“But what if—”
“Harper.”
I stop and look at her. “Yes?” My throat feels strangely tight, my nose a little tingly, and I’m not sure why.
“Please, honey. Do this for yourself. Don’t just do it for you. Do it for all those women you write for every single damn day. You’re the one championing women’s rights, no? You’re the one who speaks to the plight of the working mother, the overtired stay-at-home mom. You’re the one preaching self-care and neglecting your very own. You’re not a hypocrite, are you?”
I huff out indignantly. God, this woman knows how to push my buttons.
“Of course not,” I mutter.
“Then do this. And while you’re gone you can bring your laptop and write all about how important it is to take time for yourself and replenish, and how to champion rights for those of us stuck back here in the office.”
I finally nod, take a deep breath in, then let it out slowly. “Okay. Alright. Okay, I can do this.”
She hands me my phone, and with trembling fingers, I dial.TwoHarper
I sit beside Daniel in the crowded cafeteria, reach for the straw for his chocolate milk, and remove the wrapper.
“How long, Harper?” he asks, his wide, innocent brown eyes looking at me with concern etched in the depths. Daniel, at fifteen years old, is ten years younger than I am and the spitting image of our father. Tall and thin, with a wild shock of light brown hair that frames his freckled, oval face, it’s almost startling to me how much he looks like dad when I pause to think about it. But Daniel’s eyes will always be innocent, his voice always childlike, and he’ll never grow to mental maturity.
“Two weeks, honey. Fourteen days,” I say gently. This was the part of going away I dreaded the most, telling my baby brother that I’d be gone for a little while. Since the accident, when I became his legal guardian, he’s lost the ability to track time.
“But it’s my birthday,” Daniel says sadly, his whole body drooping in resignation.
I smile sadly. “Sweetie, your birthday’s—”
But Adrianna, the petite spitfire staff member who loves Daniel arguably as much as I do interrupts me. “I bought you a cupcake with sprinkles, and we’ll sing to you in a bit, okay?”
I give her a grateful smile. It isn’t Daniel’s birthday until December, but every day he likes to think it’s his special day.
“And won’t we have a good time while she’s traveling? Hmm?” Adrianna says. She gives him an affectionate look while she takes his lunch tray, then leans over and ruffles his hair. Her dark hair, tied in a messy ponytail, flounces when she nods her head. A little older than I am, having just celebrated her thirtieth birthday, Adrianna came to this country from the Dominican Republic as a child, but still has the faintest trace of an accent. “Sweetheart, your sister works hard and deserves a little break. While she’s gone, lucky you, you get to spend more time with me.” She’s fiercely independent and loyal to her core, and it gives me immeasurable relief to know she’ll be taking care of him in my absence.
Daniel almost smiles, his lips turning up at the edges but his eyes still sad.
“You’re not my sister,” he says to her. Adrianna and I share a look and a sigh, and my own eyes water.
Maybe I shouldn’t do this after all. But before I can open my mouth, Adrianna steps in. “I’m not your sister, honey,” she says. “But that doesn’t mean I don’t love you. And I will take the very best care of you I can. Got it?” My throat tightens. God, I’m a mess.
He sighs. She continues. “I’ll even play that game you love. What is it?” She rolls her eyes with mock frustration. “Chinese something?”
“Chinese checkers,” he says, his eyes lighting up. “And I’ll win.”
I glance at my watch. Maybe it was a mistake coming here on my way to my vacation. My stomach clenches with nerves, and there’s a lump the size of a golf ball in my throat. I hate this.
“Ha! I’m not as nice as your sister,” Adrianna says, whisking a rag across the tabletop. “I don’t throw games.”
“Hey! I do not throw the games!” I protest, but I’m only teasing, because Daniel gets a kick out of the two of us bantering. Predictably, he cracks a real smile.
Adrianna continues. “Now you sit here and wait for your dessert while I walk your sister out. Give her a big hug before she goes, and before you even blink your eyes, she’ll be back.”
He frowns, blinks, and shakes his head. “It doesn’t work that way,” he says. “That isn’t true.” Figurative language is sometimes lost on him.
I walk to him, marveling at how much he’s grown and tousle his hair. “You’re like a full head taller than I am now,” I muse. “When did I tell you that was okay?”