Page 56 of The Thinnest Air
He’s a fixer. And he’s smart. He’s her safety net.
She never had a father to call when she needed help with her homework or when her refrigerator broke down and was leaking fluid all over her floor and she couldn’t afford to call a technician.
She never had a father to praise her intelligence over her beauty, to tell her never to settle, and to keep shooting for the top.
She never had a father ... but she had Harris.
“When are you and Greer getting back together?” I ask, resting my chin on my hands and winking.
“Ship sailed long ago,” he says, refusing to meet my curious stare.
“But you don’t act like it. You still love her. I know you do,” I say. “And she still loves you. She loves the hell out of you. I know you know.”
Harris shakes his head, wiping the counter with a red-striped rag. “I don’t believe in marriage.”
“Oh. One ofthose.”
He scoffs. “Marriage is an outdated concept. People aren’t meant to be with one person the rest of their lives; we’re just not. Nobody belongs to anyone. If we love someone, we can be with them if we want, but we don’t need an expensive ring and a flimsy piece of paper that you’re going to tuck away in a filing cabinet and never look at again.”
Funny he says this because for a while he and Greer were thinking of tying the knot. Guess people change and their opinions follow suit.
“It’s romantic, though,” I say. “It’s a sign of commitment.”
“We must have completely different ideas of romance, then.”
“Clearly.” I rise up, peering over the counter. “Hey, Harris. If you’re bored, you want to make me an iced chai?”
I’d request a London Fog, but I can’t enjoy one without thinking about Ronan, and I’ve been doing so well with that lately.
His shoulders sink, and I think he’s pretending to be annoyed, but he does it anyway. A moment later, he slides my drink in front of me and greets a Gucci loafer–wearing woman at the register.
At all their other locations, they have baristas and cashiers and the whole setup. But this is their flagship shop, a mere six hundred square feet up front, and he likes to be up close and personal with the patrons.
He’s also a control freak who needs to know what’s going on at all times and make sure the coffees are brewed at a perfect 205 degrees Fahrenheit and no single cup of tea is steeped longer than three to five minutes.
This may be the smallest store, but it makes the most money, and Harris isn’t shy about taking credit for that.
He returns to make the lady at the counter a double mocha frozen coffee, and she tips him a twenty-dollar bill.
“So back to Greer,” I say.
Harris’s jaw flexes.
“You have to admit, you’ve been stringing her along for years.”
“According to whom?”
“It’s not a matter of opinion.” I sip my iced chai. It’s perfection. Maybe he doesn’t hate me after all? Or he’s just extremely anal about quality. Probably the latter. “It’s fact.”
“Not sure what you expect me to do,” he says. “We work together. We’re always together. And she’s my best friend. I can assure you, no one’s stringing anyone along. This is just ... how it is. This is what works for us right now. And need I remind you, she’s the one who decided to move out?”
I exhale, contemplating the small lilt in my sister’s voice anytime she mentions Harris. She still loves him. She still has hope. And looking at him now, I see he has zero intention of going back to the way they were. If he wanted her back, he would’ve fought harder for her. If he can fight for climate change initiatives, he can fight for the woman he loves.
“Anyone ever tell you you’re kind of an asshole?” I ask. And selfish.
Harris smirks. “Never.”
“You are.” I take a sip. “It’s because you’re the only boy.”
