Page 42 of Unmasking Love
“Jesus, Harper, holy shit.” I exhale at the sound of her voice.
“What’s wrong Aiden?” She sounds as alarmed as I was feeling a millisecond ago.
“I called you and you didn’t answer. I was worried.”
“Oh, sorry, I’m baking and didn’t hear my phone.”
“So you’re home and safe?” The adrenaline drains from me as I collapse on the edge of the bed. I’m almost giddy with relief.
“Yes. I might give myself a stomach ache after eating this cake. But that’s self-induced and I’m aware of the risk.”
I can hear her smile over the phone and I feel my body relax further. I scoot back on the bed and lean against the headboard. “What kind of cake?”
“A cinnamon swirl cake with candied walnuts and a cream cheese frosting. It was supposed to be pecans but I didn’t have any so I made an adjustment.”
“Sounds delicious.” I tell her because it does. I wouldn’t eat more than a bite if I was there but I’d make a point to try it because she made it. I haven’t had a full dessert in sixteen years. Mom tried making sugar free, vegan, cakes for my birthday and they were like eating dog biscuits so we gave up.
Just another thing my freak heart attack took away from me.
Instead of wallowing, I ask Harper a question. “Have you always loved baking?”
“Umm, yeah I guess. My mom and I used to do it together when I was really little.”
“And do you use real butter and sugar and all the stuff we’re not supposed to eat?”
She laughs, and I preen. “Yes, is there any other way?”
“I guess not.” My fingers run the edge of the delicate chain around my neck. “It sounds delicious.”
“I’ll save you a piece.” She says and I hear her chewing. The mental image of her lips causes a reaction in my groin. The notion she wants to see me again causes a reaction in my chest. My entire body is tuned into her.
“How was the showing?” I ask after I force myself to swallow the lump in my throat.
“Fine,” she says quietly and I don’t like the sound of it.
“Just fine?”
“Yeah, umm,” she trails off.
“What? Just say it.”
“Well, they had their teenage daughter with them and it just brought back memories of being that age, I guess. I wasn’t ready for the trip down memory lane two days in a row.”
I think about being that age every day of my life.
We’re both quiet for a beat. I’m supposed to be checking in on her and making sure she’s okay after her breakup. Not going into my own head over the emotional trauma of moving away as a teen and living in a different country. Of dealing with a life changing injury and the process of recovering.
“Anyway,” Harper continues brightly in response to my introspective silence. “I moved in the middle of high school too and I’m doing fine, so maybe things will be better for this girl too.”
“Did you move around a lot as a kid?” I ask.
“Kinda,” Harper says around a mouthful of cake. “Every couple of years or so. Sometimes more, sometimes less. I guess in middle school and the start of high school we were in one place. That was the longest stretch, from age twelve to just after I turned seventeen.”
“Did you move around for your parent’s jobs?”
“It was just my mom and me but no, not really.”
Shedoesn’t expand any further.
