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  One thing Anton and I have in common is that both of our fathers have passed away. His died from a heart attack at seventy-eight. Mine died in a car accident at thirty-eight. There’s a fifteen-year age difference between his mother and father.

  Even in our similarity, there’s difference.

  About that time, the bell above the door chimes again, and in walks Anton with a bright smile on his face.

  “I see you two have finally met.” He walks over to his mother and kisses her cheek, and she kisses his back.

  “Harper, sweetie. Do me a favor and bag these up. I’ll send my driver over tomorrow to pick them up for me. Just put them on my account.” She picks half a dozen things haphazardly off the rack and practically throws them into my arms. “It was lovely meeting you, and I look forward to seeing you again. Anton, darling, I’ll wait for you in the car.”

  He smiles at her and nods. I can’t help but wonder if I’ve been set up somehow, like Anton planned this whole encounter.

  “It was nice meeting you as well,” I say a bit robotically, trying to wrap my head around the whirlwind that is Chelsea Bertolini. I place the items on the counter and feel Anton walk up behind me. When the door chimes with his mother’s departure, he leans in and brushes his lips against my cheek.

  I turn my face, and he’s only inches away. “She wants you to come for dinner this weekend.”

  “Okay.” His proximity forces me into agreeing with him before I can think about what exactly I’m agreeing to.

  “Yeah?” he asks, backing up and raising his eyebrows in question.

  “Yeah.” I lean against the counter, and he places his hands on either side of me.

  “Thank you.” He smiles brighter and leans his forehead into mine. “This will make her very happy.”

  “And what about you?” I ask, trying to figure him out.

  “It’ll make me happy too.”

  “Good.” I smile and nod, but inside, I wonder if she’d really be happy if she knew everything about me. Something tells me Chelsea Bertolini has a very specific idea of who Anton should be with, and I’m not sure if that person is me.

  §

  On Sunday evening, I’m standing in my bathroom, overanalyzing the outfit I borrowed from Layla. I only have a few dresses that I wear during the summer, so she loaned me a deep purple sweater dress, black tights, and heels.

  My phone buzzes on the counter, and I pick it up to see a message from Anton.

  Anton: My appointment is running late. Can you take a taxi there, and I’ll drive you home?

  The plan was that he would swing by to pick me up after the appointment he had this afternoon. His mother lives uptown, and it would take me forever to get there on the bus. Not to mention, there is no way I’m walking very far in these shoes.

  Me: Yeah, that’s fine. Just let me know the address, and I’ll meet you.

  A minute later, the address comes through, and I take a deep breath before putting on my jacket and grabbing my purse. It doesn’t go with what I’m wearing, but it’s the only one I have, so it’ll have to do.

  “Have fun,” Layla calls out as I walk out the door.

  On the ride over, I think about the interaction with Anton’s mom the other day in the store and try to think of things to talk to her about, imagining how the evening will go.

  Fortunately, when the driver stops and lets me out near the curb, Anton is there waiting for me, which is good, because I had no plans of going up without him.

  He smiles and immediately apologizes for not picking me up. After handing the driver money through the window, he takes my hand and pulls me to him. “Thanks so much for doing this.”

  “I’m happy to...really.” I think I’m still trying to convince myself when he bends down and places his lips on mine. There’s no rush, no intensity. It’s nice and soft.

  He lingers for a moment and then pulls back and continues walking toward the door, where a man greets him by name. He opens the door for us and ushers us into what looks like a hotel.

  Maybe his mother lives in a hotel?

  On the ride up the elevator, Anton removes his hand from mine and rests it on the small of my back. The gesture reminds me of Luke, and I force myself to push him out of my mind. I’m here with Anton. I can’t be thinking about Luke. That’s not fair.

  “Deep in thought?” he asks as the elevator smoothly stops at the sixteenth floor.

  “I guess so.” I smile to try to put him at ease.

  The minute the door opens, his mother greets us both in her usual manner.

  Anton takes both of our jackets and hangs them in a closet by the door. We haven’t even sat down to dinner yet, and it all feels so formal already. The space is beautiful, like nothing I’ve ever seen before outside of movies and my imagination. The windows of the living room wrap around the entire space, and Mrs. Bertolini boasts that you can see both the east and west side skylines. After walking close and taking a look myself, I also notice that she has a perfect view of the park. I’ve only been there a couple of times since I moved to the city, but I love it.

  Mrs. Bertolini and Anton fall into comfortable conversation about their recent business transactions and Anton’s meeting from today. She coaches him, prodding him on what to say and how to handle the people he’s working with. When she puts on this hat, I can see that she’s probably really good at what she does. I’m sure Anton is too.

  When we finally sit down at the elegant dining room table, I feel myself wanting to fidget. The napkin in my lap feels heavy. The china feels too fragile. The wine looks too expensive. Anton glances over and places his hand on my leg. I didn’t even realize I was moving it. I smile an apology, and we begin to eat.

  “Anton, dear,” Mrs. Bertolini begins, and I hope it’s not more real estate talk. I don’t mind not having to hold a conversation, but I think I’ve heard all of it I can take for one night. “Did you hear about Paula and Sam Winters’ daughter? What’s her name?” She tilts her head and cuts her eyes like she’s pondering.

  “Olivia,” Anton says after taking a sip of his wine.

  “Yes.” Mrs. Bertolini’s voice takes on a conspiratorial tone.

  “I heard she’s doing charity work in South Africa,” Anton says, cutting a piece of steak with his fork. With. His. Fork. Because this steak is probably the best I’ve ever had. I continue enjoying it while they gossip.

  “Yes, well,” she says, her voice dropping lower, “I heard she’s really at a rehabilitation center in Australia. Apparently, she’s been using her inheritance to fund a fairly substantial drug problem.” She looks at Anton with raised eyebrows and pursed lips. “I always knew that girl was trouble.”

  “Her only problem was that her parents gave her anything she wanted.”

  “Thank God you never had a penchant for illegal substances.”

  Anton chuckles and rolls his eyes.

  “Harper.” Her smile is more forced. “Tell me about your parents.”

  My face instantly heats up and my palms begin to sweat. This is the one question I wanted to avoid. I think about feigning a coughing fit or an illness or excuse myself to the bathroom, but I’d eventually have to come back.

  “My father passed away eight years ago, and my mother is currently in a rehabilitation center.”

  I can see Anton put his fork down and turn slightly in his chair, but I can’t bring myself to look at him. I don’t want to see his face right now.

  “Oh, dear. Is she ill?”

  “Yes, she is...ill.” It’s not the whole truth, but it’s not a lie. I know you can lie by omission, but I’d rather not air my dirty laundry on Mrs. Bertolini’s gorgeous tablescape. It would crush the peonies.

  Thankfully, she doesn’t ask more about her, keeping me from more lies. For the rest of the evening, I try to fly under the radar and let Anton and Mrs. Bertolini carry the conversation, only speaking when necessary.

  Sometime later, after dessert, when we’re getting ready to leave, I excuse myself
to the bathroom, but I don’t really need to pee. I just need a moment to myself. Trying to be something I’m not is exhausting. Being here, with Anton and Mrs. Bertolini is exhausting.

  Sitting on the closed toilet seat, I take a few deep, cleansing breaths, and after a few moments, I wash my hands and quietly walk out. Stopping at the corner that leads to the large foyer, I overhear Anton and his mother speaking in hushed tones.

  “She doesn’t even know what she wants to do with her life, Anton. Is that really someone you want to be with?”

  That statement should sting, but it doesn’t. It’s the truth. I’m just starting to find my way, figuring out what I want to do. I’m not ashamed of that.

  “Mother, not everyone is like you...or me. And that’s okay. I like Harper. Please don’t make this a game of choosing sides.”

  “Of course not, darling.” Her tone lightens, but it’s still placating. I can tell she doesn’t mean it. Finally, I peek around the corner to see her patting his cheek. “Thank you for coming to dinner tonight and for bringing Harper. She’s delightful.”

  I’m guessing Mrs. Bertolini is using reverse psychology on her son. If she were to dig in her heels about me, she’s probably afraid it’ll make him want me more. So, she’s playing the odds and letting nature take its course. Smart woman.

  I take this as my cue to make my presence known.

  “Thank you so much for having me over for dinner, Mrs. Bertolini.”

  “You’re welcome, dear. Please come again.”

  I smile sweetly at her, feeling a bit stronger with the knowledge I’ve been given—knowing where I stand with Mrs. Bertolini and what game she’s playing. I might not be an Ivy Leaguer, but I’m not a stupid girl.

  Anton helps me with my jacket, and a few seconds later, we’re sharing a silent ride down the elevator.

  Once we’re in his car and driving back toward Layla and Connor’s, I decide I need to tell him about Sadie. It’s stupid not to. I could never be with someone who doesn’t know everything about me, so there’s no sense keeping it a secret.

  “My mother, Sadie, is an addict. She’s in Fremont Rehabilitation Center. That’s why I moved here. She was in the hospital last weekend because she overdosed. She had been in a halfway house when it happened, but she’s now back in rehab.”

  Anton doesn’t make any quick comments or movements. He keeps his eyes on the road ahead of us. “I’m sorry.”

  “Yeah.” Me too.

  “That must be really hard on you.”

  “She’s been an addict my whole life. It’s all I know.”

  We drive the rest of the way in silence, letting the differences between us settle. When we get to the apartment, he pulls up near the curb and puts the car in park.

  “Thank you for coming tonight.”

  “Thank you for inviting me. The dinner was delicious.”

  He smirks and leans forward, placing his lips on mine once again. I kiss him back, hoping for some sign that this is where I’m supposed to be, but there’s not one. Not yet, anyway.

  “Good night.”

  “Good night, Harper.”

  Harper

  The last few weeks have been a whirlwind of work, classes, Anton, and Luke. I finally found an opportunity to mention Luke to Anton without it sounding like I’d been hiding him. After I told Luke that I’d been seeing someone, I felt it was only fair to tell Anton that there’s a Luke. I just explained that we had something at one point and it ended badly. I told him Luke showed up to apologize and explain himself and that we’d been talking. I couldn’t really tell how Anton felt about it, but he said he thought it was good...that closure is good.

  What I didn’t tell him is that it doesn’t feel like closure. It feels like an opening. Luke’s opening up to me, and I’m opening up to him, and we’re back to having easy conversations. I wish I saw him more than once a week, but for now, I’ll take what I can get.

  When I walk into the library’s staff lounge, I immediately regret it.

  “I swear, Layla. Kyle gave me the pounding of my life last night!”

  Hoping my friends haven’t noticed me yet, I slowly start walking backwards to get out of the room.

  “Not so fast, Evans. Get back in here,” Layla commands.

  “Aww, come on. You know I don’t want to hear about your sex lives,” I whine.

  Both Mia and Layla give me their best eyebrow-raised bitch faces and stare at me expectantly.

  With a heavy sigh, I plop down in a chair across from the couch they’re on. Plastering a fake smile on my face, I snark, “Please, Mia, continue your story.”

  Completely ignoring my attitude, Mia proceeds. “As I was saying, Kyle gave it to me so good last night. I swear I saw stars!” Even though most of my grumbling about listening to their sex stories comes from pure jealousy, I can’t help but smile at my friend. Then she drops a bombshell. “Kyle swears that last night was the night and that I’m sure to be pregnant this time.”

  Layla and I look at each other before what Mia just said sinks in; then we practically tackle her as we gush our congratulations. “Oh, my gosh, Mia! You’re having a baby? That’s amazing!”

  “Mia, I’m sorry for being so pissy earlier,” I tell her once we’ve calmed down.

  “Please, girl. You know I’d be talking about Kyle’s monster cock regardless. Don’t worry about it.” She winks at me as I blush and giggle.

  “Well, I admit, I’m surprised you’re still so secretive about your sex life, Harper,” Layla says with a cock of her eyebrow. “I mean, you’re seeing two guys! You gotta be getting some from at least one of them by now.”

  I can only imagine how red my face is right now.

  “I’m not sleeping with either of them.”

  “Why the hell not?” Mia blurts out.

  “Anton and I have only kissed a few times. He’s never made any kind of move beyond that. Besides, I’m not seeing two guys. Anton and I date, but we’re not exclusive, and Luke and I are really just friends.”

  “But they know about each other, right?” Layla asks.

  “Yeah, they do.”

  “Then just you wait, Harper dear. Soon, that competitive male gene will start rearing its ugly head in both of them, and they’ll be pissing all over your leg.”

  “That’s not what I want,” I admit truthfully. It’s never been my intention to lead either of them on. I enjoy being with both guys, but Anton moves really slow and Luke even slower.

  “How are Anton’s kisses?” Mia asks. When I give her a strange look, she elaborates. “His kisses. How are they? Are they sweet? Passionate? Do they make your toes and lips tingle?”

  Thinking back to the few times Anton and I have kissed, I try to remember how they made me feel. “They’ve all been quick pecks so far, but his lips are soft,” I offer.

  “You mean, he hasn’t slipped you the tongue yet?” Layla practically shouts her question, and I look around the room to make sure we’re still alone.

  “No, he hasn’t.” The doubt about Anton that I’ve tried to ignore lately starts creeping in, bringing with it all my old insecurities. “Maybe he’s not attracted to me.”

  “Don’t even start that shit, Harper Evans. You are not the problem. Do you think he might be gay?”

  “No. I think he’s just very proper. You should see his mother...very uptight.”

  “What about Luke?” Mia asks. “Have you kissed him?”

  I shake my head, not willing to give anything about Luke away. Those are my memories. I’m keeping them.

  “That’s what I thought,” Mia says, pointing to my chair. “Look at you squirming. You want Luke, and I’m sure he feels the same, so do something about it already!”

  I can’t deny the attraction I feel toward Luke. That’s never been the problem, but I also like Anton’s company, and I wonder if I’m not giving him a fair chance now that Luke is back in my life.

  “I’m so confused.”

  “Don’t worry so much, Harper,” Mia
says to comfort me. “Just do what I’d do. Fuck ‘em both, and then decide.”

  §

  Another week passes, and I’m back at my usual table at Mr. Chan’s, waiting for Luke. I’ve really enjoyed getting to know him better this time around, and I’m thrilled to know there’s still so much more to learn about him.

  I still daydream about going on a real date with Luke, but remembering the sound of his voice saying “was”, regarding his feelings for me, always wakes me up and sets me straight. I don’t blame him. My actions caused him to put me in the friend zone, so I have to accept it.

  The smell of my favorite soup causes me to look up just as Luke walks to the table. He places two bowls down before kissing my temple and sitting down across from me.

  “Hey,” he says. “I went ahead and ordered for us. Hope that’s okay.”

  I clear my throat and smile at him. “Of course it is. Thank you.”

  I try hard to remain calm as I place my napkin on my lap and then take a sip of water, but I can’t stop focusing on that kiss. I’d forgotten just how good his lips feel. In the grand scheme of things, it shouldn’t be a big deal. It was a sweet kiss—purely platonic, I’m sure—used to greet me. That’s all.

  But if that’s the case, then why am I fixated on how half of his mouth landed on my hair while the other half made actual contact with my skin, leaving behind a damp heat that’s now traveling across my body?

  “Look. Mr. Chan gave me two wontons! I’m still not even close to being his favorite, but I don’t think he hates me anymore.”

  Laughing, I look at my bowl, which is completely covered with wontons. “It’s definitely a start. At least he’s laying off the hot sauce now.”

  “Hell yes. My body and I both thank him for that.” He smiles at me, and I swear I forget how to breathe. He’s just so...happy now. It looks great on him.

  “What has you so chipper this evening?”

  “I just left my appointment with my therapist.”

  “I take it that went well,” I prod.

  “It did. So well, in fact, that we’re now going to meet once a week instead of twice, and she says she thinks I’m ready to go back to work.” He’s beaming, and I can’t help but return his smile.