Page 76 of A Fighting Chance

“I really want to get some new pants,” Nan says.

Harper and I both look at each other, knowing we’re in for a few hours of listening to Nan be very indecisive about several pairs of pants just to put them all back and not buy any. It’s classic Nan. I laugh, knowing I wouldn’t have it any other way.

We walk into the first boutique, immediately greeted with the scent of lavender. The aroma fills the small space without overwhelming it. The place is all clean white walls and rustic accents. The shop features clothing, accessories, jewelry, and an assortment of home goods. I stop at a rack of shirts while Harper browses purses, and Nan makes her way to the pants. Country music plays softly overhead and I find myself relaxing. This whole experience is much needed.

Nan approaches with her first pair of pants. “What do you think of these?”

“I like them,” I say. “You should try them on.”

She nods and tucks them under her arm as she makes her way toward the dressing rooms. Once she’s inside, Harper makes her way over to me.

Oh boy. Here we go.

“So, what’s going on?” she deadpans.

“What do you mean?”

She tilts her head at me and presses her lips together, giving me a look that dares me to act ignorant.

I sigh. “We had a fight. Do you know where he is?”

“He texted me asking if he could stay at the cabin for a few days, but that was it,” she says.

“He’s on the back of the property at your cabin?” I ask, making sure I heard her correctly.

“Yeah, he wouldn’t say why.”

“He asked me to stay,” I say, biting my bottom lip.

Harper’s eyes grow wide. “And of course, you can’t.” Her response throws me off guard.

“Right, that’s what I said,” I say.

“And he didn’t like that,” she says.

“No.”

“And he’s hurt,” she predicts.

“Yes.” I nod my head, staring at the shirt in front of me. All I can see is a block of dark color.

“Because you can’t stay,” she says.

“Right, that’s what I said,” I repeat.

“Except…”

“What?” I ask.

“Except, you could if you wanted.”

“Harper.” I say her name like a warning.

“Listen, I’m not saying you should stay. I’m not pushing one way or another. I’m not telling you what to do. I’m just reminding you that you have a choice, and there’s nothing so big in Boston waiting for you that says you can’t stay here if you really wanted to,” she says.

I consider her words, flipping through the rack of shirts and stopping on a black tank top with lace at the bottom. I pull it from the rack and tuck it under my arm without hesitating. The next shirt is an emerald green V-neck T-shirt and I tuck that under my arm as well. “I can’t stay,” I say.

Harper nods, flipping through the rack until she stops on a shirt, running her hand over the material. She pulls it off and tilts her head to the side. “What do you think of this one?” she asks.

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