Page 89 of In Love with Lewis Prescott
“You need to talk about your feelings. It’s not good to—”
“No. I don’t,” I bite. “I’ve got a million other things on my mind. With the renovation done, I’m focused on decorating the house now. I’m upping my volunteer hours at Glad You’re Here too. And I’m looking into what kind of work I want to pursue. Did I tell you I’ve been thinking about consulting here in the Bay Area?”
A heavy sigh rockets from her end of the line. “Harper, I mean this in the most loving way, but will you drop the act already?”
“What act?”
“The ‘I’m above ever losing my shit over a guy’ act. You’ve pulled this before and I’ve let it slide, but not today.”
“Why not?” My voice betrays me by cracking on the last word. When my lips begin to tremble, I quickly pull them into my mouth and bite down.
“Harper.” She says my name so softly and lovingly, I can feel myself inching closer to breaking completely. “You’re the strongest person I know. No one keeps their cool in a crisis like you. I’ve always, always admired that about you. But you’re allowed to be sad and cry when you get your heart broken. You’re allow to hurt. You’re allowed to not be fine. It doesn’t make you weak or any less incredible.”
Like always, my cousin knows the exact right thing to say to cut through all my defenses. Her words are like some sort of emotional trigger. Like when a dog hears a high-pitched whistle and whines in terror. Instantly my throat aches and my nose burns.
“Fine, you’re right. I’m not okay, Naomi. I’m a fucking mess.” When I blink, tears cascade down my cheeks.
“Oh, Harper. I wish I could be there to hug you. I wish we were at my apartment right now eating cartons of ice cream and downing our weight in vodka.”
I let out a snotty chuckle while sitting in my car. “That’s a terrible idea. You’re such a lightweight you’d pass out after three shots.”
She laughs, which makes me laugh, then sob. For a minute I alternate between the two while Naomi listens patiently on her end of the line. I wipe at my face and check the time. Ten minutes before I’m due to go in and start my volunteer shift for the day. Better get all this crying out now.
“I wish you were here too.” I let out a shaky breath. “But you’re on your honeymoon. You should be skinny-dipping with Simon on a secluded beach somewhere, not consoling me over the phone.”
“Hey. You don’t get to tell me how to spend my honeymoon.”
Another watery chuckle falls from my lips. I reach over to my glove box and dig out a packet of tissues and wipe my face.
“I’m serious. You’ve called me every day since Lewis broke up with me. I appreciate it, but there’s nothing you can do. I just need to keep living my life. And you should focus on enjoying Turks and Caicos.”
“First of all, I can do both. I can have a lovely time here and still check in on you because you’re my cousin and best friend. If you’re not okay, then I’m not okay. I will always, always, always be here for you, whether you like it or not.”
A shaky smile tugs at my lips.
“And second, don’t talk like this is some average breakup. It’s not. Not even close. You were having a secret relationship with a TV star. And now you’re being hounded by paparazzi. That’s both traumatizing and upsetting.”
I glance around the parking lot, thankful that there don’t appear to be any photographers trailing me. It’s been two weeks since Lewis walked out on me, but paparazzi have still been camped outside my house, yelling questions every time I leave and snapping photos of me. Sometimes they trail me to the grocery store or to the Glad You’re Here office. The only time I’ve been able to lose them is when I drive into San Francisco. Invading my privacy is one thing, but there’s no way I would let them get near my family.
When they approach me, I never engage. I ignore them, but I don’t know how much longer I can keep up this silent facade. I know they won’t be around forever. As soon as the next juicy bit of celebrity gossip hits the news cycle, they’ll ditch me. But I don’t know when that’ll be. And having strangers accost me with questions about my personal life and my romantic relationship with Lewis while shoving a camera in my face rockets my anxiety level to the point where I have to do breathing exercises every time I walk into or out of my house just to calm myself.
“You’re right,” I finally say to Naomi. “This is a nightmare. But I don’t know how to fix it.”
“I can’t believe Lewis hung you out to dry like this. He left you to fend for yourself against the god-awful paparazzi,” Naomi mutters. “I mean, he has every right to be mad at them for acting like piranhas. I swear, they are the lowest of the low. And I even understand if he’s pissed at my mom for posting pics of the wedding on social media. She felt horrible for outing him when I told her what happened. But to take it out on you is so misguided. How does that make sense? You didn’t do anything wrong.”
“It doesn’t matter.” My tone now sounds as meek and defeated as I feel. “It’s because of me that this all happened. Even though I didn’t personally participate in exposing him, I was connected to it. I know it was an accident, but it still hurt him. Misguided or not, it’s how he feels.”
A long pause follows. “You’re being entirely too mature and reasonable about this.”
“I definitely don’t feel like that. I’ve come so close to unblocking him and texting him, like, at least a dozen times.”
She makes a sympathetic noise.
“I just feel so sad and angry and broken right now.”
“Then act like it.”
“What do you mean?”
