Page 49 of Even After This
Scanning the restaurant, I decide to tackle the next server I spot and demand immediate sugar consumption. Is it in poor taste to grab the leftovers from the table next to us?
I refocus on Harlan. “So, Thanksgiving at my house? Where will you stay? What about Alex?”
“Alex will be with Olivia this year.” He shakes his glass, jostling the ice. “Avoiding the paparazzi is easier if you don’t mind my staying at your house. I don’t want them tracking me to find you. But we can work around it if you’re uncomfortable with my sleeping on your couch.”
He’s speaking the English language, but I cannot comprehend what he’s saying.
Seriously, why is there not a double order of chocolate cake in front of me to counteract this anxiety-producing discussion?
As our server passes our table, Harlan holds up his hand to signal her and orders two coffees. After she leaves, he sprawls back in his chair and stretches his long legs. “What are you thinking?” He crosses his arms as he waits.
I clench my fists. “Harlan, if you come to my house, you’ll see Steve, Clayton, and Chloe everywhere. I don’t just mean in the pictures on the walls. I mean no one in my inner circle is allowed to censor stories or feelings about them. Would you be comfortable with that?”
His gaze lingers on me while the server returns and fills our mugs. Once we’re alone again, he puts his weight onto his folded arms on the table. “Whatever our relationship is or becomes, Meredith, it includes Steve, Clayton, and Chloe. They’re your family.” He stops for a moment. “I want you to share your memories with me so I can know them. So I can know you.”
My heart beats rapidly, and moisture brims my eyes.
He reaches over with one hand, cups my face, and wipes a tear with his thumb. “What do you think, sweetheart? Can I spend Thanksgiving with you?”
“That’s the first time you’ve called me sweetheart,” I whisper.
“It’s not the first time I’ve thought it,” he says, watching his thumb brush softly over my cheek.
The answer washes over me.Jump in,Meredith. The waters are warm and safe.
“Okay,” I say.
The beautiful smile that breaks over his face feels like a reward for my bravery. “Okay,” he repeats.
His palm slides from my face, down my neck, shoulder, and arm, to my hand, ending with a squeeze. He cranes his neck, searching the restaurant. “Now, let’s find someone who will bringdessert. I’m willing to bet you need massive amounts of chocolate right about now.”
I’m grinning like an idiot for the second time today, but I don’t care. “Don’t suggest we split something.” I wave the neglected menu toward him. “I’m not sharing.”
Desserts in our bellies, my elbow in the crook of Harlan’s, we enter the lobby, and something on the television at the hotel bar catches my eye. “Come with me.” I grab his hand and lead him.
We enter the room, and his long strides slow. He yanks back. “Oh, please, no.”
My eyes feel like they’re glittering as I flash a smile his direction. “Humor me.” Ignoring his groan, I walk forward, weaving through people, dragging him behind me.
On the screen in front of us, a local news anchor stands in a field with a river behind him, reporting on the Hometown Hercules sensation.
As we sneak through the crowd, it takes great restraint for me to resist yelling, “Hercules is here!”
My eyes are slow to adjust to the dark atmosphere. We lean against the wall, and I survey the surrounding patrons.
Three twentysomething ladies lean forward in their bar chairs with their high-heeled feet propped on the crosspiece below. They whisper, giggle, and point to the screen.
“Hercules is haawwt,” the brunette says, and giggles spread through the group of women.
Harlan shakes his head.
But one devastating peek at the TV and my critical mistake is staring at me in high-definition.
Panic begins to spread through my gut.
We arrived just in time to see the full rescue video. A video I’ve purposely avoided.
My eyes barely have time to take in the overcast day, thebrowning field of grass, and the group of young people in the screen of the smartphone video. The audience view wobbles as the camera operator follows a dancing girl to a wooden fence, the flowing river in the backdrop. The girl balances on the top of the fence and claims to remember her fourth grade beam routine.
