Page 12 of Those Two Words

Leaving this town was one of the hardest decisions I ever made, but at the same time, the best thing I could have done for myself.

I felt settled after my forty minutes of word-vomiting to Amanda, and we finished the session going over my preferred coping mechanisms, should my anxiety and panic become unbearable. I haven’t had an attack in two years, and I know it’s important I’m always prepared for the unexpected and to not ignore the signs. It took me a long time to acknowledge what was happening and to stop brushing it under the rug.

It’s pure luck I’m still able to have sessions with Amanda. She isn’t licensed to practice in Maine, but one of her colleagues, Davis, knew a member of the state’s licensing board and we were able to agree to some short-term virtual sessions. It sucks that I’ll have to find a new therapist eventually, but the process of finding someone I click with isn’t as daunting now.

Since the meeting at the restaurant, I haven’t seen or heard from Patrick, which comes as no surprise. That will all change tomorrow, because Monday morning is my first day as restaurant manager—and our first shift together. Looking back on our last shift together, there’s no doubt it’s going to be the polar opposite experience. Flirty banter swapped for awkward silence.

I’m about to top up my wine glass, when my phone vibrates with an incoming video call. I turn it over and find a picture of Harriet riding a mechanical bull. Holding my phone up to my face, I click accept and I’m greeted with the sight of her ear canal. For a twenty-seven-year-old, she is worryingly inept when it comes to technology. A disappointment to millennials everywhere.

“Harry, you video-called me, you nugget!” I shout at the screen.

She changes the angle of the camera, and it pans to her scrunched-up face of confusion. I see the second realization hits her, and then she’s smacking the palm of her hand to her forehead. “It’s actually embarrassing how many times I do that.”

We both take after our mom with our bright blonde hair, freckled skin, dark brows, and tall frames. Our dad always said he was grateful for that, but I’m glad we share his blue eyes.

My baby sister has been my constant since I left Sutton Bay. It was my job as Big Sister to console her and try to fill the huge gap our mom left after she passed. We found our roles reversed when I followed her to Tennessee after Ted’s funeral. She held me tightly as I cried silently during our flight to Nashville, and even slept in my bed that first week. During the hardest days, she would comfort me, but she also gave me the push I needed to be honest with myself and get the help I needed. That was the hardest step, and though it still felt like I was walking through molasses, it eventually got easier as each day passed.

She never made me feel like a burden. She helped me find a job at one of the local restaurants and let me infiltrate myself into her small friendship group. I wasn’t sure I would ever see the light at the end of the tunnel when I left Sutton Bay, but she stood by my side, holding the flashlight every step of the way.

She’s flown home a few times over the years, but Dad usually chose to come visit us for the holidays. There’d been a few occasions I was close to joining Harriet during her visits home, but the anxiety always got the better of me. I also knew there was no avoiding Patrick in this small town, so I stayed put.

“I swear Dad would have better luck navigating a smartphone than you,” I tease.

“Hey! My brain works where it counts.”

“I can’t argue with you there. To what do I owe this pleasure?” I ask in my over-the-top British accent. It’s my default when I get nervous and can feel my anxiety creeping in. Not that this phone call induces that, I just know she’s going to want to talk about tomorrow.

“So, how are you feeling about tomorrow?”

See?

I stand, abandoning the puzzle, and sit cross-legged on the sofa. “Nervous. Excited. Antsy.” I run my fingers down the stem of the wine glass, keeping my eyes trained on the movement. “Worried how he’s going to act around me.”

“Hmm. I think you’ve got to let him ride out those feelings. Maybe…never mind.” She shakes her head, and her evasion piques my interest.

“Maybe what?”

She lets out a big breath before continuing. “I’m so proud of what you’re doing. Honestly, I thought you were joking at first, but I know how happy Dad is that you’re back. A lot of time has passed, maybe it’s time to talk things out with Patrick.”

“You didn’t see how he looked at me on Monday. Like we were strangers. I doubt my reason for leaving is enough to wipe away everything that went down. I left him during one of the worst times in his life.”

Even through the phone I can see the gears turning in her head. “Okay, so you might not get the response you’re hoping for. But isn’t telling him better than holding it in? Please don’t forget that you had a lot on your plate too.”

“He’s not going to care, Harry!” I snap. “Sorry, sorry. I know you’re trying to help. Let’s drop it, I’m too tired to try to predict what mood he’ll be in tomorrow. One day at a time.”

“You’re fine, I get it. Really.” She blows a kiss through the screen, the topic dropped. “Well, how is everyone? I haven’t been back since this tour kicked off, but hopefully I can come visit later in the summer.”

The idea of Harriet visiting perks me up, even if it’s months away. “They’re good. I haven’t seen anyone apart from Dad since Monday. Graham is around, though he’s keeping to himself as usual. Dad said Flo is somewhere in South America right now. As for the people of this town, well, they’re exactly the same. Nosey and everywhere you look.”

She laughs at that, throwing herself backward onto her bed. “I’m hoping you haven’t seen much more of Mrs. Stewart?”

“No, thank god. There’s the cutest new bakery below my apartment though. I met the owner, Quinn, and she makes the best iced coffees.”

“Oh, Jo…” My sister sighs. “Still with the iced coffee in below-zero temperatures? Could you get more basic?” I gasp in mock horror. “Seriously though, don’t let that old fart bother you. You’ve worked so hard and only the people closest to you need to know the truth. It’s up to you if you tell Patrick. For what it’s worth, I know he’s not going to pass the same judgment you’ve experienced from others. You’re going to do great tomorrow. Chin up and show them you don’t care what they think.”

“Thanks, sis. I’ll try. I’ll text you tomorrow when my shift ends. Love you.”

“Love you too. I’m proud of you. Give Dad a hug and say hi to Mom for me.” We share a sad smile and I promise her that I will.

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