City Girls

A cluttered bedroom bathed in the soft light of the morning. Clothes are strewn across the floor—worn jeans, a crumpled crop top, a pair of boots kicked off in a rush. Bras and underwear. A laptop sits open on a desk, its screen dim, displaying the remnants of a late-night conversation Harper Blake doesn’t remember falling asleep to. The sheets rustle as she stirs, slowly emerging from the cocoon of her bed. Her auburn hair is a mess, and as she pushes it out of her face. The glint of her nose ring catches the light. Everything feels vaguely unfamiliar in the harsh clarity of daylight. She glances at her phone on the nightstand. The screen is littered with notifications. She swipes through them absently—missed calls, unread texts, and a few Instagram likes. Nothing from him. Her fingers hover over his name in her contacts, but she quickly locks the screen, pushing the thought away. She pulls herself out of bed, her feet landing on the cool hardwood floor. Crossing the room, Harper catches a glimpse of herself in the full-length mirror. The girl staring back at her looks tired—dark circles under her eyes, skin pale against the freckles scattered across her cheeks. She’s still in last night’s clothes, a faded t-shirt and shorts. She tugs at the hem of the shirt as if trying to pull herself together.

A knock at the door breaks the silence, and Harper’s head snaps up. Before she can respond, the door swings open, and Elena Rivers strides in like she owns the place. Tall, raven-haired, and effortlessly composed, Elena is the epitome of vintage glamour, dressed in a sleek, tailored blouse and high-waisted trousers. She exudes confidence, her presence filling the room in a way that makes Harper feel small. "Morning, sunshine," Elena says with a smirk.

"Elena," Harper mutters with a smile. "You could knock and wait, you know."

Elena waves her hand. "Where’s the fun in that? Besides, you’ve seen one morning-after look, you’ve seen them all."

Harper watches as Elena makes herself at home, picking up a pair of panties from the floor and examining it with mild disdain. "So, what’s the plan for today?" Elena says. "Please tell me you’re not going to spend another Saturday wallowing."

Harper sighs. "I was thinking about… I don’t know, maybe just taking it easy?"

Elena arches a perfectly shaped eyebrow. "Harper, you’re 24, not 62. Let’s do something fun."

There’s a beat of silence as Harper considers. She knows that whenever Elena says "fun," it’s never as simple as it sounds. "Like what?" Harper asks.

"I have a few ideas. How about we start with brunch? Mimosas, maybe a little more after…" Her eyes glint with mischief.

Harper feels a flutter of apprehension, but it’s quickly drowned out by the desire to feel anything but the numbness that’s been gnawing at her for weeks. She nods, more to herself than to Elena. "Alright," she says finally. "Brunch sounds good."

Elena’s smile is victorious, like a cat who’s just caught a particularly tricky mouse. "Perfect. I’ll wait outside while you get ready. And Harper?" She pauses at the door, turning back with a look that’s both caring and calculating. "Wear something that shows off those legs. Let’s remind the world what you’re made of."