“This is your apartment?” Harper asks, standing at the center of the living room. He swings left and right, taking the place in.
“No. I’m an evil spirit inhabiting this place after the previous owner died of a mysterious accident,” I grunt.
Harper pivots on his heel, facing me with a smirk. "It's too bad that's not true or we could blame the lack of color in here on the last guy.”
“Touche,” I grunt.
Smiling proudly, Harper announces, “I’ll order pizza, if that’s okay.”
“Free food is the best food, so yeah, pizza is fine.”
I take a seat on the couch, watching Harper pace during the phone call. His eyes take in my place, although they never linger anywhere long since there isn’t much to see. The walls are mostly bare. I have no one to take pictures of or for. Unlike his place, there’s no proof of a life outside of this small apartment.
“How drab, it’s like no one even lives here,” Harper exclaims once he’s off the phone. He peeks at the open door to my bedroom, chuckling when I rush over to close it.
“What do you have hiding in there, the dead body of the previous owner?” he teases.
“Maybe,” I grumble, signaling for him to walk away. That’s my bedroom and we definitely aren’t on good enough terms for him to go in there. Not that we’ll ever be on any kind of terms for him to be in my bedroom.
“So, do you often insult strangers’ apartments?” I ask.
“It wasn’t an insult. More of a direct statement. Come on,” Harper says, putting a hand on his hip and gesturing to the empty space with the other. “You can’t deny your place needs a major tune up. My apartment had more life when the realtor was showing it to me.”
“Maybe I like a very minimalistic style.”
“This isn’t minimalistic. It’s spooky. I’m really thinking you are actually a ghost haunting this place.” Harper shudders, moving from the living room towards the kitchen. I cock a brow, observing him scan the kitchen like he expects to find proof of my ghostly self.
“You didn’t just move in, did you?” Harper asks.
“Nope.”
“Urgh!” Harper throws open a cupboard in the kitchen, scowling.
“What has disappointed you now?”
“I saw something shining from the cupboard, but you just have a metal bowl.” Harper closes the cupboard, sighing.
“What did you think it was?”
“Ghost goo? I don’t know, something more exciting than a bowl at least.”
I return to the couch to take a seat, resting my cane against the side table. “So you insult a person’s home, search their cupboards, and accuse them of being a ghost?”
“You accused yourself of being a ghost,” Harper argues, grinning impishly. “And I am incredibly nosy so I will not deny the snooping.”
“What does your family think when they come over and don’t see a single picture of them anywhere?” Harper asks, glancing over his shoulder at me.
“None of your business, and aren’t we meant to be going over a schedule?” I gesture for him to join me on the couch. “Sit down and let’s finish before the pizza gets here.”
“Your social skills need as much tender love and care as your place,” Harper mutters under his breath.
“I heard that.”
He chuckles, sitting directly beside me. Did he sit in the middle on purpose so we’d have to be close? I’m almost tempted to slide onto the floor, but my leg would not appreciate that kind of mistreatment.
Harper scrolls through his phone again. “Not to toot my own horn—” meaning he is about to toot his own horn. “But I came up with a brilliant plan earlier!”
I wave my hand dismissively, “Okay, go on.”
Harper speaks like a salesman trying to convince me to buy a new TV I don’t need. “Because of my wrist, and working with an inexperienced assistant—”
“This assistant could always leave.”
“I appreciate the assistant regardless of his experience!” Harper shouts, swiftly continuing before I do send in my resignation.
“I had to cancel some previous engagements. To make up for it, I considered a new segment to add to my channel that you specifically can help with!” Harper jabs me in the chest with his pointer finger. “What do you think about doing a Physical Fridays segment?”
“Physical Friday?” I repeat, unable to decipher what in the underworld that could mean.
Harper scoots closer. I press myself into the arm of the couch, but to no avail.
It doesn’t matter if I’m quiet, Harper holds the conversation well enough on his own. “You may not know this since I do a little bit of everything now, business reviews, unboxing, silly dances, but I actually started purely as an advice tuber. I'm… I'm actually a therapist. I loved helping people talk through their problems and giving people the mental health pick-me-up they needed! I read an article about cooking being great therapy, so I started doing Foodie Fridays, and they're my most popular segment! But with my wrist, I'm not sure how much I can really do around the kitchen... and that's where you come in.”
“Me?” I seem to have forgotten how to form my own thoughts and only repeat what Harper says like a damn parakeet.
Harper finally gives me a moment of reprieve by leaning away. My heart settles into a low hum that I make a mental note to check later. It shouldn’t have been beating that fast earlier. After all these long years, my heart may finally be giving out.
Nodding eagerly, he explains, “I was thinking the Foodie Friday segment can temporarily be a Physical Friday segment! We’ll spell it with an F, obviously. And you can teach people ways to keep themselves fit and healthy, so we can do physical health as well as mental health. And of course, two good-looking guys in workout clothes won’t hurt the subscriber numbers either.” ”
I’m so shocked by him calling me good-looking that I find myself going along with it before I can come to my senses. “I don’t know. What would that even entail? I don’t watch a lot of NuTube. When I do, they’re usually comedy sketches.”
“Don’t worry, I’ve already got a plan,” Harper announces, sending me a cute, and when coming less than a minute after he called me attractive, possibly illegal, wink.
Comments (15)
See all