Twice in a Lifetime Read online

  Eyes that Sally had so wanted to give in to, but every time she focused on it, she thought her head might explode.

  Was everyone else’s life so complex when it came to matters of the heart?

  Chapter Nineteen

  Harriet stared out of her office window, her district’s rooftops and balconies stretching out in front of her in the midday sun, along with the lunchtime traffic on the 606.

  Joanna walked in, rubbing her hands together, giving Harriet a look.

  “Who pissed in your coffee?” Joanna asked, sitting down and tapping her laptop keyboard. When Harriet didn’t respond, Joanna looked up, rolling her eyes. “You know, you’ve had a face like that ever since that woman left town.” She paused. “What was her name again?”

  “Sally,” Harriet replied, her body coming alive even uttering her name.

  She knew it sounded ridiculous, seeing as they’d only spent two days together — but those two days were enough to convince Harriet there was still something there, something they should explore. Because how often did she meet women she just clicked with? Hardly ever. She and Sally might not have seen each other for a long time, but their connection was still beating bright. Plus, they were both single and attracted to each other — that much she was sure of.

  If Sally were to consider them a prospect now, Harriet needed to convince her she was legit and not about to run off again. She was fast losing hope, though: it’d been four weeks with not even a text.

  “Sally,” Joanna repeated. “But you need to snap out of it. She’s from your past, and it didn’t work out back then for a reason,” she said, yawning. “You only saw her a couple of times the other week, and you’ve been miserable ever since.” Joanna stared at her. “I don’t get it — you were happy before, so what’s changed?”

  Harriet stayed silent for a few seconds before replying, her heart slumped in her chest. “I’m not sure I am happy now I’ve seen her again. She’s stirred me up, you know? So you telling me to get over it — it doesn’t really help, Jo.”

  Joanna stared at her friend, moving her mouth one way, then the other. “What would you prefer I say? Fly out to New York, sweep her off her feet, move there and live happily ever after? You don’t want to do that, this is your home. Plus, you like being single: being tied down isn’t you, is it?”

  Harriet gulped and stared at the floor. She used to think so, but lately, she wasn’t so sure.

  Maybe she liked being single because she hadn’t found the woman she wanted to settle down with yet.

  And maybe that woman might just be Sally.

  “It wasn’t, but who knows now? Do I really know? Look at me, Joanna. I’m 35 and what have I got to show for my life?”

  Joanna gave her a disbelieving look, sweeping her arm across the office. “A thriving business, a gorgeous apartment, friends, family.” She paused. “It’s really not so bad, is it?”

  “But I’ve got nobody to share them with. When Sally was here, I was due to work that weekend. What kind of life is that?”

  “One that you like, one you’ve worked hard for.”

  “Easy for you to say — you’ve got Viv.”

  Joanna blew out a long breath. “I do, but if you’re looking for relationship happy talk, you’ve come to the wrong place.”

  Harriet winced: she knew this wasn’t a brilliant time to be having this chat with Joanna, but she couldn’t help how she was feeling. “But you fall asleep next to someone every night and you wake up with them the following morning. You’ve got someone to share your hopes and dreams with. I don’t.”

  Harriet knitted her fingers together, picturing her waking up next to Sally all those years ago. It had been incredible while it lasted.

  “I do when she bothers to come home.”

  Harriet raised an eyebrow at that. “She’s not coming home?”

  Joanna shrugged. “She is, most of the time.”

  Harriet waited a beat. “We’ll come back to that,” she replied. “But meeting Sally again has got me thinking, maybe that’s what’s missing in my life. Someone to share it with.”

  Joanna got up and walked to their office window, looking out at the lunchtime throng, her back to Harriet. “If you’re thinking of running off to New York, I have two words for you: beach house. This is a business we’re building for a reason, remember? Me, you, our clients: we’ve got a five-year plan, H, don’t forget that. You don’t know this woman, not really. You know who she was, not who she is.”

  Harriet sat up, shaking her head. “I’m not sure you’re right — this is my first love we’re talking about. We kissed, we spent time together, and I know there’s something still there. Something I’d like to explore. But I’m not thinking of moving out there — so don’t worry, your retirement plan is safe. I was just hoping for a little sympathy, is all — my heart’s breaking here, and you’re worried about your beach house.”

  Joanna shook her head, turning to face her friend. “I’m also worried about your heart and I think you pursuing this will break it for sure. She’s already said she’s not moving, so how can it work? Long distance only works if it’s for a short time, you know that. You’re destined to be star-crossed lovers, and hard as that is, you just have to accept it.”

  Harriet felt like the rug had been pulled from under her feet, and she was spinning round like a crazy top, out of control. “You really believe that?” Her voice came out at a whisper.

  Was Joanna right? Were they destined never to be?

  Joanna shrugged. “Only you know for sure. But look at the facts, they don’t make for pretty reading. You were together once, you walked away, and now this time, she’s walked away. You’re even now, and maybe that’s good. Your life’s here, H, it’s not in New York, it never has been. You’re a Chicago girl.”

  “But what if my heart’s in New York?”

  Joanna shook her head. “Love isn’t all it’s cracked up to be,” she said. “But if you really think your heart’s in New York, then you have to find a way of bringing it back in one piece. Only you know how to do that.”

  Chapter Twenty

  “How’s the patient?” Harriet said, popping a box of Frango Mint Chocolates on the sofa beside her dad before giving him an awkward hug. However, that wasn’t what her dad accepted these days, instead pulling her in for a proper hug.

  Daniel had warned her, but it was still odd.

  “The patient is good,” he said, giving her a cheeky grin. “And even better now you’ve brought me some of my favorite chocolates. Have I ever told you how we only used to have these on special occasions as a kid?”

  “You might have,” Harriet said, sitting down on the sand-colored sofa opposite, having heard that story every time she brought her dad Frango chocolates.

  The living room had a polished wooden floor with thick patterned rugs under the two sofas that faced each other in its center, a fireplace the same height as Harriet to her right, a log burner installed for the city’s notoriously bad winters. That fireplace had always seemed huge when she was a kid. Behind the sofa her dad was sitting on there was a grand piano that nobody played, and a drinks cart that was used much less since her dad’s troubles. He was now a monument to healthy living: her mom and their chef Robert had made sure of that.

  “Now I can have Frangos anytime I want. That’s progress.” Her dad paused, unwrapping the box and taking one of the cubic chocolates for himself before passing the box to his daughter. “You know what else has progressed since I nearly died?”

  Harriet shook her head, taking a chocolate and popping it into her mouth, loving the soothing taste of her childhood, one that always reminded her of her dad. Her mom hated mint chocolate, but when it came to Frangos, she and her dad were on the same page.

  “My priorities. I’ve had an epiphany.” He sat up straighter on the sofa, his chest cushion now at his side. Harriet assumed this meant, two months on, his pain wasn’t quite so chronic, a good sign. “All those years I worked for the firm, all thos
e clients I took out for dinner? It didn’t matter.”

  Harriet frowned at him, standing up and grabbing another chocolate for herself. One Frango was never enough. “It didn’t?” she asked through the sweetness.

  “Not a bit. When I first got sick, I was worried about my clients, the cases I had, how everything would work out. And you know what? It turns out, I’m not irreplaceable. Which is a hard pill to swallow after building it up for the past 20 years.”

  “Or it means you’re a good mentor who’s taught people well.”

  He smiled at her. “That’s what your mom said. And after taking a few days to think about it, I’ve decided she’s right. And that really, me almost dying is clearly a sign. I should enjoy life while I can, throw myself into retirement, take your mom away, spend some time with her.”

  Harriet sat up, nodding. “You should,” she said. “But wow, this is some turnaround. You live for that firm, for the law. Won’t it be hard?”

  “I thought so, but after a month and daily phone calls this week, I’ve had enough. I don’t want to die on the job — I want to see Italy, I want to lie on a Greek island with a cigar, I want to go to Vegas and gamble on a big poker table.”

  Harriet couldn’t quite believe what she was hearing. Her father, the king of hard work, wanted to go traveling? But even she knew it was a good thing. This blockage had been caught early, but it was a warning: he should slow down. But she never expected him to change the habit of a lifetime, take his wife away and put his well-being first.

  Her dad’s heart issues were going to prove life-changing not just for him, but for her mom, too. Their enduring love and support for each other was touching.

  As for her, she’d still heard nothing from Sally, and she’d just about given up hope that anything would happen. She guessed Sally had been right: if they had slept together, this would have been ten times worse.

  And yet, Harriet couldn’t help but feel if they had taken that next step, they’d have been forced to confront what was between them. Her heart ached as it always did when she thought about it, but at least it was a familiar ache now. It was almost part of her.

  “I think that’s great, Dad, and exactly what you should be doing now. You’re 60, you’re fit, you’re still young enough to see the world. It’s time for you to do just that.” She stood up and grabbed another chocolate. “But not too many of these, though. I don’t want to be responsible for any more heart issues. Two a day, max, and I’ll eat some just so you don’t have to.”

  Her dad laughed at that. “You always were selfless.” And then he pointed toward the sideboard where all his get-well cards had been moved to. Harriet knew her mom had tried to take them down, but Dad had insisted on keeping the newer ones. “Do you see the card on the right? You know who it’s from?”

  Harriet turned and squinted, not really sure where she should be looking. “Which one?”

  “The hand-made card — the one on the end with the bunch of flowers made from tiny petals and a gold wire vase — very intricate.”

  Harriet got up and picked up the card. It was indeed intricate and beautiful. “Somebody spent a lot of money on this,” she said, turning it over in her hands.

  But then she saw the back: Sally McCall Designs.

  Her hand shook as she held it, blood rushing to her cheeks. Sally had held this card in her hand, crafted the petals on the front — this card was a connection to her. Harriet flipped it open to read the greeting inside.

  “Harriet told me you were recovering from major surgery — I hope you’re feeling better. Much love, Sally McCall.”

  What the fuck? Sally had sent a get-well card to her dad and she hadn’t even been in contact with her once since that night? What did that mean? Harriet’s whole body shook at the impact, her mind reeling.

  Why would Sally send her dad a get-well card?

  “It’s from Sally McCall, your friend from school. Isn’t that lovely of her?” her dad said, as Harriet stared at the signature, which hadn’t changed much since they were teenagers.

  Harriet nodded. “It is.” The chocolate was still coating her teeth, but Sally was even sweeter than that.

  “I know you said you were back in contact — I always liked her.”

  Harriet replaced the card, pulling her eyes away from it and sitting back opposite her dad. She cleared her throat before she spoke, her heart still hammering in her chest, keeping her hands on her knees so they wouldn’t visibly shake. “I told her you were sick, and she designs cards now.”

  Her dad nodded. “Well, send her my thanks, it was a lovely gesture.” He paused, fixing Harriet with his emerald-green eyes, so reminiscent of her own. “She obviously thinks the world of you.”

  For once in her life, Harriet was lost for words. “She sent you the card,” she croaked, feeling herself blush again.

  Did Sally think the world of her? Was this her way of telling her? And if it was, a text message would have been far better.

  Her dad smiled. “She did. But make no mistake — she sent it because of you.”

  Harriet smiled, knowing her dad was right.

  This was the sign she’d been patiently waiting for.

  Now all she had to do was act on it, and make sure she followed RuPaul’s sage advice: good luck, and don’t fuck it up.

  Chapter Twenty-One

  “I cannot believe I’m here.” Sally covered her face with her hands, but when she peeked through her fingers, the semi-naked women were still there, dancing in cages all around the room. She was caught somewhere between titillation and wanting to wrap these women up in robes and send them home with a week’s wages, telling them to choose a different career path. Her feminist principles were being tested, and of course, Paula was the one responsible.

  Still, the place wasn’t as bad as Sally had first feared. First, this strip club was women-only, run by women for women. Second, Paula knew the owner (of course she did), and had assured Sally the dancers were paid a good wage. After that, it had just been a case of plying Sally with enough alcohol to get her through the doors, and that mission had been successfully completed. Sally never even knew such a club existed in New York, but her aunt had her finger on the pulse.

  Right at this moment, though, Paula had her finger tangled in a dancer’s G-string, as she stuffed ten-dollar bills into the skimpy waistband, ably aided by Taylor.

  Sally had asked her friend to come along for moral support, but now Sally had been abandoned for the lure of naked women. They’d been out for dinner in the East Village, and Taylor and Paula had already hit if off, turning out to be a match made in heaven. Sally was pleased, but their obvious attraction was only serving to highlight the fact she was still single.

  Paula and Taylor hadn’t slept together yet, but if that didn’t follow tonight, she’d eat her hat.

  She shook her head as the loud chart beats filled the air in the low-lit, velvet-cushioned room. Paula and Taylor were walking back to their table, high-fiving as they did, before ordering another round of drinks from their waitress. Sally raised an eyebrow at them both, but Paula was having none of it.

  “Get off your high horse, Ms Prude,” her aunt said, sitting down and slapping Sally’s thigh. “We were just chatting to one of the dancers — her name’s Orla — and we just gave her 30 bucks in tips. If that’s not a feminist act, I don’t know what is.”

  “Paula’s got a point,” Taylor said, leaning over and popping some salted peanuts into her mouth. “We’re just doing our part for the cause, making sure these women get paid fairly.”

  “You’re altruistic, I’ve always said that about you,” Sally replied, rolling her eyes.

  “And we’re here for you, don’t forget,” Paula said, crossing her right leg over her left, her black patent pumps shiny under the red lights of the club. Paula was dressed for business in a suit and heels, having come straight from a meeting in Manhattan, whereas Sally and Taylor were both in jeans and shirts.

  When Paula had gone to the
bathroom in the restaurant earlier, Taylor had confided that her power-suit-and-heels combo made her weak. Meanwhile, Taylor’s dark goth charm seemed to be working its magic on Paula, too, who was working her repertoire of flicks and stares to the max.

  Sally held up her hands as the waitress deposited more Manhattans for the table, which Taylor insisting on paying for.

  “I know, you’re here for me. Although you’re doing a very good impression of being here for you.”

  “Tonight was all about popping your strip-club cherry, so here’s to that!” Paula held up her drink, and Sally and Taylor both clinked their glasses.

  “But it was also to get you out and about again, stop you being so down in the dumps.” Paula paused, giving Taylor a long stare before continuing. “Taylor was telling me you’re still hung up on that woman I met in Chicago.”

  Sally shot Taylor the look that deserved, and Taylor cast her eyes to the floor, suitably embarrassed. She was clearly sharing some of Sally’s secrets to get into Paula’s good books, and Sally guessed that was something she was just going to have to get used to if this went anywhere.

  It’d been seven weeks since their kiss, and Sally had gone to contact Harriet so many times, but had never known how to start her message. Instead, she’d sent a get-well card to Harriet’s dad, hoping that would spur Harriet into action, because Harriet always was better at taking charge. However, Sally’s effect must have worn off, because nearly a month later, she’d heard nothing.

  Sally shrugged at Paula, resigned. “She sent me a load of texts after we met, but I wasn’t prepared to listen then. She already broke my heart when we were young, I didn’t want to give her the opportunity to do it again.”

  “But things have changed now?” Paula asked.