photos of a small town outside of Denver. “It’s cute,” he says with his mouth. His face spells out the truth, though, like I’m sure mine does as well. The awnings look old and quaint but the stores are huge and well-known. I scan and sure enough, a Prada store. A restaurant that has a chef’s name I recognize from TV. Even the lampposts are too modern for the cozy sidewalks.
I shrug and whisper, “We’ll show him.”
“Will we?” Maxine asks me.
I nod but Steven answers. “We will. St. Pat’s was just a trial run to see how we could execute Harper’s plan. All of us banding together around every single holiday. I think we did pretty well.”
“Tell that to my bank account!” Max replies. “Did you see a big bump yesterday?” She asks me. I shake my head because, no, no I did not. She sighs, “Me either. And it’s going to be a beast to clean up after each of these things.”
“Again, it was a trial run! Next up is Easter but even before that, we have The Maple Tap. We’ll focus less on the rallying together for the theme and more on actual profits. Right, Harp?”
Four sets of worried eyes land on me. My stomach flips. I’m not used to the attention. But I’m the only one who spoke up, unbelievably.
“Right,” I say, my voice cracking. One word, one syllable. Should be easy to get out.
But I feel the weight of it as they watch me.
What if we can’t show the Evil Lord that we’re worth saving? Worth preserving?
“Big handsome jerk will be thanking us by Labor Day!” Steven adds, overly cheerful.
Big handsome jerk, exactly.
“Ah yes, Harper, the mastermind with the eyes.”
My eyes are odd, I know. Very big and widespread on my face. Steven says I look a lot like Anya Taylor-Joy’s red-headed twin. But who just says those kinds of things out loud?
He was also right about the smell. But is it my fault cabbage is part of so many traditional Irish dishes? I’m not even going to think about the bakery comment.
He…
He’s awful.
I’ve googled him myself because of course I have.
Which has led me to wonder how on earth so many—so many!— gorgeous women have agreed to go out with him. Money, I guess. I get it. Lavish displays, designer dresses, fancy gifts. Sounds nice.
He’s also very nice to look at.
Until he starts to talk.
I chuckle as I take down a clover garland.They probably weren’t doing muchtalkingon those dates, Harper!
I roll my eyes at myself. Not every gorgeous, rich guy is a player. He may not even have any game. I’d bet a good chunk of change he doesn’t. I’ll never forget during our awkward years, seventh grade I think, when Janie turned to me and said, “Don’t waste your first kiss on a hot guy. Hot guys don’t have to try as hard.”
To which my mind replied,Try at what? Have you already had a first kiss? With who? Should I have had one? Who’s going to kiss the weird, mute girl?
I didn’t verbalize any of those thoughts. But, looking back, I think that exchange may have actually been the catalyst for me to take my speech therapy seriously.
Of course, in those days, I could only ever dream of kissing one person.
What a fool I was.
What a fool I was for a freaking decade.
I shake my head as I throw a big pile of clover decorations into a storage bin. I stalk back to the counter. I’m not a fool anymore.
