Finding Me (4 page)

“Where does your mom live?” I ask with a resigned breath.

“New York.”

“As in where
the
Thanksgiving Day parade is?”

“That place is a zoo,” Fitz says, shaking his head rapidly. “People camp out on the sidewalks for days. And if you think it’s cold going from here to your car, you’ll die—” His eyes flash to mine, and his face is tight with a wince that makes my heart constrict with guilt.

“But we could see Santa in person!” I tease in an attempt to brush away the awkwardness.

Fitz smiles gratefully and then sifts through some papers. “Remember to tell Kitty today that you need to reschedule next Wednesday.”

That afternoon, I pull up to Kitty’s and take a deep breath. I don’t know how she’ll react to me since I walked out on her last week. I can’t recall a time I’ve done something so blatantly rude, especially in a setting like this.

My gloved hands wring as I wait for her to answer the door. I see her dark hair first, followed by her smile. It’s warm and inviting, an exact replica of the one she’s greeted me with previous weeks.

“I think you may be in for your first Delaware snow,” she says, holding the door open.

My body shivers from the contrast of her warm house to the cold air outside as I follow Kitty down the hall to her home office.

“I’m sorry that I left.” The words fall from my mouth as I turn toward the couch. When she doesn’t immediately reply, I glance up to see her sitting in front of her desk once again, her green eyes bright and focused on me.

“Are you sorry you left because you feel like you did something wrong? Or are you sorry you left because you’re ready to actually start talking about why you’re here?”

“Because it was rude of me to have left like that.”

“Harper, no one’s going to force you to discuss something you’re uncomfortable with here. With that being said, unless you’re willing to open up and actually discuss something with a little bit of substance, you’re never going to overcome the initial reason that brought you here.”

“I just need some time. Everyone thinks I should be over things already, and I can’t. I’m not. I don’t work like that. I just need some time.”

“Who’s everyone?”

“Everyone!” I cry, waving an arm out to the empty room. “I just needed some space.”

“From whom?”

“Me … I think.” Kitty’s eyes are wide, but relaxed, conveying that she’s listening patiently to my words, not expecting me to go faster or reveal more than whatever I’m willing to give.

I swallow audibly in the silence of the room and lower my gaze to the small fish tank that is a new addition.

“Last spring things sort of fell apart for me. I was dating this guy, and I know that at twenty it’s naive to think you’ve met the love of your life, because really, there’s so much more of your life to live. And this world is so big. And there are so many people on it that if a soul mate truly does exist, it’s nearly impossible to say you’ll ever meet them, because how can you meet everyone on the planet? Unless you believe in fate or something like that, where if you’re destined to be together, you won’t have to go looking for them because your own destiny will make your paths cross. But again, you meet so many people it’s impossible to say when you meet that person if they’re really the one.” I let out a frustrated breath and shake my head slightly to clear the onslaught of long winded theoretical questions.

“Sorry, I start thinking with my philosophical mind about this stuff lately, and it leads me to so many questions and possible answers that my head swims. It’s irrelevant.” I brush my hand in the air again, clearing my invisible words and confessions, and the gesture makes my heart throb as
his
face appears in my mind.

It subsides slightly as I focus on a new pain. “My dad,” I swallow again as tears begin to swim in my eyes that watch my fingers pull at a loose thread on the cuff of my shirt, “he died.” I press my lips together and blink several times in an attempt to keep the tears at bay.

I cling to the shards of anger her initial question sparked that still resonate within me, relying on them to dull the pain multiplying by the second. “In a few short weeks I lost them both. And then my mom started hanging out with my parents’ lawyer!
Their lawyer
,” I repeat, tilting my head back against the couch and looking at the far wall. “How can you love someone for over thirty years and then pretend as though they never existed? I just feel so …” My eyes rove over the room, searching for the right words. After a moment I look to Kitty, who’s still looking back at me.

“I can’t tell you what emotion you’re feeling.”

“Betrayed.” The word flies from my mouth before her last one settles, shocking me at my own admission. “I feel betrayed,” I confirm.

“By whom?”

“All of them,” I admit quietly.

Thankfully, Kitty seems to understand without saying anything that this is a big step for me. Telling her about Max, my dad, and my mom—all three sides of my Bermuda Triangle. We sit in silence for a few minutes, neither of us seems to be in a hurry to continue the discussion, and I briefly wonder if she had any idea what kind of monsters I have hidden when this all began.

“Any of those events would be really difficult to adjust to. Having all three of them occur so quickly I’m sure was quite devastating.”

For some reason the empathy in her words, the same one laced within her voice, along with the softness in her eyes, makes tears flood my vision again. This time I can’t prevent them from sliding down my cheeks.

“I know other people experience things so much worse than what I am. I feel so selfish for not being able to just face this.”

“Harper, loss is never easy. And you’re experiencing the loss of three people that you love.” I note that she doesn’t say loved, as in I used to love them, because she apparently realizes that I very much still do.

“What happened?” She leaves the question open, and my mind spins with responses.
What happened when? What happened that led Max and I to breaking up? What happened that caused my father’s death? What happened after my father’s death?
I can tell by the curious expression on her face that she’s waiting for me to choose my own interpretation of her question, and rather than play into her games, I remove all of the pieces from the board with one fell swoop and replace them all with a safer topic.

“I’m going to New York for Thanksgiving with my friend, Fitz. I’m sorry for the late notice, but I won’t be able to attend our appointment next week.”

“New York! That will be fun! What part are you going to be visiting?”

My mind races to recall if Fitz has ever told me where in New York he grew up as I rub the sleeve of my shirt across my cheeks. “I’m not sure,” I admit, furrowing my eyebrows as I continue to recount his childhood. I know he lived in upstate New York, but I know so little about the area to know how specific or broad that term is.

“Is that safe?” My thoughts clear and I look up to Kitty again and see the concern on her face. “Sometimes it’s easy to lapse into activities that aren’t typical for us when we’re dealing with pain so that we don’t have to face it.”

“Fitz?” I ask. “No.” I laugh once at the thought. “Fitz is my friend. My only friend really. At least here. He and I work together. I’m his lab assistant.”

“Relationships in the office can be—”

“He’s gay.”

Kitty stops talking and looks at me for a moment and I nod. “We’re only friends. Really, I’d be perfectly fine staying here and watching the parade on my laptop, and watching movies all day with some takeout, but he seems pretty set on me going.”

Kitty still appears to be working to redirect her thoughts to this new piece of information. Thankfully it buys me a decent amount of time, and we’re able to discuss little more about any of my feelings before our time ends.

“… Life was meant to be lived. Curiosity must be kept alive. One must never, for whatever reason, turn his back on life.”

–Eleanor Roosevelt

A
persistent buzzing makes me groan and open my eyes. It’s dark and cold, making coherent thoughts difficult. The noise continues and I sit up, my heart thundering as I finally realize it’s my doorbell. I reach for my phone and see that it’s not even 4 a.m., and consider my options.

The sound is relentless, and reminds me of a cat howling, rather than an actual doorbell. It so rarely gets used, the sound isn’t familiar at all. I keep my phone tightly gripped in my hand with 9-1-1 already entered on the keypad, ready to press send as I creep to the front door.

The buzzing stops before I reach the small linoleum entryway, and I feel slightly relieved, wondering if it’s a boyfriend or girlfriend of another tenant. I turn and release a deep breath, smiling at myself for being afraid. My smile disappears with the loud bang of a fist against my door that makes me leap in the air.

“I know you’re home, Harper!”

Although I recognize the voice, I still look through the peep hole because this makes absolutely no sense. Fitz is standing on the cement slab, nearly hidden behind a scarf and hat that he has pulled so low it’s covering his eyebrows. I swing open the door with a scowl.

“What are you doing?”

“Come on, California, we’ve got to get going.”

“Have you been drinking?”

“No, of course not. Who drinks at this hour?”

“Are you high?”

“High on life, baby.”

“It’s three-thirty, Fitz!”

His cheeks lift with a smile his scarf hides. “I know. We’re wasting daylight! Let’s go! Let’s go!” His voice is so loud it sounds like he’s yelling through a bull horn.

“My neighbors are going to shoot you. Get in here!” I grip his jacket in my fist as I hiss the words and tug him into my apartment.

Fitz unwraps his scarf, revealing his smile. “Dress in layers. The car will be warm, but you need to have some things you can pile on,” he instructs, ignoring my warning as he follows me inside, still talking at a too-loud volume that has me closing my bedroom door in his face to gain some brief moments of silence.

I don’t bother showering, or even brushing my hair. Accomplishing the simple task of brushing my teeth is a chore. I pack the last of my bath products that I intended to use this morning into my bag and pull on a pair of jeans, a long-sleeved shirt, and sweatshirt. I tie my Converse shoes and grab the rest of my snow gear and suitcase and head out to where Fitz is inspecting my fridge.

“Where’s all your food? You have to start expanding beyond cereal and peanut butter and jelly sandwiches, H. You aren’t five.”

“Need I remind you that it’s not even four? Be nice.”

Fitz blasts the heater and the radio, which streams a playlist from his iPod that I’m familiar with. He plays it on days we’re having success in the lab; it’s his happy, upbeat music that makes his head bounce and smile beam as he sings along. I smile from where I’m curled up against the door with my jacket covering my legs that are folded against my chest as he hits every note of the song without thought.

“What are you smiling about over there?” he asks, turning his attention from the road to glance at me.

“I’m glad you’re bringing me with you.”

Fitz nods a couple of times and then reaches forward to turn the radio down a few decibels. “Is your family disappointed you aren’t coming home?”

“I think they were sort of expecting the news.”

“They’ll all be together today? You once mentioned that they live close together, right?”

“Yeah, my two oldest sisters live less than ten minutes away from my mom, and my middle sister lives just outside of San Diego, about fifteen minutes with good traffic from both my mom and Kendall, who lives near the college.”

Fitz nods, looking lost in thought. His jaw clenches and releases a few times as though he’s working to say something more, but after a few minutes he turns the music back up and returns to singing. I nod off.

“Alright, H, time to bundle up.”

My eyes blink several times to rid the sleep, and I instantly feel the loss of heat as Fitz turns off the engine. We’re in a dark parking garage, surrounded by large pillars and several other small cars.

“We have to bundle up to go inside?”

“We have to bundle up because it’s not even twenty out yet and the wind is terrible. Add another sweatshirt before you put your coat on.” Fitz pulls out a couple of blankets and a bag, and then unloads some camping chairs.

“What are you doing?” I ask curiously, trying not to allow my hopes to sky rocket.

“You said you wanted to see Santa.”

My scream echoes in the vast space as I jump in the air. The hat and scarf I’m holding fall as I race around the car and throw myself at Fitz in an aggressive hug. “We’re going to see the parade?”

“Here I was worrying you wouldn’t be nearly as excited as you had said you’d be.”

“This has been on my bucket list since I was like five!”

“Well, time to cross it off. Lots of layers, it’s cold.”

I anxiously move around, pulling my gear on with a new sense of energy.

The wind hits us like a slap in the face. Although the top half of me is decently warm, my legs feel frozen. But the excitement of what we’re going to do lessens the sting, and we follow dozens of other parade goers to the Upper West Side.