I lie in bed again, feeling like my chest has been stuffed with cotton. I can’t breathe. I can hear the condescending tone of my heart as images fly through my mind—images of Max smiling and laughing, looking at me with adoration and love. I can feel his skin warm against me, taste his lips as they touch mine. My breath hitches as a sharp, gut-wrenching ache forces me to curl into myself and grasp my chest to make sure I haven’t somehow been physically ripped open.
I need comfort. I need to hear him, to feel him, to smell him. But I can’t, and the fact causes my pain to intensify. I reach for my phone and hit a couple of buttons, fighting the guilt for calling so late.
“Hey!” her chipper voice is so clear, it sounds like it could be beside me, rather than across the country.
I take a deep breath and close my eyes.
“Ace? Are you okay?”
The sound of concern in Kendall’s voice only makes it worse. A strangled cry emits from my throat as I picture the expression that I know accompanies her current tone.
“Oh, Ace, what happened? Are you alright?” I hear a few quiet murmurs in the background, but can’t distinguish any of it over my gasps of breath.
“I can’t get over him,” I choke out. “I don’t know how to make it go away.”
“Oh, Ace.”
“I got kissed tonight,” I whisper, wiping at my cheeks that are wet from tears.
She doesn’t reply. I can imagine her trying to figure out what to say to encourage me that everything will be alright. It’s horrible that I need to hear her tell me that I should come back, and that Max and I will get back together, because after all, I’m not sure that I can go back.
“Maybe it’s because it was the first time? Maybe this had to happen for it to get easier.” Her words cripple me. Kendall’s my only sister that doesn’t ask about boys or dating, like she understands that my heart won’t stop loving Max, but this advice speaks in volumes to me. It tells me she thinks it’s over.
“Destiny is a name often given in retrospect to choices that had dramatic consequences.”
– J.K. Rowling
“How are you feeling today, Harper?”
Our hour always begins with this same simple, overly common question that I’ve begun to loathe. Traditionally, this greeting can be evaded so easily with a smile or a returned question. That’s never the case with Kitty. She seems to really want to know.
It’s been a couple of weeks since she brought up my dad and the reasons for me moving out here. When I returned, I didn’t apologize for leaving the following week, and she didn’t either. Maybe we both know that she pushed too hard. Or maybe we both know that I’m just not ready for her to push that hard.
“I don’t know.”
Kitty waits patiently. I’m tempted to wait with her, see how long she can actually tolerate this silence.
I don’t last long. “Fitz and I went to a bar Friday, and this guy that Fitz knows asked me out.”
Kitty’s head tilts to the side. “You’re concerned about going out and having a good time?” I don’t protest. I don’t know how to explain my objections without sounding a little crazy. “Harper, time will always pass, but sometimes you forget to pay attention until it’s too late.”
“Too late for me to go out with this guy? Or too late to fix things?”
“What do you think?”
“I don’t know.”
“Why don’t we discuss Max a little today? Perhaps that will help you find the answer you’re seeking.”
I shift in my seat, already uncomfortable with the mere thought of where this conversation will lead. My fingers trace along the seat cushion.
“Do you think that your connection to Max could be so strong because he’s the only man you’ve ever slept with? That you feel like you’re committing an indiscretion by caring for another person?”
I’m slightly shocked by her words. Generally, she never allots me feelings or thoughts, always working to prod them from me. I shake my head and shrug at the same time. “No.” Her eyes obviously catch the small shrug, and I reiterate. “I think that I would feel like I was committing an indiscretion, but I don’t think the reason I feel that way is because I’ve only slept with him.”
“What made you decide that you were ready to give your virtue to Max? Obviously, you had waited a very long time.”
“I just knew,” I say, blinking back the memories and Kendall’s taunting voice in my head for Kitty using the word virtue. “I think I knew way before I admitted it to myself that I loved Max.”
“Were you in any serious relationships before Max?”
I nod. “Yeah, I dated several guys. I was just always reluctant to go that far for some reason. It had just never felt right.”
“Do you think that you were afraid to sleep with other guys prior to Max because of what happened to you at that party?”
“No.” I shake my head, working to explain to her what I already know. “No, I had sex with Max because I was ready, and I wanted to. I dated a lot of people before he and I got together, but they never gave me the same feelings that he had.”
“I’m glad. That … situation…” She pauses, and I can hear her thoughts, though she doesn’t voice them. We spent most of last week discussing the last night of my drinking at parties after Kendall called me last Wednesday.
“Hey, Kendall,” I’d answered with ease. I had feared that things would become more strained with my sisters and me when I made the decision to take some time away from our mom. I didn’t ask my sisters to do the same, and was reluctant to tell them all initially, concerned I’d influence their decisions. However, if anything, Kendall’s and my relationship seems to have reached a new level of growth. We’ve always talked about things, but often times we experienced so many situations together that we were usually sharing different perspectives, inside jokes, or filling in details. Now we explain our completely separate lives to one another—something that is much harder, but feels even more significant.
“Did he hurt you?” I could hear the trepidation in Kendall’s voice, and it had me stopping in the middle of the aisle with my shopping cart still only half-filled with the groceries I was in dire need of.
“What? Someone hurt you?”
“What did Nathan Hudson do?”
My blood ran cold and my focus was forced to split from the fear of what she had heard to who in the hell told her something. “What are you talking about?”
“What did Nathan Hudson do, Ace? Did he hurt you?” Her voice rose with an intensity that made the small hairs on my arms and back of my neck rise.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” My voice was strained, desperate to deflect the entire conversation.
“Goddammit, Ace, please!” I couldn’t imagine her face with the unfamiliar tone that echoed back at me. I didn’t know if she was ready to cry or scream. “Swear to me, swear to me he didn’t touch you.”
“I don’t understand what you’re talking about. Who have you been talking to?”
“Oh my God …” Her voice had become so quiet that I missed a few of her words as a mom came around the corner with a cart full of toddlers fighting over something. “…why didn’t you tell me?”
“There’s nothing to tell.”
“When did it happen?”
“You know why I hate him,” I urged.
“Is it why you left?”
“Are you listening to me?”
“Why didn’t you tell anyone?” Her voice was forceful, impatient, and filled with tears.
“Kendall, stop. You have no idea what you’re talking about. This isn’t something we’re discussing.”
“Like hell we’re not discussing th—”
I hung up.