Page 75 of When We Meet Again

“That’s amazing, Lena. I’m so happy for you!” And I surprise myself when I realize that I genuinely mean it.

I grab her hands, her young, smooth-skinned, wrinkle-free hands, “What are your plans? You don’t have to tell me. I’m sorry.” I shake my head, embarrassed about how excited I am that I helped someone.

“I decided to go back to school at the Art Institute for fashion design and photography. And I wouldn’t have done this if you didn’t light a fire under my ass with your wisdom-y speech.” I love how we’re creating new words here.

“I’m happy to give you as many wisdom-y speeches as you need.” I pat her hand, something my mom always does for me. “I’m proud of you. Will you let me know how it goes?”

Lena nods and leans into me. “One more thing,” she whispers, looking around so nobody can hear. “Don’t break his heart.” Leaning away, she adds, “He’s usually the one doing the heartbreaking, but when it comes to you…I think you may be the only woman with the power to break his.” With that, she doses me with a small smile, stands, and walks away.

My composure is now a fragile shell around me. The overwhelming inundation of feelings happening all at once is a losing battle. Tears stream down my face.

Relief.

Hurt.

Happiness.

Pure love.

All of it. Months worth of pent-up everything falls from my burning eyes onto my nylons. I lean my head forward and cradle it in my hands.

“Waverly? Is that you?” Harold bends over, trying to put a name to the splotchy face.

I look up at him, unable to stop the tears from bathing my cheeks. “Yes. I’m sorry. I didn’t hear you come in.” I wipe my cheeks with full hands. “I was just going to head to the restroom.” But I don’t move. Instead, the tears come out faster—with a vengeance.

He sits down next to me on the plush, hunter-green sofa and rests his arm over my shoulders. “Want to talk about it? Father to daughter?”

More tears. I haven’t been able to indulge in a father-daughter talk in so long, my heart bleeds for one, and I waste no time diving into my innermost fuckedness.

“It’s everything, Harold. I know he’s your son, and I’m sorry…but I’m relieved it’s over with Patrick, I’m happy he’s alive, and a part of me will always love him, but the news he dropped on me today—it still hurts.”

He lets out a grunt and rubs his jaw with his hands. “He told you about the baby.” Harold starts whispering under his breath, “I told him to wait until the party was over. What am I going to do with him?”

“It’s not the fact that he’s having a baby with someone, but the fact that he was adamant about not having kids. Refused to budge on the topic. He wasted my time! My childbearing years are basically up.” I keep rambling. “I’m happy that Roman invited me here…I’m…I think I…” My breath starts coming out quicker, more ragged as those three Holy Grail of words sit on the tip of my tongue.

“Nope. Don’t say it.” Harold stands abruptly, raising his voice, and causing me to pause. An inkling of fear passes through me. The last thing I want to do is piss off the father of the man I’ve fallen for. “The first person who needs to hear what you have to say isRoman,not me.” A smile spreads across hisface as his light gray eyes find mine. “Either way, Waverly, like I’ve said before, you’re always welcome here. No matter which son you end up with. Even if you end up with the woman next door.” Tears well in his eyes. “You’re like the daughter we never had.”

That alone releases the flood gates once again. There is no hope for me going back to the party without looking like I was just on a four-day bender. My hairline is dampened by my tears, and my eyes red and bloodshot from the crying; not to mention the redness of my nose from blowing it. This look willtotallywin Roman over.

I get up quickly to hug Harold. His hugs are a clone of Roman’s. All encompassing. Full of protection. This is a hug that a father gives his daughter, one of love.

The tears have slowed significantly. It’s amazing what type of healing power a hug can offer.

“Thank you,” I wipe the remnants of tears from my cheeks, unable to salvage my eye makeup.

“Now, my only advice I can give you is this: don’t let anyone else tell you how you should feel.” He gives a curt nod. “Short and sweet.” With that, Harold leaves me alone in his study, basking in my own self-awareness.

That was a bit vague, but I’ll do what I can with it.

All of this is making it hard for me to breathe. Not to mention the pantyhose. I hate them. I feel like I’m suffocating. I slide them off and throw them in the trashcan next to Harold’s desk. “Nobody needs to feel confined more than they already are.” Once they’re off, I feel free.

I pull my shit together. Fix what’s left of my makeup, which is a dusting of contour, and dab a little lip gloss over my already pink lips.

When I open the door to the party, Roman is standing in the hallway. One hand in his pocket, and the other rubbing hisstubble-filled jaw line. His short, dark hair, wavy in all the right places, has him looking like a god in the dimmed lighting. My body is fully aware of how handsome the man before me is.

“Shouldn’t the birthday boy be out celebrating?” I try to sound lighthearted, but instead it comes out all nasally from crying.

“Thisbirthday boyhas always been where you were.” His words make my stomach flip with butterflies. Although, they aren’t technically true.

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