Perfect Teeth by Sylvia Wrath

you are my new haven.

Both Harry and I spent the drive from New York back to Connecticut quiet and dozing in our seats. Mom had tried to stir up conversation as she navigated her way around airport traffic and onto the highway, and Harry happily obliged her, smiling and chatting about the flight, but I could see him fighting exhaustion every time I glanced back in the rear view mirror. He was yawning and his eyes were fluttering, but he was too polite to say anything.

Finally, I reached forward and turned on the radio, setting it to a low lull in the background.

"I'm gonna try and nap," I said, adjusting my seat back a little and settling into the side of the car. "So keep the chatting to a minimum, yeah?"

My mother sent me a raised eyebrow. "Sure thing, your highness." She quipped.

"Remember how happy you are to have me back in the same continent as you." I reminded her. Harry let out a chuckle from the backseat. We made eye contact through the mirror in the visor and he shot me a funny look, widening his eyes and flaring out his nostrils. I stuck my tongue out in retaliation.

My mother only rolled her eyes and looked back at the road, but I could see the small smile attempting to creep up on her face.

I was tired, but I didn't particularly feel like actually keeping my eyes closed. I kept stealing glances at Harry in the rear view mirror and the sun visor that I had pulled down. It didn't take five minutes for him to doze off into a light sleep, head pressed against the doorframe and his mouth hanging slightly open. I tried not to stay completely fascinated by his lips, but it was an unsuccessful mission. I hadn't kissed him yet, hadn't kissed him in seven days – there were too many people at the airport when I found him, settling for a quick squeeze before ushering him back to where my mom was double parked beside a minivan, and then I wasn't going to kiss him in front of my mother, even though I really, really wanted to.

The drive to New Haven went quickly. When I wasn't dissecting different parts of Harry's face, I was taking in the parts of the highway I had missed. The leaves had already turned, a New England fall much more vibrant than the one we'd gotten in London.

I felt at home in London sometimes, I think. When I was in my flat and when I was in the studio and even sometimes when I was in the Tube, surrounded by hundreds of people I didn't know but felt a certain kinship with, I had thoughts that London was the place where I was supposed to be. Maybe it wasn't where I was supposed to be for the rest of my life, but it certainly felt like where I was supposed to be now.

New Haven felt like real home. The past four days I'd been on edge, rushing around to complete things and not feeling quite like myself, but in the car driving down the highway, I felt more comfortable than I had in over a week. I wondered how much of that was my mom and Connecticut and actually trees with pretty leaves and how much of that was Harry.

Harry slept the entire drive into town. I wanted to point out different buildings to him, but he looked too peaceful to disturb. He stayed asleep as my mom pulled up to the driveway of the brick house I'd spent my entire childhood in, the same haphazardly trimmed hedges lining the porch (my dad was not very good at house hold chores, no matter how much he liked to believe he was) and the badly painted gnome I made in the sixth grade still perched by the door.

"Boy must be tired." Mom remarked as she cut the engine, stealing a glance back at Harry.

"It's been a really long week for him. He's been in like, eight different time zones this week alone."

My mother nodded sympathetically. "I'll go in and try to convince your father that the Scary Dad act can wait until the morning."

"Good plan."

"See you in the house." She gave my shoulder a squeeze as she got out of the car.

She was considerate enough to give us some alone time and I was grateful. I kind of just really, really wanted to kiss him.

It took three shakes of his shoulder for Harry to wake up, and even then he just looked at me kind of bleary eyed and blinked a lot. I thought maybe he would have heard me opening and closing the passenger door, or even opening his, but he was out.

"Get up, knobhead," I prodded his shoulder gently. "We've arrived."

"Already?" He mumbled and I smiled.

"We've been driving for like two hours. You were asleep before we even left New York."

"Ah shit," He cursed, straightening up some in his seat and moving a hand up to rub at his eyes. "Didn't mean to, 'm just really knackered."

"Don't worry about it." I couldn't stop myself from reaching a hand out and running my fingers through some of the hair on his forehead, matted down from being squished against the car door. "But let's get you inside and into a real bed."

Harry shook his head. "Need to charm your parents first."

"My mom was smitten from the second you started snoring—"

"—I did not—"

"—you so did, don't even. You've won her over already, but I'm sure you can be plenty charming in the morning as well."

I intentionally didn't mention charming my Dad, because how that went depended on how saucy my father was feeling today.

"Fine." Harry conceded, successfully unbuckling his seatbelt and grabbing for his jacket. I stepped away, heading for the trunk where my suitcases were stored, but Harry's hand roped around my wrist.

"Where's your mum?" He asked.

I nodded towards the house. "She left me to wake you up."

Harry said, "Good." Then he pulled me back to him, rested his hand on the small of my back, and reached over to kiss me. I let out an unintentional sigh against his mouth, letting my eyes flutter shut as his mouth moved against mine slowly, softly. It wasn't a long kiss, just a few seconds, but it was enough to make me feel warm and relaxed against him.

He pulled away slowly, a stupid little smirk on his mouth, and then pressed one more hard kiss against my mouth before untangling his arms and moving to get out of the car.

I took a slightly dazed step back and then shook my head, focusing on extracting my suitcases from the trunk and making it up the ten stairs to the house

Harry slung his duffel bag on his shoulder and had my small carry on in his hands, while I carefully slung my backpack and camera bag over my shoulders.

"This is where you grew up?" Harry asked, shutting the trunk quickly and then joining me as I walked up the path from the driveway to the front steps.

"My parents bought it a few years before I was born." I told him. "Apparently it was the only house they could agree on, and that's only because it was equal distance from both of their jobs."

Which was a story I could believe, because besides the big things, my parent hardly agreed on much. Mom was systematic, practical, the best problem solver I knew. Dad was inventive, a little unrealistic, and very relaxed.

"What do they do?" Harry asked, climbing the stairs behind me.

"My dad's an engineer and my mom's technically a lawyer. She used to work for the state, but now she works with local nonprofits and women's shelters with a bunch of legal stuff."

"So all of the Callil's are a brilliant bunch?" He quipped, and I couldn't tell if he was serious or not, but I shot him a look anyway.

My mom left the door open and I hadn't realized how much I missed walking into the front hallway until I was doing it and stuck with a wave of nostalgia. The front table was still piled high with coats and envelopes and magazines and the plant my father insisted on having in the foyer ("We have to have a plant. Plants make a home!") was looking dry and dead in the corner. He was absolute shit with plants, always forgetting to water them and remember they needed direct sunlight, but my mother would pick a new one up for him dutifully when the previous one died.

"We do okay." I said to Harry, carefully setting my backpack and camera bag down in the front hall, smiling wider as a feline head stuck out from the hallway and immediately started trotting towards me.

"Chunky Salsa!" I called out in glee, just as Harry snorted behind me.

"Chunky Salsa?" He repeated. "You named your cat Chunky Salsa?"

"Don't mock her." I picked the large tabby up in my arms quickly, letting out an 'oof' as I shifted her around. My biceps were considerably lacking in muscle mass and Chunky Salsa was getting rounder and rounder by the day. She let out a contented meow as I nuzzled her into my chest and turned back around to Harry. "Technically her name is Salsa, but we strongly felt like the Chunky was implied."

"And you don't think that offends her?" Harry dropped his duffel bag by the door and bent down to greet the cat in my arms. "Hello, lovely to meet you. How're you today? I'm Harry."

"She says hi, nice to meet you too." I informed him, scratching Chunky under the chin. She leaned her head back and continued to purr. "She's having a wonderful day because her wonderful, fantastic owner has come back. And she would appreciate it if you didn't belittle her name. She embraces the chunk."

"Understood." Harry nodded seriously. "All chunk will be embraced from now on. I apologize for my mistake."

"Good." I said, and then, "Are you hungry? We were going to stop for something on the way but you were too adorable to wake up."

"I could eat."

"Then onto the kitchen. It's that way." I pointed him past the living room and down the hallway by the stairs.

Both my mother and father were in the kitchen – my mother standing in front of the fridge, seeming to scan it, and my father sitting on one of the stools at the breakfast nook, laptop open. Mom was laughing and Dad had the self-satisfied grin he had on his face when he told a joke he found really funny. (I know this face because I have inherited it from him.)

I passed Chunky Salsa off to Harry – he looked a little bewildered, but pleased as the cat curled up against his chest – and immediately went to my dad.

"Pops!" I called out, waiting impatiently as he stood up for a hug. Scott Callil was tallish, wiry, and wore a lot of corduroy pants. He had thick, brown glasses that were probably a little too hip for a man of 55, t-shirts with weird engineering puns on them, and a tuft of grayish brown hair that could not be tamed. He easily tied with my mom (and okay, maybe (maybe) Harry) as my very favorite person ever.

"Ezzie," He grinned out affectionately, squeezing me tightly before pulling away and examining my face. "Finally, someone to eat Indian food with." The rejoice in his voice was apparent.

"Mom still won't budge?"

"No." He shook his head. "I've tried everything – bribery, chores, sexual favors—"

"—DUDE—"

"—and still she refuses. She'll do Chinese food and Thai food, but apparently Indian food from Tati's is the line."

"The smell never leaves your clothes. It takes days to get out." My mother voiced her argument, pulling out some things from the fridge and then turning to Harry. "Are you allergic to anything? Vegan? Vegetarian?"

Harry had been quiet the entire time I was talking to my dad, still sleepily nuzzling Chunky Salsa in his arms, and looked a little startled that my mother was talking to him. "Um, no, no major allergies." He replied. "Not vegan."

"He will pretty much eat anything." I interjected. This was true. Whenever he went out and I brought home leftovers, I no longer expected to actually eat them, just left them for Harry. He claimed that he had to eat excess calories because of the intensive workouts he was doing with his trainer and I claimed that he was just trying to find an excuse for being a fat ass. It was okay. I didn't judge.

Harry nodded at this.

"Grilled cheese okay?" My mom asked.

"Grilled cheese is perfect, thank you."

"Dad," I introduced, gesturing between Pops and Harry. "This is Harry. Harry, this is my dad. You can call him Scott. Or Pops."

"Nice to meet you, sir." Harry leaned down and set Chunks on the floor delicately, before rising back to his full height and sticking a hand out for my father to shake. "I'm Harry. You have a lovely home."

"I know who you are, kid." My dad shook Harry's hand briefly, sizing him up with a raised eyebrow and I laughed a little to myself. "I'm on Twitter. I'm cool. I'm hip." Proving, of course, that he was neither cool nor hip. "And you can call me Mr. Callil."

I rolled my eyes.

Harry nodded, not even looking the least bit phased at my father's really poor attempts at intimidation. He was even grinning his dimpled smile when they pulled their hands away. "Thank you for having me, Mr. Callil."

I wanted to tell Harry that he didn't have to call my dad Mr. Callil, that this was just my father's way of attempting to fuck with him, but I didn't want to ruin my father's fun, so I just took my dad's seat on the breakfast nook and opened his laptop to see what he was doing.

I was not even a little surprised when Harry's Twitter page came up. In fact, I laughed a little to myself, checked that my father was logged into his own Twitter account – he seemed to only ever use it to Tweet me stupid things or for business or to remind me what Ezra Koenig was occasionally the funnier Ezra– and proceeded to retweet every single one of Harry's tweets, starting at the top of the timeline and working my way down. I was wondering how far down I could get before someone stopped me. I had high hopes.

I was only briefly listening to what my dad and Harry were saying, not entirely too concerned. If I knew my father – and like, yeah, I knew my father, we were the same person in a lot of ways – he would spend the entirety of the rest of tonight trying to fuck up Harry's game. He'd grunt a lot and make weird small talk and give off slightly unwelcoming vibes, trying to see how Harry'd react. Then, when Harry hopefully didn't break, in the morning, my dad would be chummy. He'd make some stupid jokes and be a Chatty Cathy. This was the same routine Pops had used on my very first long-term boyfriend in my junior year of high school except the intimidation period was two months, not one night. Harry was staying with us this week, so I hoped the process was a little expedited.

The entire thing made me smile.

My mom must've caught my grin as she prepared the grilled cheese at the burners set into the island, laughing a little as she layered pepperjack and cheddar cheese onto the really good bread. "Do you think Harry'll break?" She asked quietly, laughing to herself.

"No," I shook my head, looking up at her as I continued to retweet. All of the coworkers and business "acquaintances" that followed Dad on Twitter were going to have a very interesting timeline in the morning. I cackled internally. "Harry's got media training and he's probably the politest person I've ever met. It'll take much more than some mean eyebrow raises and awkward pauses to break him. Dad either needs to give up or try harder."

My mom continued to laugh. "How long's Harry staying again?"

"No idea." I shook my head. "Probably at least till Friday. Maybe a little later. When do you want him gone by?"

"Doesn't matter to me. I'm still surprised you invited him. He can still as long as you do. Or longer, if he likes. Probably be nicer to us than you are."

"Probably. But he's not nearly as cute."

"And where exactly is he sleeping, is my next question."

"Where exactly do you want him to sleep?" I turned the question back around on her.

Harry and my dad were still talking, standing at the edge of the kitchen. Chunky Salsa was nuzzling against Harry's legs, having successfully thrown herself onto the floor to roll around on the top of his boots. There was the third Calllil he had won over.

My mother shrugged and tried to look casual, but she was so failing. "The guest bedroom's full of random stuff, but I could clear off the bed tonight, I guess."

"Or he can just stay in my room." I suggested, smiling at her as she tried to beat around the bush.

"Is sharing a bed something the two of you do often?"

"Often enough." I answered honestly.

"Do you need condoms?" She asked, finally looking up from the grilled cheese to settle me with a level stare.

"No." I shook my head, and for a moment my mother almost looked relieved. "I'm on birth control."

She laughed at the same time I did and flipped one grilled cheese. We'd had the safe sex talk a very long time ago, and while I wasn't keen on telling her every detail of my sexual endeavors, she knew enough. And she trusted me, which was important.

When the grilled cheese sandwiches were finally done, my mother beckoned Harry over and he took a seat right next to me on the island, looking hungrily at the plate in front of him.

"Have fun chatting with Pops?" I asked him, just as I took the first bite of cheesy goodness. My mother's grilled cheese sandwiches were the End All, Be All of grilled cheese sandwiches. I often told her that she needed to enter a competition, because there could not be grilled cheese better than this, or that we should start a business endeavor where she made really delicious grilled cheeses and I made milkshakes and that was how we were going to make our first million.

"He's nice." Harry answered diplomatically, glancing to the next room over, where my father and mother had both excused themselves while we ate. I logged out of my Dad's Twitter when the food was ready and I was eagerly waiting for when he logged on again and realized what I'd done. There would probably be some retaliation, but bring it on.

"He's just fucking with you for fun." I told Harry.

"Really?"

"Really. It's a thing he does to boys that enter the Callil house. Don't give him any reaction and he'll probably be really nice to you in the morning."

"Is this something he does often?" Harry asked through a mouth full of grilled cheese. "Intimidate boys that you bring home?"

"He's only done it once, if that's what you're asking. And it wasn't nearly as funny to watch as you two." Mainly because my ex-boyfriend had stayed really quiet and then refused to come over again for like two months.

Harry just hummed and continued eating his grilled cheese. He shoulders slumped and his elbows rested against the countertop, head hanging tiredly as he chewed. I leaned over and bumped shoulders with him lightly when we both finished our sandwiches.

"C'mon," I said, "let's get our stuff and then get you into a bed. You look like you're gonna pass out any second."