I pointed my fork at her. “In fact, now that I know what I know about you, the look on your face in that stall is even more priceless.”
“I take it there’s zero chance of you ever forgetting that?”
“None.”
“Great,” she muttered and took a bite of her toast.
“When did you start this list?”
Any smile left on her features faded and she hesitated. “I didn’t. My mother started it for me when she…found out she was sick.” She swallowed, the words pouring out of her like it didn’t mean anything. Like her mother’s illness was always the course and she wasn’t emotional over it. Which didn’t make sense. I knew Harper and her mother were close. But the way she spoke of it sounded as though her mother died of old age and it was expected and just a part of life.
Somehow, I took it that she didn’t want sympathy. So I didn’t offer any. “What else is on this list?” I cut into a sausage, my tone unaffected.
She pressed her lips together and reached into her pocketbook.
“You carry it with you?”
“Most people carry a photo of the person they lost. I carry something that she made for me. A photo wouldn’t do that. It would just depress me. This list—inspires me.”
It was hard not to analyze to death what Harper was telling me. So I dipped my focus down to the piece of paper between her fingers.
“May I?”
She scanned it before handing it to me tentatively.
Slowly, my eyes trailed down the list, with consideration to each one. Wondering what they sparked. How it affected her. How it defined her. Why it would be on the list.
I supposed I was expecting to see things more along the lines of scuba diving and seeing Cher in concert. Instead, they were ideas that gave me an understanding of how her mother viewed Harper. How she feared for her. How sheltered and afraid Anne Maxwell must have known Harper would become after her inevitable death.
“Don’t let anyone get away with hurting you.” I looked up, knowing that was the one that had to do with my brother. When she lifted her brows, I knew I was right. “I noticed it’s crossed out.”
“In pencil,” she warned.
“Noted.” My eyes flicked back down to the page. “Find a passion, but don’t let it define you. Seize the day when it feels right. You’re never too old to play hooky.”
Harper chuckled. “Mom was annoyed that I didn’t join the fun on senior cut day.”
I grinned. “I didn’t either,” I blurted before I could think.
Harper leaned in. “Really?” Her tone was a little intrigued but not overly surprised.
“I mean I didn’t go to school but I didn’t join the fun either. All our friends did, but I…uh, stayed home.”
She nodded, somewhat satisfied with the answer and somewhat disappointed. It was hard to tell. As it always was with Harper.
“Well, I think your brother and I were one of the few that did show up to Ms. Altman’s calculus class.”
“You remember August being there?”
“I remember a lot about him.” She nodded and dipped her eyes to her food.
I was tempted to ask what else she remembered about him but got distracted watching her bite into a strawberry. I blinked and cleared my throat, holding up the list which had a few items left.
“Don’t offend easily,” I raised a brow at that one. “Walk the Brooklyn Bridge.”
She smiled and turned her head out the window.
“Watch the Little Mermaid over and over again, until someone else can make you smile that much.” I read with a frown. “Assuming you liked the movie?”
