Chapter 5
Harper POV
I had an hour to pull myself together, but first, I
needed to settle Liam in. My feet stalled in front of the one door I never
opened—her door. For so long, I’d trained myself to pass by it as if it were
nothing but a piece of the wall, a door to nowhere. Pretending it didn’t exist
was easier than facing the ache it held. But even when closed, it gnawed at me,
a splinter in every waking hour.
Now I stood here with Liam, hesitating, hand hovering
over the knob. Could I really open this room to a stranger?
But I couldn’t let her sleep out there, not tonight,
not any night.
“I want to give you a tour, but that will—”
“I’ve already seen enough.”
Her eyes lingered on the door, as though she was
burning to know what lay inside. I almost suggested we share my bed instead.
The thought was absurd and reckless, but at least it would spare me this.
Still, my voice betrayed me before I could turn back.
“Okay.”
The door creaked as I pushed it open, and the air
inside wrapped around me like a ghost. Her perfume lingered. The memories
rushed in so fast it was like being gutted from the inside. I missed her. God,
I missed her so much.
Liam stepped in cautiously, her eyes scanning the
space. I caught her expression softening at the muted walls, the neatness, the
calmness that contrasted my own cluttered corners of the house.
“My daughter was a minimalist,” I managed,. “Like you.
She hated clutter.”
“I can see that.”
I forced my eyes anywhere but the shelves, the
dresser, the bed neatly tucked as though she’d return any minute. For years, I
kept this door sealed. Every so often, when grief dulled just enough, I’d sneak
in, straighten things up, then lock it all away again. Some days I wanted to
demolish it, wipe the space clean of her existence so the wound could finally
scar. Other days, I clung to it like an anchor, grateful that a part of her
still lived within these walls.
I was handing it over. Letting another person breathe
in this space. It felt like a betrayal and a mercy at the same time.
Liam wandered toward the dresser. Her gaze fell on the
framed photograph, her fingers brushing the gold trim before she even seemed to
realize she’d picked it up.
“Your daughter was skinny,” she said, almost absently.
“She got that from her father’s side. Lucky for her.”
I muttered, bitterness seeping out before I could cage it.
Liam turned, holding the frame gently, studying the
smiling girl frozen in time. My chest ached watching her touch what I’d always
handled so carefully, as though it might shatter with too much pressure. My
first instinct was to snatch it away, to snap at her for trespassing in
something so sacred. But then I thought of my daughter, the way she opened
herself to the world, arms wide, never meeting a stranger. She would’ve wanted
someone here. She would’ve wanted the room alive again.
And so, I stayed quiet.
My social butterfly.
“You’re happy she’s skinny,”
“She wouldn’t have fit in at university if she looked
like me.”
Her brow furrowed. “High school’s the problem, right?
Not university.”
“I don’t know.” My chest tightened as old memories
clawed at me. “I got bullied a little in high school, actually, a lot. But I
survived. I don’t think my daughter would’ve survived. So I… I
portion-controlled her meals. Just in case. Just for extra safety.” I swallowed
hard, shame rising. “I wish the world was nicer. But it wasn’t. It isn’t.”
She studied me quietly. “Is she coming home for the
holiday?”
The question ripped through me. My heart ached so
violently I thought I might fold in on myself. I shook my head.
“Why not? Are you guys not on good terms? I hate my
parents too. You can’t blame them for—”
How I wished that were the truth. That Cassie hated me
enough to stay away. At least then she’d be alive somewhere, living her life,
even if it was without me.
“She’s dead,” I whispered.
I turned my face from Liam. I didn’t want to see pity
in her eyes. But the silence that followed pressed down on us like a pile of
stones.
“How?” she asked softly.
I watched as she set the frame back on the dresser,
exactly where it had been, not even a fraction out of place. She didn’t know
how much that mattered. I wasn’t an organized woman by nature, but Cassie’s
room was different. In here, everything had its place. My memories needed
order. If something shifted, it was like losing her all over again.
“She got sick,” I said, my voice cracking in the
telling.
“What type?”
“Pulmonary embolism. It’s not genetic. It’s just…” I
faltered. “It’s sudden. It can happen to anyone, at any time.”
Liam nodded slowly. “I know. Learned it in science
class. A blockage in the arteries of the lungs.”
“Yeah.”
There was another long pause before she turned to look
at me fully, her expression unreadable. “Your daughter’s dead. But you’re still
shining… why?”
The words knocked the breath out of me.
“Some people would be depressed,” she added,
I leaned against the doorframe, suddenly weary.
“Cassie wouldn’t want me to be depressed. She was light itself, she lit up
every room she entered. Even now… I can almost hear her telling me to keep
moving. To go on this date, to try, to live. To move on, no matter how
impossible it feels.”
“A date?” Liam blinked at me, her brows lifting as
though the very idea was laughable. As if someone like me wasn’t worth asking
out. And honestly? I almost agreed with her.
“Well, slightly,” I admitted, forcing a shrug. “I’m
not exactly dating material.”
Her lips curled in a sly grin. “Who would wanna date
you?”
I couldn’t help it, I laughed. Not out of confidence,
but because her bluntness was so absurd it circled back to funny. “Good
question. But… Georgie. He’s a professor at the Edinburgh University of Science
and Law.”
“Nerd,” she muttered, jamming her hands into the front
pocket of her hoodie.
“I would say so,” I countered. “But in a good way.
He’s smart, sweet, supportive. Always showing up at the coffee shop.”
She snorted. “Not really. He’s only doing it because
he wants you. Good to see someone going the extra mile for pussy.”
My jaw dropped. “Excuse me?”
The smirk she shot me was pure mischief. She sauntered
over and sat carefully on the edge of Cassie’s bed, deliberate in the way she
didn’t disturb the covers. Like she knew, somehow, how sacred they were.
“I mean, it’s good,” she said casually, stretching her
arms over her knees.
“I… guess,” I muttered, still caught between shock and
laughter.
“If I were rich, I’d do it too.”
I raised a brow at her. She had a way of derailing me
with every other sentence. She was unfiltered in a way that made me uneasy and
yet, oddly, entertained.
“That’s nice to know,” I said slowly. “But I can
guarantee if you were rich, you wouldn’t even look my way.”
“You’re right,” she said without hesitation.
I laughed again, shaking my head. “I’d say your type
is skinny men—”
“I fuck women, Harper.”
The words landed like a stone in still water.
“You’re… lesbian.”
Her expression didn’t flinch, didn’t soften. She just
watched me, daring me to make it a bigger deal than it was.
“Isn’t it obvious?” Liam’s tone carried that dry,
teasing edge. “Don’t I have the persona of one?” She lifted her hand, flashing
her two middle fingers with a crooked grin. “I don’t use them that much. But
since you were staring, I figured you’d notice.”
I blinked, startled. The nails were shorter than the
others.
“Wow,” I muttered, half in fascination, half in
disbelief. I’d only ever really spoken to one lesbian before. Slenderina. Maybe
some of my customers were, but you couldn’t always tell. Not everyone walked
around with their sexuality stamped on their forehead.
“Mhm.” She smirked, like my reaction amused her.
I cleared my throat. “So, let me rephrase. Your type
is skinny blondes with blue eyes?”
Her grin widened. “When I’m sober.”
“You take drugs?”
“Too low for my character.”
I couldn’t help but laugh. She was poor, rough around
the edges, but she carried herself like she was untouchable, like she had
character to spare.
“Alcohol, then,” I teased.
“Now we’re talking.” Her eyes lit just slightly. “You
got alcohol?”
I giggled, nodding, suddenly too eager. “We could get
drunk together.”
“Now we’re really talking.”
The thought lingered longer than it should have, a
reckless little spark in the back of my mind. But I shook it off. “Another
time. I have a date I need to get ready for. Good night.”
“Good night,” she echoed, softer than before. She
pulled the door closed, not with her usual sharpness but slowly, until the
latch clicked shut in my face.
I stood there grinning like an idiot at the closed
door. Rude, brash, completely inappropriate and yet she was funny. I couldn’t
help it; she made me laugh. Still smiling, I turned toward my own room.
One glance at the clock and I gasped. 6:45. Fifteen
minutes. My date.
Panic surged. I hadn’t picked out a single thing to
wear. With the weather threatening rain, I could probably get away with snug
jeans and a sweatshirt. But Georgie was a professor. Maybe I needed to look
like I at least knew how to put myself together.
I ripped open the closet doors and was immediately
assaulted by a mountain of fabric spilling out. My cursed collection. Clothes
I’d convinced myself looked “so fucking good” in the store mirror, only
to hate them once I got them home. Each one abandoned here, crammed until the
closet could barely breathe.
Now they tumbled at my feet, mocking me.
How was I supposed to find a pair of jeans and a
sweatshirt in this avalanche of regret I called a closet? I tugged one from the
heap—hopeful—only to see a coffee stain glaring up at me. Absolutely not. Not
for a first date.
And I hadn’t even showered. God. Should I cancel?
No. No, I couldn’t. This was my shot. My only one. A
man finally thought I was pretty. The least I could do was show up and prove
him right or at least try not to look like a lunatic. I tried to steady myself
with a deep breath, only to choke on it when I saw Liam leaning against the
doorframe.
She was still a stranger, technically. For all I knew,
she could be a serial killer. A hot, grumpy, mean serial killer. The kind you’d
read about in one of those true crime podcasts, except better dressed in
sarcasm than blood.
“She wouldn’t kill me,” I muttered to myself. “Serial
killers usually have a type.”
“How long were you there?” I demanded, voice squeaky.
“Long enough to enjoy your crashing-out episode,”
“Oh my.” I let out a nervous giggle, the kind that
made me feel like I could vomit out of every hole in my body.
“Your date,” she added, lips curling. “Georgie, was
it? He’s at the front door. As in… inside the house.”
My eyes widened. “Shit.”
She clicked her tongue. “You cursed.”
I flushed a violent red. “I’m sorry! I just, I wasn’t
prepared, and I told him tonight because I needed this. I didn’t want to see
his pretty eyes go dull.”
“His eyes look ugly to me,” she deadpanned.
A bubble of laughter escaped me, against all odds. She
made me laugh the way Cassie used to, with that brutal honesty that caught me
off guard.
“Can you do something for me?” I asked, lowering my
voice.
“That depends.”
“Could you… keep him company? Just for a little while.
Tell him I’ll be a couple minutes. Or, um… maybe an hour late.”
“Sure.”
“Thank you so—”
But she was already gone, her footsteps fading down
the hall before I could finish.
I let out a long, exasperated sigh and turned back to
the mountain of clothes. If I wanted this date to happen, I’d have to wrestle
the closet beast into submission first.
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