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I close my eyes, “You made your point.” I sigh.
I am beyond embarrassed, but this memory will live on and fill me with laughter. I will think about this Harp-a-thon whenever I need a good laugh or miss my friend. That’s why I love her. She’s the sister I never had and the embracing mother I lost. She embodies it all in one cringe-worthy best friend.
Her blue eyes flick past me; my body pivots to follow. Julian is leaning against my door frame, legs crossed, with a huge cringe on his face. His cheeks have a fresh flush of red, making his hair look more black than brown now. Behind him are two other guys who helped assemble my furniture.
They heard everything. All my pumpkin spice craziness. Puss puss included!
I guess this is a good thing; it’s all my craziness laid bare. Take it or leave it.
“What about you, Julian,” Kent shouts. “You want pumpkin spice puss puss.”
I can’t help it. A laugh escapes me. I roll my lips to hide it.
His eyes lock with mine, and the giggle vanishes from my lips. His eyes turn a dark stormy grey as they zero in on my lips, “I was told to eat all my fruits and vegetables.” His tongue darts out to swipe over his bottom lip. "Ladies," he nods as he dips his chin, then leaves and returns to his apartment.
Sweet lord, have mercy. I don't know if I can handle Texas.
***
"Ok," Harper begins as she combs through my wet hair. "It smells good. I get it, but I can't condone it." She bites.
We both had no choice but to use the pumpkin spice shower gel. In my defense, I had nothing else, and we both badly needed a shower.
"It's called karma. You are going to be haunted by pumpkin spice now," I joke.
She grabs a new section of hair and gently combs it. We're in my bathroom getting ready for drinks with Kent and Julian.
I'm exhausted; my body feels like jelly, but little sparks are flickering deep in my belly. Sparks I haven't felt in years.
"I'm nervous. Julian is…different," I confess. "And he's my neighbor; I should keep things friendly."
"Who's to say giving an orgasm can't be a friendly neighborly gesture."
"No one is giving orgasms out tonight." I retort.
"Tonight?" Her face gleams, "So maybe another night?" she shimmies her shoulders.
"Can we stay focused?"
She shrugs. "Different is good. It means something new and fresh. He's a man. A real man. You usually go for the polished country club type." She sticks out her tongue in disgust.
I can't argue with that. It was my type because I believed they were safe, stable, attractive, well-rounded, and had a life plan. Little did I know how wrong I was.
"What about Kent?" I inquire, rummaging through my cosmetic bag for my face lotion. My skin feels like it's been left in the desert sun too long—chap and dry. I'm going to have to baste myself like a turkey and pray my makeup doesn't decide to slide off my face in protest against the moisture.
Harper sets down the hairbrush and jumps up on my vanity to sit. "Kent is sin, and you know how much I like to make deals with devils." She grins, but it doesn’t reach her eyes. She looks over my new bathroom until her gaze lands on the marble accent wall behind my bathtub. Her gaze locks onto the veins in the stone as though reading the future from a palm.
"When will you settle down, Harper?" I blurt out. She has been playing the field for years now. Not that I expect her to look at Kent and say, 'That's it, he's the one,' but one day she might.
"Not everyone is the marrying type, Pops." She rolls her eyes, but they are anxious.
I swallow what feels like a wad of paper. "Not everyone dies," I mutter, tipping my chin up to look at my friend. "Look at me; some of us are forced to live." The truth is she won't settle down because she watched her best friend lose her parents, then her brother, and then emotionally lose her last brother. Harper is terrified that the person she chooses to love will be taken.
"Life is short," she turns back to face me, brings her knees up, and hugs them. "I just want to experience everything. Relationships can't allow me to do that."
"Intervention time," I quip.
She rolls her eyes.
