Of Happiness (17 page)

“Wait, which one of us got engaged last night? Because I don’t think I’ve ever seen you so happy in our eight years of friendship.” Sarah grips my shoulders, studying me at arm’s length when I greet her in line at the café.

I feel my cheeks heat, but I don’t avoid her scrutiny. If there’s anyone I know will join in my excitement, it’s Sarah.

“Harris told me he loves me last night.” I’m gushing.

Sarah’s mouth drops open and she squeaks out a noise. In the weeks since I moved to Chicago it appears that Sarah’s dramatizations have not decreased. “And?”

“And I said it back of course.”

Lucky for me the interrogation pauses when we reach the cashier and order our drinks and pastries. Sarah and I have a habit: we order different sweets and then split them in half, so we can taste what the other ordered.

“Separate or together?” the bored-sounding barista asks us.

Nudging Sarah out of the way, I hand over a few bills. “Together,” I say cheerfully.

“Hey! What are you doing?”

“Consider it my first engagement gift.” Change in hand, I loop my arm through hers and drag her to a table in the middle of the bustling coffee shop.

“Previously on Eddie Neff’s life: she left one Mr. Harris Grant in the middle of a sidewalk in downtown Chicago to reunite with her estranged father.” Her eyes flash teasingly as she retells my story like she’s recapping a soap opera.

“Did my life become a daytime drama and no one told me?”   

“Sort of. Can you please catch me with an episode recap?”

“With your help”—I give her a pointed stare and she offers a sheepish grin—“my dad and I found a way to relate. At least, start the conversation to relate to each other. I found myself thinking if I could forgive my dad for years of distance, how could I not forgive the man I had fallen in love with?”

Sarah nods. “Keep going.”

A clerk brings our coffees and breakfast pastries. We maintain our ritual, splitting the blueberry scone (mine) and croissant (hers) down the middle and trading. I sip from my cappuccino, sighing in delight.

“And Harris and I broke down all the barriers that were left.” I stare into my coffee cup, contemplating how to deliver the next part of my story. “We talked, I mean really talked, about everything. He told me about Cooper.” My eyes flicker to her inquisitive ones. As my best friend, she’s used to me telling her everything, but in this situation, I won’t. “Sar, there’s not much I want to keep from you, but I can’t betray Harris’ trust and share what we discussed.”

She holds up a hand, indicating I should stop talking. “Say no more. I’m thrilled you’re in a relationship where you have that level of trust. Believe me, as close as we are, there are some things that stick with just Greg and me.” The hand she has raised reaches across the table to squeeze mine. “There was never that depth to your relationship with Jared. Don’t be mad, but I always thought the relationship was shallow like you never showed him the Eddie that I know and adore.”

Chewing thoughtfully on a bite of scone, I nod my head in agreement. “Maybe if I was still dating Jared, I’d be upset by that assessment. You’re right, though. The relationship was one of convenience. He used me for my appearance and I used him to keep the loneliness at bay.”

Sara’s eyes widen. “You were lonely?”

“Not for a friend, because I have the two best friends known to man.” She smiles faintly at that. “But for romantic affection? Yes, I craved it.”  

“Things are wonderful with you and Harris, and I hate to bring this up, but what about the dreaded Claire?”

I fidget in my seat. “Well, she’s at some sort of therapeutic retreat.”

My friend makes a noise of acknowledgement.

“Harris strongly suggested she go. He, um, recommended she accept that he was with me and get her head screwed on straight. Eventually his plan is for her to move out of his apartment and stand on her own feet.”

“That’s probably good for an adult woman, don’t you think?”

I wrinkle my nose. “It’s hard to imagine the pain she went through and then her parents relocated to the other end of the earth.”

Sarah makes a
tsk
noise. “Definitely not easy, that’s for sure. But that doesn’t mean she gets a free pass for sabotaging your business, or your relationship for that matter.”

“Apparently she told Amanda the truth. Although I haven’t heard from Amanda or the other client that dropped me. I’m starting from square one again, I guess.”

Sarah shrugs. “You can focus on your work now that things are settled with Harris. Will you stay with Sean and Luke until you find a place of your own?”

“Um, well, that’s the thing… Harris invited me to move in with him and I sort of agreed.” I rush the words out, mumbling the last bit.

“What?!” Sarah jumps in her seat, eyes flashing with an emotion that I’m not able to name. “You’re moving in together?”

I hurry to explain, knowing this is a nontraditional choice. “We’re moving at warp speed, I fully acknowledge it, but, Sarah, I
know.
”

She grins triumphantly at me, leaning back in her chair and crossing her arms across her chest.

“I
know
you
know.
And Greg
knows
. Everyone
knows
Harris is mad about you and you’re mad about him. Sure it seems fast, but you two are clearly both in this for the long haul.”

Love the way that sounds.

“Speaking of long hauls,” I say, “someone here got engaged last night. Can we focus on that? It’s far more interesting a topic than my drama.” 

“You’re my maid of honor, right?” Sarah worries her bottom lip between her teeth, eyes wide.

“It would be my pleasure.” My eyes well up with unexpected tears, and I launch myself around the table, pulling Sarah into a hug. Of course she doesn’t know this maid of honor will also perform a very special musical tribute to the couple as requested by her fiancé.

“Do my eyes deceive me?” A masculine voice asks from behind us. My body stills, the man behind the voice all too familiar.

“Eddie Neff, my long lost love returns. It must be my lucky day.” Jared Gordon, my not-so-lost ex-boyfriend, declares in a tone that could not be mistaken for anything other than sarcastic.

Slowly and with a stomach full of dread, I release my friend and swivel around to face him. With his neat brown hair and roughish smile, Jared would be easily be considered handsome by a passerby. I’ve uncovered what lurks beneath his deep, dark chocolate-colored eyes and I can just as easily assure the most inquisitive onlooker that Jared Gordon lacks the goodness to be considered handsome.

Something bad is about to happen.

“Don’t just stare, Eddie. It isn’t polite. Come over here and give me a hug. Didn’t your father teach you manners?” Though he says the words with a smarmy smile, a flash of anger lights his eyes.

Little does Jared know, his word choice inflicts no sting. Mentioning my father a few weeks ago could have caused me an automatic flinch, or other external reaction. Today my features remain blissfully neutral, because Dad and I are finding our way into each other’s lives.

Jared loses patience and makes his way around the small table to my side. Without my consent, he pulls me into a tight hug. My arms hover around his back and I angle my face as far from his chest as I can manage. The musk of his cologne overwhelms me, reminding me of our last night together. Urgently I wiggle out of his grasp and force a tight smile.

“Hello, Jared.”

“Moved to Chicago and became a bitch, huh?”

In her seat, Sarah gasps and shoots upward, so that she’s standing directly behind my right shoulder. “I thought you hated this place?”

My hand drifts to her to tangle our fingers together. She squeezes my sweaty palm lightly, lending her strength. Silently I thank her, tightening my grip.

“Things change.” Jared’s jaw tightens and he stares at me pointedly.

“Yes, they most certainly do,” I mutter, matching his unpleasant glare.

“What do you want?” Sarah practically growls from my side.

The smarmy smile slips slightly, his brow furrows. “Calm down. Eddie doesn’t need you to save her, Sarah. I’m just messing with you two. Since you both seemed to have lost your sense of humor, I think I’ll be on my way.” He nods his head sharply at us, and stalks across the small café, yanking the door and storming outside without a beverage.

Shakily I return to my seat. “What the hell was that?” I say almost to myself.

“Who was that guy? I’ve never seen him full of so much rage.”

“Let’s try to forget about him,” I say with forced ease. “Back to wedding talk.”

Sarah brightens, and starts telling me that she and her mother got into a heated debate about the wedding venue. Luckily, they agree that the wedding should be in Chicago, but Sarah prefers a city wedding while her mother wants it at the botanical gardens.

I only listen halfheartedly, my mind caught by turmoil. Should I tell Harris about this run-in with Jared? Without having the conversation, I can imagine his furious reaction and immediate action. Harris had no qualms about threatening Jared and his father. But really, what can I tell him? Other than the uncomfortable hug, not much happened.

“Stop worrying about Jared. He’s gone.” Sarah breaks into my thoughts.  “You don’t need to tell Harris every little thing that happens. And that was just a fleeting, unpleasant stench of an encounter. Let it go.”

“How do you always know what I’m thinking?”

“It’s in the best friend handbook. How do you always know what I’m thinking?”

Wrinkling my nose, I consider the question. “The same way, I suppose.”

“Let’s stop wasting any time on that heap of garbage. Do you agree with me or Mom?”

F
or another thirty minutes, Sarah and I weigh the pros and cons of wedding venues. Glancing down at the time on my phone, I realize that I should head back to my man, and Sarah needs to visit with her parents before they leave for Chicago, too.

With a flurry of thumb taps on my phone, I text Patrick and request he pick me up. Then I send a message to Harris to let him know I’m on my way.

We walk outside the café into the stifling heat.

“Even though you didn’t plan it yourself, thank you so, so much for being here,” Sarah gushes.

“Thank you for encouraging me to give him another shot. If it weren’t for Harris, I’d probably not have been with you two.”

We grip each other in a tight hug like the one we exchanged right before I moved to Chicago. There’s no immediate plans to see each other soon, and I’m already missing her.

“Text me when you land, okay?” she whispers through a thick throat.

“Bye, bride.”

She beams with pleasure at the nickname, and takes a few backward steps away from me. She lifts her fingers in a wave.

Not more than a few seconds after Sarah departs, someone taps my shoulder. I whirl, somehow knowing before I see him who demands my attention. When I observe him now, it’s like a blindfold has been removed and I am confronted with the real Jared. Though taller than me, he seems miniature in comparison to the towering Harris. The lean muscles I found to be comforting at one time now are scrawny, and used to hurt, not console.

“What is it, Jared?” I ask like I’m bored with him, but I’m still tangled up in nervous energy by his presence.

“Tell me, Eddie, how long did it take for you to find someone else to fuck after we broke up?” he spits.

I force my features to remain neutral, though my heart pounds in my chest. My eyes leave his as I scan the street for Patrick. The black sedan is nowhere to be found and I’m on the verge of grabbing a cab when Jared sinks unyielding fingers into my bare biceps, jerking my body foreword.

“I don’t know what kind of piece shit you had call and threaten me, but you better tell him I’m not afraid of some pathetic nobody from Chicago,” he sneers with little concern. Apparently Jared has never heard of the Grant family or seen the lengths of their influence.

I struggle in his grasp. “Let me go, Jared.”

He snorts out a laugh and releases me. I resist the urge to rub my upper arms in comfort as my skin smarts from the contact.

“Some sniveling lawyer from a crappy law firm shouldn’t make threats against a US congressman,” Jared warns.

At that statement, I half-smile. “Harris Grant is a man of his word,” I mutter.

There’s not a flash of recognition, no flicker of anxiety in Jared.

“Listen.” Jared takes a menacing step forward, entering my circle of personal space. “Call off your guard dog or you will both regret it.”

“What does that mean?” I’m unable to hide the trepidation I feel with an even tone. 

Raising his hand, Jared captures my chin in his hand, a gesture that causes me to nearly gag in disgust. How quickly his touch has become nearly nauseating.

“Gosh, Edith”—he’s almost pleasant now, friendliness in his eyes—“have you lost weight? You’re less than a hundred now? I’ve heard that Chicago can be very dangerous, you better be careful in that city.”

My mouth falls open to retort, but no words materialize. This time I’m unable to keep the fear off my face when his friendly expression turns wicked. Shivers cascade down my shoulders with his implication.