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“No,” I croak, collapsing onto the edge of the bed. “I’m not okay. I’m a fucking idiot. I let this guy crawl all the way inside me—metaphorically and literally—and now he’s acting like I’m some casual hookup he can ghost after a weekend wedding. I wanted to drive back home with him, and he told me to get on a plane instead.”
There’s a pause. A long one.
“Wow. Okay. That was a lot.”
“Yeah, well, welcome to the circus.”
She exhales. “You want me to say he’s trash?”
“Yes. Please.”
“He’s trash,” she says immediately. “Absolute, emotionally stunted garbage.”
A laugh bubbles out of me, watery and unhinged. “God, thank you.”
“Any time. And for the record? You’re not an idiot. You’re just…you. If he can’t handle that, he’s a coward.”
I press the heel of my hand to my chest, trying to shove the ache back down. “You’re really going soft on me, Harp.”
“Not soft. Just honest.”
I swipe at my cheeks, mascara probably streaking everywhere. This might be the first honest moment Harper and I have shared in years, and it’s…kind of nice.
“Thanks,” I whisper. “For picking up. For not making me feel like an idiot.”
“You’re my sister. That’s literally my job, don’t get sappy.”
Ah, there’s the Harper I know and love.
“So what are you going to do now?” she asks.
My eyes dart to the suitcase on the bed. “Get on the plane, I guess.”
“It’s your decision, Whit. If you want to fly, fine. Fly. But don’t crawl into a corner because some broody jackass got spooked. That’s not you.”
A laugh slips out. “When did you turn into some wise-ass sage?”
“I’ve always been wise. You were just too busy talking to notice,” she teases with a smirk.
She has a point.
We say our goodbyes, and I drop the phone onto the bed, staring at the phone screen long after Harper’s name disappears. The silence in the room feels heavier now, more sobering.
He didn’t ask me to stay.
And sure, maybe he wanted to. Maybe he just didn’t know how to say it, but I’m not in the business of dragging words out of someone’s throat just so I can feel wanted. I’ve done that dance before, back when I was younger and more desperate to be chosen by people who didn’t know how to hold me.
I won’t do it again. If he wants me, he knows where to find me.
So I’ll get on the plane. Not because he told me to, though. But because I deserve to go where I’m wanted, and right now, that place sure as hell isn’t sitting beside a man who can’t decide if he wants to pull me close or push me away.
eighteen
. . .
Beau
You already matter.
