Page 48 of Even After This
I gnash my teeth. “I don’t know, Harlan.”
I’m standing at the end of the high dive, legs shaking, board wobbling, unable to jump.
“Let me ask you something, Meredith.” He strokes my hand with his thumbs. “How can you read everyone else, but you can’t read me?”
I pull my body back into the deep chair, breaking our connection.
He runs his hands through his hair. “You see people. It’s a gift. You may not know the details, but you grasp the depth of their story in a short amount of time. How they’re wired. Where they’re broken. What they need.”
“Harlan—”
“You understand Sally to the core. You tolerated Olivia in an impossible moment.” He holds a finger up with each incriminating detail. “And, in a bizarre and miraculous way, you disarmed Penelope in record time.”
A puff of amusement escapes my mouth.
He lays his forearms against the edge of the table and leans in. “But why can’t you readme?”
My napkin seems to be my security blanket. I pick it up and run the seam through my thumb and forefinger, then drop it to the table. When I can no longer avoid the inevitable, I look at him. “Because I’m scared,” I whisper.
“Meredith.” His low growl mirrors his intense brown eyes. “All you would see is that I like you. That I want to spend more time with you.”
His reply hits me in the chest, and I have to draw in oxygen twice to recover from the declaration. We can’t do this. I’m too broken.
I shake my head. “I can’t do halfway, Harlan. I don’t have it in me. No games. No guessing.”
He spreads his palms flat on the table and answers without hesitation. “Not one thing I’m thinking about pursuing is halfway.”
My eyes widen in shock, but before I respond, one of the servers approaches our table.
My stress level has been rising parallel to my craving for a calming chocolate concoction. I long for the server to bring the dessert tray to the table in spite of Harlan’s earlier request to do otherwise.
He disappoints me beyond forgiveness when he pulls a metal straightedge from his apron to clear the surface of crumbs.
I begin to form my napkin into a fan, folding it back and forth. Back and forth, back and forth.
Think,Meredith. Think. In your gut,whatdo you know to be true about Harlan?
As I finish my masterpiece, Harlan’s gentle hand pulls the end of the cloth, unraveling the accordion fold. “You have more tricks with this thing than Houdini.”
Speaking of Houdini, the server has disappeared into thin air. I am now left without sugar or my origami napkin to help me copewith the impending destruction of the wall constructed around my carefully controlled life.
I mentally put on my big-girl panties and square my shoulders. Pinning Harlan’s gaze with mine, I ask, “So what would be next?”
Harlan’s grin finally reaches his eyes, and my insides warm with the understanding that I’m the reason for the beautiful phenomenon.
He claps his hands once and rubs them together. “I’ve got some vacation time coming my way. What about Thanksgiving? That’s six weeks away.”
I blink several times. “I spend Thanksgiving every year with my family.”
“Perfect. May I join you?” He takes a swig of water, watching me over the top of his goblet.
My eyelids flutter as if I’ve lost control over them. “You want our first date to be meeting my family on a major holiday?”
“Thanksgiving would not be our first date.” He sets his water down, thumb rubbing the condensation on the glass. “And yeah, I want to meet your family. Catch a glimpse of your life.”
No, I guess it wouldn’t be our first date.
When did I start going out with Harlan Holcombe? Later I’ll have to figure out how my life has turned into a possible tabloid story.
