Page 40

Harper

One week after failing to find Monty, failing to find buried treasure, fucking up the article completely, oh and—so fun—getting my heart broken in the process

I was curled up in my favorite lounge chair at the coffee shop where my sister worked, laptop in front of me, feeling broken-hearted and pathetic.

I’d only been back from New Mexico for a week yet found myself oddly protective of Priscilla and Adeline’s story, even though we hadn’t found the diamonds, even though they might not even exist.

But Priscilla’s story deserved to be told. That same wildflower feeling told me something about them was special, that investigating them further would all be worth it, because shining a spotlight on queer and trans love throughout history was always worth it.

But I was no longer sure that the New York Review was the best way for it to happen. Now that I was back home, my options felt so bleak.

Was I really going to pitch this story to a paper that had only one openly queer person on staff—me? And whose coverage of queer and trans rights thus far had been frustratingly lukewarm?

Earlier this morning, I’d sat through a tense meeting, where Greg confirmed that I was officially being passed over for the promotion to Head Story Editor.

And that given what I’d done in Santa Fe, my current job was on thin ice at best. They’d had to scramble last minute to fill the print space meant for the Monty Montana interview, and the accounting department wasn’t too pleased at the amount of money I’d spent to return with nothing.

And now this, the email from Greg I’d been staring at on my screen for the past hour.

You’re coming back from a high-profile visit to Santa Fe where you found neither buried treasure nor convinced Monty Montana to do an interview.

I understand that she ultimately declined, but that means you must have had some contact with her when no one’s been able to reach her for years.

She’s a famous person with a public persona—go after her again.

Her claims of “privacy” don’t hold any weight, in my opinion, and pulling off this story would be notable for your career.

The fact that you’re not pursuing her aggressively has me honestly stumped.

I’d been in the industry long enough to read between the lines.

It was Monty or I’d lose the job.

It wasn’t like I hadn’t considered it. On the flight back to New York, where I was alternately crying about Eve and panicking over my job, I’d had a few uncharitable whispers in my brain about the whole thing.

Rent was due. We had other bills to pay.

And my proximity to the city was like some kind of Dad Forcefield…

the closer I got, the more I started daydreaming again of what his face might look like, the moment I said: Guess what, I did what you couldn’t do. I found her before you did.

But sitting here in this coffee shop, utterly wrung out and exhausted, it all felt so lifeless and hollow.

I couldn’t seem to recapture the easy freedom I’d felt out there, being surrounded by people who seized the beauty of this world with a hunger I’d always felt but never submitted to.

The sheer gravity of the foothills, the astonishing sunsets, the luminous power of cliffs and canyons.

But even more than that, it was the electrifying sensation of true creative inspiration, appearing again, that I yearned for the most. In fact, I’d tried to cobble together something on the flight back home, but after fretting over it for hours had only managed the first paragraph: “I want to tell you about an incredibly brave woman. Two women, actually, with life stories as rich in texture and detail as they are shrouded in mystery. All the best life stories are. But instead of reading something inspiring, about queerness and bravery and magic, this article will be shorn in half by arbitrary word count limits and then paywalled to death.”

Was this really the future that I wanted?

My sister Daphne walked over, bringing me a cup of turmeric tea and wrapping me in her arms for a bear hug.

I didn’t know how people handled heartbreak, because I was an actual mess.

My body ached, my skin felt much too tight, and my thoughts were foggy and scattered.

I’d returned from the non-stop chaos of New Mexico to a well-organized and tidy life, a mountain of neat to-do lists and color-coordinated files at the office with not a single thing out of place.

But it all gave me that same hollow feeling. I no longer saw a well-organized life built out of a genuine interest and passion. I saw instead all that I’d assembled to protect me from the kind of pain I knew—had known since I was fifteen years old—could strike at any moment.

I could have color coordinated every Post-it note in my house and my mother still would have died.

Daphne pulled up the chair next to me and plopped down into it. “You’ve been staring at the same thing on that screen for an hour, Harp. You’re clearly not over this breakup.”

I closed my laptop and turned to face her. “I’m fine, really. You don’t need to fuss over me. Can you really say it’s a breakup if we weren’t even dating —”

She shoved up her shirtsleeves, revealing her many houseplant-inspired tattoos. “There are no rules when it comes to things like this. If it hurts, it hurts. And for what it’s worth…I’ve never seen you like this before, which means Eve must have been different.”

Memories of Eve followed me everywhere now.

The tenderness in her voice when she said, Someone should have taken care of you.

Each crooked grin and husky laugh, how fearlessly she’d carved out a new life for herself.

Her lips on my throat after I’d rescued her and she declared herself lucky .

The desperate longing in her eyes before she kissed me in that hallway, lit up in disco lights.

I want you so badly I burn with it, Harper .

“She was different. She was…everything. And I can’t stop thinking about her,” I admitted, my voice cracking.

“And I miss her. So much. I wish I’d just told her the truth, that I’d been lying from the start and wanted to be with her with every fiber of my being.

Instead, we said a lot of shitty things to each other.

We started off our relationship with arguments and secrets. Maybe that’s why we ended it that way.”

Daphne was quiet, her eyes searching mine from across the table. “You’re different, too, Harper. Since you got back.”

“I wasn’t even away for that long.”

“You feel different, though, don’t you?” she asked with a smile.

“And I’m not just talking about the fact that you had a hot, passionate fling.

I think this is just a continuation of what I’ve been seeing in you for a while.

You’re bursting at the seams, Harp. You’ve been secretly waiting to be captivated again by something wild and thrilling, just like when we were kids.

And then Eve came along, and Monty Montana, and this daring diamond quest… ”

I blew out a breath. “Eve was right, though. We had to get back to real life eventually. It’s not all road trips and treasure hunts. We didn’t even find the diamonds.”

“She’s right,” Daphne said. “But that doesn’t mean you have to live your life in a state of miserable drudgery. We can work our day jobs and still invite passion and wonder and curiosity into our lives. These things aren’t mutually exclusive.”

I dropped my head into my hands. “God, when did I get so serious ?”

Daphne gently pulled my hand away. “When your mom died and you had to raise your annoying little sister, that’s when.”

“You weren’t annoying. You were perfect,” I said. “And I’d do it again in a heartbeat.”

“I know you would. I do.” Her eyes were starting to shine. “Sweetheart…I mean this with all the affection in the world, but I don’t need you.”

“Daphne—”

“I don’t,” she interjected. “You have stayed here with me, and taken care of me, and loved me like a mother and a sister for as long as I can remember. But you’re literally one half of my heart, and I can, and will, love and support you wherever you are in the world.

So I don’t want you to feel tied down here when I’m more than capable of handling things on my own.

Is money tight? Sure, it always is and probably always will be. I’m a barista and you’re a writer.”

I laughed a little, though tears were starting to spill down my cheeks.

“But I’m happy and housed, and I don’t want you using me as an excuse to avoid your dreams,” she said. “This life is yours for the taking. What do you want to do with it?”

The café door opened just then, and a tall white man in an expensive-looking suit walked into the coffee shop with the body language of a person who’s never heard the word no in his life. His smile was toothpaste-commercial white, and he flashed it easily at every person who recognized him.

I narrowed my eyes in surprise. “Holy shit, is that—”

“Dad?” Daphne called out.

He spun at her voice, frowning in confusion. Then he blinked. “Oh my goodness. Harper and Daphne, what are you two doing here?”

“I’ve worked here for three years now,” Daphne said flatly.

“You have?” he asked. “I had no idea.”

“I’ve literally told you so many times.”

He frowned, tipped his head. “Sadly, I don’t recall.”

“Uh…what are you doing in the city?” I asked. “Your assistant told us you were traveling through Hungary or something.”

He sighed dramatically. “My publisher wanted me back for some poorly scheduled book tour. They all want to send you to six cities in four days, but it’s hit the New York Times , so I have to make an appearance. I’m meeting my editor here in a few minutes. It’s why I’m all the way out in Brooklyn.”

I arched an eyebrow. “Were you going to tell your daughters you were home or…?”

“Of course.” He touched his forehead. “I just got in, you know, and the jet lag…”