He smiles. “That’s good to hear.”
Landon steps closer to me as my father takes a seat on the edge of the couch. He turns his back away from my father as if he wants to keep our conversation private. “It feels like you’ve been gone for months,” he says, holding my gaze as he speaks.
He looks tired, too . . . maybe from staying at the apartment with my father? I don’t know, but I want to find out.
“It does, I feel like time is strange in Seattle—how is everything? I feel like we’ve barely talked.” It’s true. I haven’t called Landon as often as I should have, and he must’ve been really busy dealing with his last semester at Washington Central. If less than three weeks is this tough, how will I be able to bear him moving all the way to New York?
“I knew you’d be busy, everything’s okay,” he says. His eyes dart to the wall, and I sigh. Why do I feel like I’m missing something obvious?
“Are you sure?” I glance back and forth between my best friend and my father, taking in Landon’s drained expression.
“Yeah, we’ll talk about it later,” he says, waving my concern off. “Now tell me about Seattle!” The dim light that was in his eyes intensifies into a bright burn of happiness, the happiness that I have missed so much.
“It’s okay . . .” I trail off, and his forehead creases in a frown. “Really, it’s okay. Much better now that Hardin is visiting more.”
“So much for space, huh?” he playfully teases, nudging my shoulder with the palm of his hand. “You two have the strangest definition of breaking up.”
I roll my eyes, agreeing, but I say, “It’s been really nice having him there. I’m still as confused as ever, but Seattle feels more like the Seattle of my dreams when Hardin is there with me.”
“I’m happy to hear it.” Landon smiles, his gaze shifting as Hardin walks up and stands next to me.
Looking around, I say to the three of them, “This place is in much better condition than I thought it would be.”
“We’ve been cleaning it while Hardin was in Seattle,” my father says, and I laugh, reminded of Hardin’s grumpy complaint that the two of them were messing with his things.
I look back at the well-organized foyer, remembering the very first time I stepped through the door with Hardin. I fell in love instantly with the old-fashioned charm of the place: the exposed brick wall was so enchanting, and I was beyond impressed by the expansive book shelving covering the far wall. The concrete flooring added to the personality of the apartment, unique and beautiful. I couldn’t believe that Hardin had chosen the most perfect space, suiting both of us in a way I didn’t think was possible. It wasn’t extravagant, not in the slightest, but it was so beautiful and so thoughtfully laid out. I remember how nervous he was that I wouldn’t like it. I was nervous, too, though. I thought he was insane for wanting to me live with him so soon into our back-and-forth relationship—and I now know that my apprehensiveness was very well justified; Hardin had used this apartment as a trap. He thought that I’d be forced to stay with him after I found out about the wager he’d made with his group of friends. In a way, it worked, and I don’t particularly love that part of our past, but I wouldn’t change it now.
Despite the memories of our happy first days here, for some reason I still can’t shake the unsettling rustling that I feel in my stomach. I feel like a stranger here now. The once-charming brick wall has been stained by bloody knuckles too many times to count, the books on those shelves have been witness to too many screaming matches, the pages have soaked up too many tears in the aftermath of our endless fighting, and the image of Hardin crumpled on his knees in front of me is so strong it’s practically imprinted into the floor. This place is no longer the treasure to me that it once was, and these walls now hold memories of sadness and betrayal, not only Hardin’s, but Steph’s as well.
“What’s wrong?” Hardin asks the moment my expression turns melancholy.
“Nothing, I’m fine,” I tell him. I want to shake off the unpleasant memories lodging in my mind, taking away from these moments of happiness at being reunited with Landon and my father after the lonely weeks I’ve endured in Seattle.
“I’m not buying it,” Hardin huffs, but drops it and walks into the kitchen. After a second, his voice travels into the living room. “Is there no food in the place?”
“Ahh, here it goes. It had been so nice and quiet,” my father whispers to Landon, and they share a friendly laugh. I’m so thankful to have Landon in my life and to have what seems to be a budding relationship with my father, though it seems that Hardin and Landon both know him better than I do.
“I’ll be back in just a minute,” I say.
I want to change out of this heavy sweatshirt; it’s too warm in the small apartment, and I feel my lungs yearning for a fresh breath as the moments pass. I need to read Hardin’s letter again; it’s my favorite thing in the entire world. It’s much more than a thing to me; it expresses his love and passion in a way that his mouth never could. I’ve read it so many times that I have it memorized, but I need to physically touch it again. Once I hold the tattered and worn pages between my fingers, all the anxiety I’m feeling will be replaced by his thoughtful words, and I’ll be able to breathe again and enjoy my weekend here.
I search the top of the dresser and each drawer before moving along to the desk. My fingers push through piles of paper clips and pens to no avail. But where else could he have placed it?