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"So," Harper draws out the word, a prelude to the deeper conversation she's been circling.
"Ask me what you want to ask, Harper. You’re never shy with words," I encourage, knowing her well enough to sense when she's holding back.
She gives me a sidelong glance, then turns to rifle through Julian's collection of ties as if she's searching for treasure among the silks. "How are you doing?" she blurts out, the words tumbling over each other in her haste.
Aw, so that’s what’s going on. Harper wants to talk seriously, which is her greatest struggle when she doesn’t have a bottle of wine to build her courage.
It's a simple question, loaded with layers of concern and unspoken fear. "I’m… 'ok' seems like a safe word. I mean, I am ok physically," I admit.
She exhales in a playful relief, "Well, mentally, you and I were always a screw loose, so that’s no concern then," she kids, her attempt at humor a bridge over troubled waters.
I let out a slow smile, grateful for her presence. "I’ll get through this," I say, more to convince myself than her.
"I know you will," Harper responds, her tone serious for a moment before she adds, "and if you end up adopting a cat when this is all done, then if that one cat turns into ten, I won’t blame you." It's her way of saying she's here for me, no matter what.
She rolls her shoulders back, and I can see her trying to bury her serious emotions, her fears, which make her falter.“I won’t support the pussy cat, don’t expect me to help you clean up fur balls or scrub the scent of cat piss out of your running shoes, but I won’t blame you.”
My laugh turns infectious, and Harper begins to giggle. "Love you," I say, wrapping her in a hug.
"Love you, too," she replies, her arms tight around me.
My arms drop slowly. "Julian gave me a number for a doctor," I mention, watching her reaction closely.
"Don’t tell me he gave you an STD?" Harper gasps dramatically, a sparkle of humor in her eyes.
“Stop!" I swat playfully at her arm.“It’s for a shrink. He thinks I should talk to her about, you know," I circle my hand in the air, "everything." I turn and start grabbing my shoes off the rack. I've slowly been filling the other side of Julian's closet with my things. Actually, so many of my items are in his place that I have everything I need. I would never need to step inside my apartment again. I'm not sure I want to.
"I think you should," Harper replies. She grabs a neatly rolled grey silk tie and begins to unroll it. She places it on her neck and begins to fiddle with it like a kid playing dress-up.
"I don’t know what I’d say," I state as I bend down and start to place each shoe in its travel bag. My fingers fiddle over the string before I pull it closed.
"You start by saying, 'Hi. My name is Poppy. I was once on my way to becoming an insane cat lady wannabe, but then I found a man with an insane cock, and now I'm just one of those half-crazy people. Oh, and I’ve got a really crazy ex who’s stalking me, but my badass best friend is on the case, so don’t fret.’" She says it so seriously that I look up and smile, wondering how she manages to say such ridiculous things without cracking a smile.
I stand and walk to the luggage, then begin to pack the shoes inside.
"Oh, and don’t forget to tell her your biggest problem," Harper says, her eyes narrowing in concentration on the tie as she tries to knot it.
"What’s that?" I stand and remove her hands from the tie, then fix it. I know how to tie a tie because I watched Peter teach Henry when we had to go to our parents' funeral.
"Pumpkin spice addiction," she grins. "That outweighs every issue you have on your plate."
I giggle as I finish making the tie perfect. "You’re so ridiculous."
"I know." She grabs the tie, further emphasizing my point, then pushes up the knot and straightens it tight around her neck. "Thank you," she whispers, then hesitates before she admits, "Sometimes I wish we were just kids again."
I look at her and feel like we are in this moment. It's like we're playing dress-up, and with each layer of clothing, all our worries will be forgotten.
I pat her shoulder, "What are you talking about? We still are. We never grew up."
She grins, but it’s sad and filled with memories. "I really think you should talk to someone. As much as I wish it were me you could talk to, I know that I don't have the willpower to remain composed when you start getting into the deep details about what Andrew did. Promise me you will talk to this doctor," she replies, biting her lip.
I nod. "I promise.”
***
My eyes narrow to the brink of etching a permanent wrinkle, a testament to my extensive range of facial expressions. Honestly, I'm a walking billboard for dermatologists – the quintessential "before" in a before-and-after showcase for facial fillers.
I raise my hand and touch my forehead to flatten it out, but as soon as it is smooth, it wants to furrow again.
