Chapter 69 Maya Comes Home
Harper's POV,
I spotted Maya before she saw me, standing at the Vancouver airport arrivals gate looking around with her suitcase and that slightly lost expression people get in unfamiliar airports.
"MAYA!" I screamed, not caring that I was causing a scene.
Her head whipped around. Her face lit up. She dropped her suitcase and ran toward me, and we collided in the middle of the arrivals area like we hadn't seen each other in years instead of six weeks.
"You're here," I said into her hair, holding her so tight I was probably crushing her. "You're actually here."
"I'm here. And oh my god, Harper, you look amazing." She pulled back to study my face. "You're glowing. Are you pregnant?"
"What? No! I'm just happy."
"That's what glowing is. Happiness. It's weird on you. I'm not used to it." She grabbed her suitcase. "Okay, take me to this new life of yours. I want to see everything. The condo, the clinic, the city. All of it."
Crew was waiting in the parking garage. He hugged Maya when we reached the car.
"Thanks for letting me crash your weekend," she said.
"You're not crashing. You're visiting. There's a difference." He loaded her suitcase into the trunk. "Plus Harper's been counting down the days like a kid waiting for Christmas. This morning she checked her phone six times to see if your flight was delayed."
"I did not."
"You absolutely did. I counted."
We drove into the city with Maya pressed against the window like a tourist, taking in everything. The mountains behind the skyline. The water everywhere. The mix of old and new architecture.
"It's beautiful," she breathed. "Seattle's beautiful too, but this is different. More... I don't know. Open?"
"It feels bigger," I agreed. "Even though it's not. Something about the mountains and the water makes everything feel expansive."
We took her to the condo first. She walked through slowly, taking in the unpacked boxes that were finally gone, the furniture in actual rooms instead of stacked in corners, the art on the walls.
"You decorated," she said. "It looks like people live here. Actual adult people."
"As opposed to the children we were six weeks ago?" Crew asked.
"As opposed to the disaster refugees you were six weeks ago living out of boxes and eating takeout on the floor." She picked up a throw pillow from the couch. "Harper, you bought throw pillows. Plural."
"I bought seven. A perfectly reasonable number."
"You had to rebuild your throw pillow collection from scratch and you went with seven. That's commitment to your aesthetic."
We ordered lunch from a poke place down the street—Crew's discovery from week two, now a regular spot. Ate on the balcony overlooking False Creek and the mountains beyond.
"Tell me everything," Maya demanded between bites. "How's the clinic? How's Crew's recovery? How's Vancouver treating you? I want details."
"The clinic's almost done. Renovations are in final stages. I had the electrical inspection yesterday—passed. Should be fully operational in two weeks."
"That's huge! Harper, you're actually doing it. Opening your clinic. Being a business owner."
"I'm terrified every single day that it'll fail and I'll be bankrupt and homeless."
"That's normal. Welcome to entrepreneurship." She turned to Crew. "And you? How's the comeback going?"
"Good. Exhausting. I'm playing in pre-season games starting next week. My body's still adjusting to performing clean, but I'm getting there." He sipped his water. "Sixty-two days sober as of today."
"Sixty-two days. That's amazing, Crew." Maya raised her poke bowl. "To sixty-two days. And to Harper's clinic. And to all of us figuring out how to be functional adults."
We toasted with poke bowls, which felt ridiculous and perfect.
After lunch, I took Maya to see the clinic. Crew stayed behind to give us time alone—he'd seen the space a dozen times already, knew Maya and I needed this moment together.
The clinic space was exactly as I'd left it that morning. Construction chaos. Drywall dust. Tools everywhere. But the bones were there. Treatment rooms framed out. Reception area taking shape. My vision becoming reality.
Maya stood in the doorway, taking it all in. Then she started crying.
"Maya? What's wrong?"
"Nothing's wrong. This is happy crying." She wiped her eyes roughly. "Harper, you did it. You actually fucking did it. Ten years you talked about opening your own clinic. Ten years you put it off for Joel, for moves, for everyone else's priorities. And now you're standing in YOUR clinic. Your name is going on that door. This is yours."
Now I was crying too. "Stop. You're going to make me ruin my mascara."
"Too late. We're both disasters." She walked through the space, running her hands along the framed walls. "Where's the reception desk going?"
"Here, by the windows. So clients see it immediately when they walk in."
"Treatment rooms?"
"Three. Back there. Each one with enough space for a table, equipment storage, and some privacy."
"Office?"
"That corner. Small but functional. Just need a desk and filing cabinet."
Maya turned in a slow circle, taking it all in. "It's perfect. It's exactly what you described all those times we stayed up late in college talking about our dream futures. Remember that? Junior year, drunk on cheap wine, planning our perfect lives?"
"You were going to work in PR for a major sports team. I was going to have my own clinic. We were going to be successful and independent and not need men to validate us."
"Look at us now. Both of us actually did it." She grabbed my hand. "Harper, I'm so proud of you. Not just for the clinic. For everything. For leaving Joel. For taking the risk with Crew. For moving cities. For choosing yourself over safety. You became the person we dreamed about being."
"So did you. You quit your job on principle. You're moving here in four weeks to start fresh. You're not taking anyone's shit anymore."
"We're both grown-ups now. When did that happen?"
"I think it happened gradually and then all at once. Like going bankrupt." I laughed through tears. "Come on. Let's get out of here before I start sobbing in front of the contractors."
We spent the afternoon exploring the city. Granville Island market, where we bought overpriced cheese and artisan bread. The seawall walk, where we took selfies with the mountains in the background. A coffee shop in Gastown that Maya declared superior to all Seattle coffee shops, which I argued was treason.
By the time we got back to the condo, it was dinner time. Crew had made reservations at a restaurant Marcus recommended—farm-to-table something, the kind of place with small portions and big prices.
The three of us sat at a corner table, sharing plates and talking over each other and laughing too loud. Other diners kept glancing over, probably annoyed by our volume.
I didn't care. This was my family. Chosen family. The people who mattered.
"So," Maya said over dessert. "Four weeks until I move here permanently. We need to plan. I'm thinking housewarming party once I'm settled. Introduce me to Vancouver properly."
"We don't know that many people yet," I admitted.
"Then we'll invite Crew's teammates. My new coworkers. Your clinic clients. We'll build community." She pointed her spoon at me. "Harper, you've been isolated for six weeks. It's time to actually make Vancouver home by making friends who aren't Crew."
"I have friends."
"You have me, and I don't count because I've been in Seattle. You need Vancouver friends."
"Janine," Crew offered. "Marcus's wife. She runs that partners group. Harper's been to two meetings."
"See? Janine. That's one friend. We need more." Maya pulled out her phone. "I'm making a list. People Harper needs to befriend: Janine, other partners from the group, clinic clients who seem cool, neighbors, baristas at your regular coffee shop—"
"You can't befriend people just by deciding they're your friends. Friendship requires mutual interest."
"Mutual interest is overrated. You just show up repeatedly until people accept that you're part of their life now. That's how we became friends."
"We were randomly assigned roommates freshman year."
"Exactly. Forced proximity leading to genuine affection. A proven method." She typed something into her phone. "Okay, new goal. When I move here in four weeks, we're hosting a party. We're inviting everyone. We're making Vancouver our home by filling it with people who matter."
Crew laughed. "You've been here eight hours and you're already planning parties."
"I'm a PR director. Planning events is literally my job. Well, my future job. Starting in four weeks." She grinned. "September first. First day at the Canucks organization. I'll be working in the same building as you, Crew. We can carpool."
"That's dangerous. You'll know all my embarrassing workplace moments."
"I already know all your embarrassing moments. This just gives me fresher material."
We closed down the restaurant, the last table to leave. Walked back to the condo through Vancouver's streets, which were busy with Friday night energy. People spilling out of bars. Couples holding hands. The city alive and vibrant.
Back at the apartment, Maya claimed the guest room. I found her an hour later sitting on the bed, looking around.
"You okay?" I asked from the doorway.
"Yeah. Just processing. Six weeks ago I was helping you pack to leave Seattle. Now I'm visiting you in Vancouver. And in four weeks, I'll be living here too." She smiled. "It's weird how fast life changes when you actually make choices instead of just letting things happen to you."
"Very wise words from someone who once ate an entire pizza by herself because she was sad about a Netflix cancellation."
"That pizza was justified. They cancelled it on a cliffhanger. I was grieving." She patted the bed next to her. "Sit with me for a minute."
I sat.
"I need to tell you something," Maya said. "And I need you to not get weird about it."
"That's a concerning way to start a sentence."
"I'm serious. No getting weird." She took a breath. "Watching you these past few months—leaving Joel, fighting the lawsuit, moving cities, opening your clinic, building this life with Crew—it's been inspiring. Like genuinely, actually inspiring. You made me realize I was settling. In my job, in Seattle, in everything. I was comfortable but not happy. And watching you choose happiness over comfort made me want to do the same."
"Maya—"
"I'm not done. You saved my life too. Not the way you saved Crew's life. But you showed me what bravery looks like. What choosing yourself looks like. And I'm here, moving to Vancouver, starting over, because you did it first and proved it was possible." Her voice got thick. "So thank you. For being my best friend. For showing me what's possible. For letting me be part of your new life instead of leaving me behind in Seattle."
"I could never leave you behind. You're my person."
"You're my person too. Always." She hugged me tight. "Now get out of here. I'm exhausted and I need to sleep for twelve hours."
I found Crew in bed, reading something on his phone. He set it aside when I came in.
"Maya settled?"
"Maya settled." I climbed into bed next to him. "She said watching me rebuild my life inspired her to rebuild hers."
"You do that. Inspire people without realizing it."
"I don't feel inspiring. I feel like I'm barely holding it together most days."
"That's what inspiring looks like. Not having everything figured out. Just choosing to keep going anyway." He pulled me close. "Harper, you've built an entire life in two months. Clinic, community, home. That's incredible."
"We built it. Together."
"Together," he agreed.
Maya left Sunday afternoon, tearful but happy. "Four weeks," she said at the airport. "Then I'm here permanently and you're stuck with me."
"Can't wait," I said, meaning it completely.
Driving home from the airport, Crew reached over and took my hand.
"You okay?" he asked.
"Better than okay. Maya's coming. The clinic's almost ready. You're playing. We're actually doing this." I looked at him. "We're building the life we wanted. It's real."
"It's real," he confirmed.
And for the first time since moving to Vancouver, I actually believed it.