In Pursuit (22 page)

“I don’t know what to say,” he responds helplessly. Just knowing that he feels
something
towards me thaws a bit of the coldness in my chest.

“That’s okay. I’ll be okay. I always I am,” I force a cheerful tone. Then I cringe when I realize the time. “I woke you, didn’t I?”

He clears his throat roughly. “Sort of, but I took some time off, so I needed to get up.”

Wow.
He rarely took vacation days. “Good for you,” I murmur. “Well, uh, Dad, it was great to talk to you. I’ll call you again soon.”

“Bye, Ed,” he says my nickname again but this time it sounds like there’s something stuck in his throat.

When the call disconnects, I make a quick decision. I could sit on this step and wallow more, or I could make a game plan.

“Hello, Mr. Personality,“ I say when he picks up. “Are you busy?’

I don’t go home to change or shower, just head straight to Sean’s. He lives just a few blocks from where I’ve been running. We’re sitting on their small balcony sipping mimosas. Sean and Luke sit on either side of me.

I relay my run in with Harris through wobbly words.

“Oh, Eddie! That’s not a girlfriend. You must know I would have told you if he is seeing anyone,” Luke says.

I gasp at a sudden thought. “Sean, did you tell him about Peter?”

My thoughts turn to Amanda’s philandering husband and I don’t want to be caught spilling her private business around the firm.

Sean shifts uncomfortably next to me. “I did, but – “

“You can trust me, Eddie,” Luke says, covering my free hand with his for a moment. “Keep in mind, that I have to be a vault to keep my job. So, I know a lot more confidential stuff than that. Unfortunately. I already knew when Sean told me. The rumor mill runs rampant through the assistant network.”

I nod in acceptance. Luke and Sean are both trustworthy. Then I remember what he said earlier. “How do you know it wasn’t a girlfriend?”

“Because I booked the tennis courts when she called and asked me. It’s his friend Matt’s girlfriend, Jane. Matt works at the firm. A month ago, Matt tore his Achilles, and so Jane and Harris share a court occasionally. Not a thing to concern yourself.” His hand glosses over mine again, this time clutching for a beat longer.

I slump back in the patio chair, my mimosa swaying back in my hand.
Not his girlfriend, not his girlfriend
repeats. A sigh of relief slips out of my lips.

“That makes today a little better,” I admit.

Suddenly I’m engulfed in a hug by the gregarious couple.

“One day at a time.” Sean’s voice is muffled by the embrace and I sink into it.

When we retreat from the hug, Luke has a confused expression. “You should have seen how happy he was, Eddie. I don’t understand how it could have changed so quickly. Usually, he’s surly, but it was
bad
. When I left at six, he was still locked in his office, never came out for lunch, and when I offered to get him something, he just grunted. It’s so unlike him.”

I shrug. “If Claire can change his mind about me so easily, maybe I don’t want to be with him.”

It guts me to say it out loud, but deep down I know I need consistency in my relationships and so far this one lacks that trait.

We stay on the balcony for several more hours, talking about everything
not
related to the Grants. I tell them about my love of music and the songs I play. They make me promise to play for them. Maybe it was the time Harris overheard me singing, or knowing that these two care about me, too, but the idea sounds less daunting than it used to.

Sean lends me a long-sleeved shirt (he doesn’t wear sweatshirts; too grungy for his design aesthetic, he says) to wear home. We hug goodbye and as I walk home I reflect on our interaction. I feel infinitely better after spending time with them. I creep into the apartment quietly, hoping Claire isn’t home.

What I find shocks me.

“Hey, little mouse! Welcome home!” Claire and some of the women I met at the Franklin & Smith summer party are strewn about the living space, sipping wine, watching
Pretty Woman
and devouring snacks.

“H-hi,” I stammer, tugging at my shirt self-consciously. “I went out for a run and stopped by my friend’s house.”

“Get changed and come hang out. It’s a girls day,” she trills.

I wander into my bedroom, and begin stripping to take a shower. The door flies open and I jump, holding my bra to my chest to cover myself. It’s just Claire.

Knock much?
How quickly I’m learning to resent her.

“Hey, I just want to let you know you don’t have to worry about Harris stalking you anymore.” Her eyes are lit up like she’s thrilled.

How can I respond to that without flipping out?

I don’t feel comfortable sharing any of my feelings about Harris, so I stick with a simple, “Harris hasn’t been stalking me.”

“Look, I know he’s been so persistent and you just dated him because I said he’s lonely. But you don’t need to do that for me. I took care of him.”

That would explain the shouting match in his office.

She watches me expectantly, waiting for me to say something.
Why are you doing this?
I ask her silently.

Instead, I avoid the confrontation. “I think I’ll take a shower now.”

“Great! We’re going to have the best night,” she says emphatically. With a toothy grin, she flicks her long, long hair over her shoulder, and leaves my room.

Why didn’t you stand up for yourself?
I think angrily. The backbone I’m trying to grow is nowhere to be found.

I walk into the bathroom and close the door behind me, locking it so she can’t surprise me again. I finish undressing in there, and step into the warm water of the steam shower. Unease seeps under my skin. Claire’s behavior makes me want to move out
yesterday
, but what really makes me want to sink onto the floor of the shower stall and hug my knees to my chest is that Harris let me go so easily. Even if Claire told him not to date me, he would have fought for me if he truly wanted me.

O
n Sunday, after waking up with a brutal Claire-inflicted hangover, I find myself alone in the apartment. A text from Claire says she has “family stuff” to attend to, and probably won’t be back until tomorrow.

After I make myself a simple cereal breakfast, I spread out my laptop and work materials on the dining room table. It may be Sunday, but I don’t have anything better to do, so I decide to work. That’s the bonus of being your own boss – a flexible schedule. I enjoy my work, so it’s no burden to me to tackle a project today. I’m in the middle of researching fabrics for Mrs. Fletcher when a ringing phone jars my progress.

Sarah.
I nearly sigh with relief when I see her name on the screen. She’s back from vacation and we can finally talk.

“Hey,” I croak into the phone, overcome with longing to see my friend face to face. “What are you doing?” I ask, maintaining our tradition.

“Looking at pictures from our trip. What are you doing?”

“Reviewing fabric samples for a client. How was it?”

“It’s so good to hear your voice!" For the record, it’s been a little over a week since we spoke, but knowing that she misses me like I miss her soothes some of the scrapes in my heart. “The most relaxing trip ever. It would be perfect for a couple’s trip when you have a new boyfriend...”

I let her trail off, not biting. “Tell me what you did.”

She launches into a recap of the food they ate, the books she read, and how bronze her skin became from the omnipresent sunshine. A sigh of jealousy escapes. “Sounds wonderful.”

“Enough about that. What’s going on with Harris?”

Somehow, my voice stays even. “Pretty much dead before it even left the ground.”

“What?” she shrieks. Sarah, overdramatic? A little.

I quickly fill her in on the tumultuous past few days. Unfortunately, this recap also involves telling her the truth about my breakup with Jared. And my melodramatic friend bursts into tears after I explain Jared’s aggressive tendencies.

“Is that why you moved?” she whimpers into the phone.

“Oh, Sar, no. No. It sounds scary and awful – it was at the time – but I’m okay. My relationship with Jared wasn’t like that. Only once.” I clear the knot that lodged it’s way in my throat. “That night was a fluke that I didn’t want to repeat. I’m okay.”

She sniffles, but this seems to placate her. The space from Jared and my life in DC definitely helps the situation, but I feel
stronger
since moving here. Before, I couldn’t stand to think about what happened with my ex, now I’m beginning to leave it behind.

I change the subject and finish telling her about Harris. By the time I’m done with the run in on Rush Street, Sarah’s calmer and ready to dissect.

“He said he doesn’t date much, right? Maybe he got spooked. Give him some time.”

“Maybe. But there’s more to the story.”

“Go on.”

“Well, you know what happened that night we went to the bar? The fight I overheard in the middle of the night.”

She hums her acknowledgment.

“After the first date, she told me that Harris isn’t right for me, and I should move on. I thought it strange at the time, but I ignored her. I figured that I would leave it up to Harris and I to decide.”

“Of course. What does she have to do with your relationship with him?”

I can count on Sarah to always be my champion.

“But then, after I spent the night at his place, she was furious with me, or him, or I don’t know. Just scary angry. Then she told me that she’ll ‘fix it.’”

“Fix what?”

“Exactly. But the part that really makes me upset, is that I couldn’t even stand up for myself and question her.”

            “Mm,” Sarah acknowledges. “At least now you know when you speak up, now it’s about taking the next step.”

            “I guess.”

“So we need to find you a new apartment?”

“Soon, probably. How can I ever face Harris again?”

“Maybe he isn't prepared to be in a relationship. After everything that happened with Cooper, maybe his loyalties to his sister are too strong.”

“I wish he would let me in.”

“Relationships don’t happen overnight,” Sarah reminds me. “Remember, it took Greg two years to get up the courage to ask me out!”

“So what do I do now?” I ask helplessly.

“Do as I say, and not as I ever did in the past,” Sarah recommends. “Heal one day at a time. And if he gets his head of out his ass, let him pursue you.”

F
ive persistent text messages. That’s all it took for Sean to drag me out of my apartment and perform at an open mic at a bar in West Town. Pain from losing my tie to Harris lingers, but I’m listening to my friend’s advice, and forging on.

I’ve thrown myself into work, so when Sean started blowing up my phone, demanding that I leave the house and sing for him at what he described as a ‘dead’ club on a Tuesday, I agreed. It’s been weeks since I had my fingers on a piano.

While I finish my makeup, I hum to myself. Inwardly, I’m quaking like chihuahua riding on the Autobahn.