Total pages in book: 90
Estimated words: 86826 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 434(@200wpm)___ 347(@250wpm)___ 289(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 86826 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 434(@200wpm)___ 347(@250wpm)___ 289(@300wpm)
“I got it,” I whisper, still barely able to believe it myself.
“Okay, we are celebrating. And I know just where we need to go!”
And so do I because in New York in January, there’s only one proper way to celebrate something magical.
So less than an hour later, Dylan and I are standing beneath the lights of Wollman Rink in Central Park, lacing up rented skates. It’s where we celebrated our first Christmas Day together and a place we reserve for the most monumental victories.
Music drifts softly across the rink while skaters circle beneath strings of white lights. The large skyscrapers surrounding the park with their windows lit up make it seem right out of a movie.
I cradle a paper cup of hot chocolate between my gloved hands while Dylan tightens his skates beside me.
“This,” he says, “was definitely the correct post-job-offer decision.”
“I agree.”
“And honestly,” he continues while standing carefully, “if we’re really leaning into the movie montage vibe, we should go buy roasted chestnuts after this.”
I laugh as I stand beside him and put down my cup. “You are something else.”
“Thank you.”
The second we step onto the ice, it’s like I’m a kid again.
I glance over at Dylan as we glide slowly beneath the lights. “What?”
He shrugs at first, eyes fixed ahead of us toward the skyline. Then finally he says, “I’m really happy for you, Harper.”
The sincerity in his voice is unusual for a kid his age with all he’s dealt with.
I smile faintly. “Thanks, Dylan.”
“No, I mean it.” He slows slightly beside me, his expression serious now. “Not just because of the job.”
I look at him, meeting his eyes.
“It’s everything,” he says. “The job. Julian. All of it.”
I look away briefly, watching snow gather along the edge of the rink while skaters move around us in blurred streaks of scarves and winter coats.
“You deserve this stuff,” Dylan continues. “Like… all of it.”
“That’s a very dramatic thing for a seventeen-year-old to say.”
“I’m serious.”
There’s no sarcasm in his face now. Only love.
“I know you don’t really think about yourself that much,” he says. “You never have.”
“Dylan—”
“No, listen.” He exhales visibly into the cold air. “Being back with Mom and Marley over Christmas kind of made me realize something.”
I stay quiet.
“You really are my mom,” he says, almost a confession. “I mean, not literally obviously, but… you raised me. You’re the one who made sure I had food and homework done and you paid attention to me all those years. And now that I’m older, I get how hard that must’ve been.”
Around us, people laugh and skate and the rink music continues.
“I know how much you gave up for me,” he says quietly. “I’m not stupid.”
“Come on, it was fun. It’s not like raising you ruined my life,” I say.
“I know, I know,” he replies. “But it made your life harder. I know that for sure. No older sister signs up to be a mother for her kid brother.”
We skate another few feet slowly before he looks over at me again.
“But you still did it,” he says. “You still chose me every single time. I’m so grateful for you, Harper.”
The smallest hint of a tear stings my eyes as my mascara threatens to run down my face, and I look away before he can see it.
“You make it worth it. You have from day one, Dylan,” I whisper. And it’s the most truthful thing I’ve ever said.
“And now,” he says, “you’ve got someone who actually takes care of you too.”
I laugh weakly through the emotion as it bubbles inside me. “You’re getting way too observant.”
“I’m serious.” He shrugs. “I think maybe you finally get the fairy-tale ending.”
And for the first time in my life, standing here in the middle of Manhattan beside the boy I helped raise while the future suddenly opens wide in front of me, I allow myself to wonder what my life could look like if he’s right.
The fairy-tale ending is supposed to be for princesses in books, ones we read as little girls, and are only accessible through our dreams. Is it possible this one becomes my reality?
Chapter 27
Julian
Istand alone in my study staring out at Manhattan while winter rain streaks softly against the large bay windows. The weather changed overnight, leaving the city wrapped in gray and silver and wet pavement reflecting traffic lights below.
January rain always makes New York seem lonelier and it’s in the loneliness that I tend to indulge in despair and struggles.
The townhouse is silent around me. It’s a silence that only old homes possess. The bigger the home, the greater the silence takes hold.
I exhale and turn back toward the desk.
I open the bottom drawer and pull out a stack of photographs underneath an old file of financial reports and correspondence from my various companies. I pretend these dense and voluminous documents are enough to hide the pain that lingers deep within.