Tiffany:
“So, you’re sure you’re ready for this?” Harry asked as he played with his front door keys.
It was December twenty-third and the last time we would be seeing each other for a few days. We had been inseparable all week, and it was almost time to surrender to our families. But we still had tonight together, and I was equally excited and terrified of what lay beyond that door.
“Stop trying to make me nervous.”
“Trust me, they are going to adore you. I’m worried their enthusiasm might scare you off. We got two strong cultures behind these doors.”
My face broke into a warm smile. His nerves were adorable. “I can’t wait.”
“All right, but I warned you.” Harry put the key in the door, and as soon as he opened it, I was hit with two things. The first was a delicious aroma of sauce that pulled me forward, beckoning me to enter his apartment. The second was a commotion of sound. There was a clatter of talking, and the television was on fairly loud.
“Mom, Dad, we’re here,” Harry called as he closed the door and helped me out of my jacket. It was warm and lovely inside. It felt so cozy, and I was only in the vestibule. My apartment was beautiful, but it didn’t have this feel. I can’t explain it. Maybe it was because my home was often quiet with soft music. It was just me and my mom. This was the commotion of a family, and I was intrigued.
“Harry, is that you?” a woman called and peeked out of the hallway.
“Yeah, Ma, this is Tiff.” The hallway was narrow, so Harry stepped to the side to allow his mother through.
“Tiffany! Oh my god! You’re gorgeous!” She pulled me into her arms, squeezing me, and Harry snickered. He had her dark hair and the same shape face. She was very attractive, and I could see how she would have been a knockout twenty years ago.
“I brought a cheesecake,” I said, not knowing what else to say. She let me go, and I gestured to Harry, who was holding up a bakery box.
“Oh, that is so thoughtful! I love cheesecake! Did Harry tell you how much I love cheesecake?” She was so expressive with her hands, and I couldn’t help but smile.
“He may have hinted at it, Mrs. Archer.”
“Oh please, call me Marie. Come, you have to meet the boys.” She took my hand and pulled me down the hallway, stopping in front of her son. “She’s gorgeous! I can’t stop looking at her.” Harry licked his lip in an attempt to hide a smile, then glanced shyly at me. He had nothing to fear. I already adored her.
She pulled me through the hallway and past the dining room until we were by the living room. “Nigel, look who’s here.” I was right, the TV was on, and it looked like the guys were watching soccer—no! Rugby. A silver haired man turned away from the television and smiled as soon as he saw me. He stood, and I felt my throat go dry. He looked like David Archer. Well, if David was in his fifties and didn’t have tattoos… and wore glasses, but yeah, the resemblance was insane.
“You must be the beautiful ballerina we have heard so much about.” Holy moley… he sounded like David, too, in that he had a British accent. For some reason, I did not expect this.
“Hello, I’m Tiffany.”
“Isn’t she gorgeous? She’s gorgeous! Look at her hair and her tiny little waist!” Marie was pinching me and squealing.
“Aye, she’s quite lovely.” When Mr. Archer said it, I blushed.
“All right, Dad. Can you turn down the British charm just a tad?” Harry said, annoyed, and I realized I must have been redder than I thought. “Anyway, this is my brother, William.”
“Hey, Tiffany, you can call me Billy.” He had the same dark hair as Harry, but instead of blue eyes, his were brown like his mother’s.
“Nice to meet you.” I shook his hand then turned to Harry. “William and Harry?” I raised a brow.
“I was hoping you wouldn’t pick up on that.” Harry squinted like knowing the truth was painful. His mother had named them after the British royal princes. It was kind of adorable.
“And all this time I thought she just really liked Hogwarts.” I winked, and Harry shook his head.
“Yeah, like I never heard that one before.” He pointed to his glasses. “Way to be original, Tiff.”
“Hey!” Marie gave him a smack on his arm, which was cute since she was a full foot shorter than him. “No insults. Go watch the game with your father. Me and Tiffany need some girl time.” She hooked her arm in mine and pulled me over to the kitchen. “It’s so nice to have another girl in the house. These boys drive me crazy!”
“I can imagine. It’s just me and my mom, so I’m used to just us girls.”
“Oh, I’m sorry, did your father pass?” She looked so serious I almost laughed.
“Uh… I don’t know. He didn’t want me, so my mom broke up with him. They were young.” I shrugged. She looked upset that she had brought it up, and I stopped her before she could apologize. “You can’t miss what you never had. So don’t feel bad or anything, and my mom is really inspiring to me. I’m very girl power.” I winked at her, and she smiled. “But I’m close to my grandpa. He helped my mom pay for all my dancing lessons, and he came to all my shows.”
“Oh that’s wonderful! I’m glad you have him.” She turned, uncorked a bottle of red, and poured two glasses. “I always have a glass when I’m cooking. It makes me feel romantic.” She giggled, and I found her rather endearing. She handed me my glass and clinked hers against mine. “Salute!”
“Did Harry learn to cook from you?”
“Oh yeah, he loved helping me in the kitchen. He would help all the time, and by junior high, he was giving me nights off and cooking for the whole family!”
“Really?” I peeked across the rooms and glanced over at Harry. He was sitting on the floor, watching the game. I tried to picture him younger, helping Marie, but I was too distracted by how handsome he was now.
“How’s my boy doing?”
“He’s good. He studies really hard for his culinary exams and balances school well with work.” I debated telling her how good of a ballroom dancer he was. I knew she’d be proud, but part of me wanted to keep that side of Harry just for myself. I mean, not even Brit knew. “Occasionally, he tries a recipe out on me…” I smiled and took a sip of the wine.
Marie looked at me thoughtfully. I could only imagine what she thought the two of us did in our spare time. She’d be very bored if she knew the truth. “Has he…?”
“What?”
“Harry said you knew about his…” She chewed on her bottom lip, and I could see where he got his mannerisms from. “His past.”
“Yes, he was honest with me.”
“Good. I’m glad. But, I gotta ask. Has he kept clean?”
“Oh yes! He’s squeaky clean. He doesn’t even drink, and from what he told me that was never even a problem for him.”
“No, he dabbled in different things.” Her mouth twitched, and she looked sad.
“Mrs. Archer—”
“Marie, please.”
“Marie, Harry has been working really hard to make you guys proud. He’s doing wonderful, truly.”
“I’m sure you have something to do with it.”
“Me? Not at all. He was clean when I met him. If anything, I make him crazy.” I laughed.
She raised a brow at me and sized me up and down. “I bet you do, honey. I bet you do.”
“Oh no! I didn’t mean that! I just meant—”
“You don’t have to explain anything to me, honey. I was young once. I see you stealing glances at him even now. Both of my boys are very handsome, but Harry has a sweet side to him that Billy lacks. I know he’s easy to fall for.”
I drank my wine. She knew I was in love with him.
The whole world knew, except Harry, I guess.
I should have known that if Harry learned how to cook from his mother, then she would put out a feast. There was fresh fried calamari, cavatelli pasta with “gravy” that was filled with the most tender meats—sausage, brajiole, and meat balls. Then there was eggplant rollatini and sautéed broccoli rabe. It was one satisfying dish after another. I was so stuffed I was eager to help her clean up so I could move my legs. Harry helped with the dishes, too, and I loved watching him interact with his mother. They had a rather endearing relationship. He would tease her, and she would dote on him, primping and preening. She adored him, and I could only imagine how much it hurt her to have seen him in a rehab facility a few years ago.
After the dishes were done, Marie put on a pot of coffee, and Nigel and Harry sat down in the living room to play chess. Billy played some jazz music on an old phonograph that the family owned, and I took in the pulse of the family. They had their own heartbeat.
“Do you play, love?” Nigel asked, and his natural term of endearment made me smile.
“Yes. My grandpa used to play with me a lot when I was a child.”
“Good, you can play the winner.”
“Who will that be?” I asked Billy. He shrugged.
“In the old days, I’d say dad, but sober Harry… he’s pretty good.”
I was taken aback by his boldness, but then he winked, and I realized he was teasing his little brother.
Nigel won, but Harry had him right until the end. “Good game, mate.” He extended his hand to his son so that Harry could shake. “Now, the loser shall set up the board while I steal a cup of coffee. Then”—he winked at me—“game on.”
“I haven’t played in a long time,” I admitted as I sat down and helped Harry set up the board.
“It’s okay. I think I tired him out for you.” Harry laughed and started lining up the pawns. “So, what do you think of the Archer clan?” I glanced up. Billy was in the kitchen with his parents, getting himself a cup of coffee.
“They’re so much fun. I’m having a great time. Thank you for bringing me here. My mom must seem boring in comparison.”
“The woman that single handedly raised you and launched your dancing career? How could she ever seem boring to me?”
“Maybe quieter was the better word.”
“Ha! Now that I can accept.” He placed the last chess piece in place and looked up at me, his glasses low on his nose. Oh god… why did his eyes have to be so blue? “Umm, after you have your game, can I steal you away for a minute? I have something for you, in my room.”
“Like a gift?”
“Like a you’ll see.” He tapped my nose and got out of his seat so Nigel could sit. “All set up. Watch out. She cheats.”
“I do not!”
Nigel waved him away. “Don’t listen to him. He’s a sore loser.”
Harry shrugged and got up to get himself some coffee. When he came back, he had brought me a cup and a slice of cheesecake. “Shit, dad! She’s already got you on the defense.”
“Aye, you brought a damn ringer into the house.”
To be honest, I had no idea how I was playing so well. Half my brain was on the board trying to plan a few moves ahead. The other half was wondering what Harry’s room was like and what he had waiting for me in there. Maybe my subconscious was taking over, because before I knew it, I had taken Nigel’s queen, advanced on his bishop, and said the two words that Harry was unable to say, “Checkmate.”
“Looks like America beat the British again. Nice work, Tiff!” Billy gave me a high five, and Marie came running over.
“Did she really beat him? She’s perfect. You better keep her, Harry!” He gave his mother a long look, and I could tell she had made him really uncomfortable. I wondered if he had told his mom that we were more than friends. It was confusing not to know what they knew. Or perhaps, he was honest, but like everyone else they made wild assumptions.
“Yes, yes.” Nigel nodded. “You played a brilliant game, love. I look forward to a rematch.”
“Yes, but not now. I need to steal Tiffany for a few minutes.” Harry cocked his head to the side, beckoning for me to follow him.
I looked at his family, who were all hiding their smiles. “I’ll be right back.” Jumping up, I scurried behind Harry and followed him down the hallway.
He stopped in front of a wooden door. “I haven’t changed it too much. My apartment is more me,” he said apologetically. Turning the knob, Harry opened the door and stepped to the side so I could enter his bedroom. His bed was a twin, with a dark brown headboard and royal blue bedding. He had a Yankees championship poster up and a shelf above a desk that held baseball trophies. There was a dresser with a TV and on the wall beside the dresser was a framed American flag folded into a triangle. He followed my gaze and noted, “My grandfather’s. He served.”
He gestured for me to take a seat on his bed, so I did, my gaze still taking in the little nuances of his room. The closet door was lined with different caps. When he closed the door, I felt my nervous butterfly shatter into a dozen nervous butterflies. “So, yes, I have something for you.”
“A present?” I admit, with Christmas a few days away, I had wondered if he would have gotten me something, but that was such a boyfriend thing to desire that I didn’t really think too long about it. I figured maybe it was a new leotard or a book. A book would be funny considering how I had crashed into him a few months ago. I had visions of him handing me a really raunchy romance as a joke when he went into his closet and pulled out a small blue bag. A shade of blue I’d know anywhere. Tiffany blue.
My palms suddenly got sweaty. The dozen butterflies were pretty much having an orgy, reproducing a dozen more butterflies, and all I could think about was what was in that bag. It had to be a joke, right? I mean, he wouldn’t actually buy me jewelry from Tiffany & Co. Would he?
Harry adjusted his glasses and sat beside me on the bed, shifting the weight so the springs sank lower. “Merry Christmas,” he said shyly as he presented me with the blue bag.
Reaching for the bag, I peeked inside, and sure enough, the signature blue box with white satin ribbon was inside. “What did you do?” They were the only words I could muster.
“It’s a small, small token to say thank you.”
I took the box out of the bag, putting the bag beside me to protect it. I knew I’d be keeping it forever. Pulling at the ribbon, the bow fell apart, and with a breath, I opened the lid. Inside was a small suede pouch, the same color as the box and bag. Opening the pouch, I turned it over and a silver necklace slid into my palm. There was a silver pendent charm hanging off of the chain. An anchor, very sleek and delicate.
He lifted the necklace by the charm, holding it between us. “The anchor is an ancient symbol. Sailors always saw anchors as their strength. It grounded their ships when the sea wanted to toss them about. When I saw it, I immediately thought of you. Through all the chaos over the past two months, you never shied away…” He took a breath. His left knee was jittery, bobbing up and down. “You ground me, Tiffany. You’re my anchor.”
“I—I don’t know what to say.” I really didn’t. His words were so beautiful, his gift so poetic. Instead, I tried not to melt into a puddle on his bed.
Harry looked nervous. “Do you like it?”
“Like it? Harry this is probably the most amazing gift anyone has ever given me. I absolutely love it.” I turned around and held up my hair so he could put it on me. It took him a few times, and I wasn’t sure if it was because the latch was so small or because he was so nervous. Either way, I didn’t mind. When it was finally in place, I let down my hair and swung around to face him on the bed again. “It’s so perfect. Thank you!”
I threw my arms around his neck and gave him a big squeeze. He squeezed me back, and we both held on a moment longer than we probably should have. When we finally broke free of each other, our faces were inches apart. We were lost in each other’s eyes. It was now or never, and my lips were aching to feel his against mine. Harry looked like he was battling with what to do. Then, in a moment of complete and utter surrender, he swept his hand to the side of my face and tilted his head. My lips slightly parted, my body trembling in anticipation of his lips that were slowly getting closer to mine.
That’s when the door swung open, and his father barged in. “Harry! Your brother needs a jump. You know where the cables are?”
“Uh… yeah… they’re in the closet.” Harry didn’t look at me but got up and walked past his dad.
My face must have been shattered for when Mr. Archer looked at me even he got pink in the ears. “Oh, I’m sorry, love. Was that a bad time?”
Bad time? It was the worst possible moment. You couldn’t have given us five seconds? “Oh, not at all, Mr. Archer. I—I better see if Mrs. Archer needs me.” I flew out of there before he could question me further. But walking over to the window, watching Harry with his brother, I wondered if that moment would ever happen for us again.
“So, how long have you been a couple?” my mother asked as she watched me hang up my coat in the foyer.
“I already told you. We’re not a couple.”
“Fine, fine. Let me rephrase. How long have you been in love with him?”
I stopped dead in my tracks.
My mother closed her book and gave me a long look. “I watched you from the window as you said good-bye.”
I bit my bottom lip and looked away, unaware that she was able to see us. After Harry fixed his brother’s car, the Archer brothers gave me a ride home. With Billy in the car there was no chance of recreating our moment in Harry’s bedroom, but he had given me a hug and a tender kiss on the forehead that made me want to melt on the sidewalk. With Christmas around the corner, we wouldn’t see each other for a few days, and knowing that we had come so close only to be momentarily separated had me dripping with worry. I walked over to the couch and sat beside my mother. “That obvious, huh?” I said, feeling deflated. I was never a good liar, but this was plain embarrassing.
“Oh, sweetheart, it may as well have been written across your forehead.” I felt my ears start to burn red from my blush. “Oh, stop it. He clearly feels the same way. Not sure why you guys don’t make it official.”
“It’s insanely complicated, Mom.”
My mom swatted my words away like they were an annoying fly. “Oh you millennials make everything harder than it has to be.”
“No… it really is complicated.”
“Oh no. Does he have a girlfriend already? If he does, they can’t have the chemistry you have together. I swear you could light a fire with the spark going on between you two.”
“No. He doesn’t have a girlfriend.”
“Then what is it?”
I had always told my mother everything. Nothing was ever hidden, but for some reason I felt I had to protect Harry in this. She had met the amazing Harry that I fell in love with. I didn’t want to taint her impression with a past Harry I never even met.
“He’s… intense. Very focused on his career getting off the ground. He doesn’t have time for love.”
She walked over and picked up the silver anchor around my neck. “Mm-hmm. Tell me, does he buy all his other female companions jewelry, too?”
My hand instinctively reached toward the anchor. “It’s just a Christmas present.”
“It’s only a Christmas present if you dismiss it as such. I’m going to bed.” She kissed my cheek and winked before walking into her bedroom.
I turned and looked in the mirror, the anchor gleaming around my neck. I could hear Harry’s words in my mind. You ground me, Tiffany. You’re my anchor. In ballet, performing a duet with a partner is referred to as pas de deux. The principal dancer must put all her trust in her partner, leaning on him for support to perform a series of complicated turns and balances. The greater the trust between partners, the more flawless and magnificent the performance. In naming me his anchor, Harry had undeniably asked for my support. The foundation of trust had been laid; now I needed him to take the stage, knowing full well that together, we could be spectacular.