mine {h.s.} | {b3}

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

— CHAPTER THIRTEEN —

june, year one.

When I wake up on June 6, I don't feel any different. I don't feel like I am suddenly no longer thirty years old. Instead, I only feel tired because Edie was up half the night crying and crying for no reason other than that she was miserable and wanted us to be miserable as well. Usually, when she wakes up in the night, Harry insists that he is the one to go get her. He still feels guilty for all of the havoc she caused during the nine months of pregnancy. But this time, it was different. She was up and crying so often, for Harry to get any semblance of sleep we had to switch off every time, not that I minded. While pregnant, this is how I imagined it going, anyway.

Now, I sit slouched in the kitchen with a cooling cup of tea in front of me. "Times like these, I wish I drank coffee." I grumble, my hair sticking on ends as Harry enters the kitchen. He, like me, looks a bit worse for wear having been up the majority of the night, too.

"Happy birthday?"

"Not in the mood, but thanks." I press my head down against the table and fight the urge to cry. Exhaustion has returned tenfold since Fitzy moved out. We had been optimistic when he left, knowing that we had a sort of rhythm going on that we could begin to stick to without him. Though, going back to work had messed up the majority of our plans. Granted, we have a nanny who comes during the days and watches Edie and helps out around the house, but there was something so relaxing about having a third partner to tap in during the night shift. Down to only the two of us, Harry and I are still looking to get our bearings.

Harry coos as he walks in closer to me, placing a hand on my back as he bends down and presses a kiss to the top of my head while it still remains buried on the table. "Today will be a good day," he reassures me, though I know him too well. I know that he doesn't sound all that confident in it himself. He rubs his hand up and down before pulling away and moving to the coffee machine to make himself a pot of coffee. "Want me to make you some?"

"No," I sigh, sitting upright as I stare at my cup of tea. For the taste alone, I still do love it, though for the ability to act as a pick-me-up in the same way I've seen caffeine benefit my husband and others, tea is exceptionally lackluster. "I can't start drinking that now."

"You can't?"

"That's the devil's water. Is that what they call it?"

"No, I think that's just Winston in New Girl." He responds absentmindedly, reaching around to grab a mug. He grabs my favorite: the chipped, yellow one that I had made in high school. He holds it so tenderly, so delicately, it makes me think of the way that he treats my own heart. This mug is a piece of me, something that I had made, and he treats it like it is the most special thing in the universe. "You sure?"

"Yeah, caffeine makes me tired."

"Caffeine makes you... tired?" He turns to look at me as though he is wondering whether he had heard me right in the first place. "I've known you for almost six years and this is the first time... Gracie, that's the most ass-backwards thing I've ever heard."

"You're telling me. Caffeine makes me tired and Benadryl doesn't put me to sleep. It's a thing, I'm a doctor." I assure him, the incredulous look on his face only encouraging me more. There's something invigorating about playing around with him like this. Lighthearted conversation has been something that the both of us have been only just slightly too tired for most days. "Stop looking at me like that!"

"Stop looking at you like what?" He challenges, leaning against the counter while the coffee brews. Though I don't drink it, I've always appreciated the smell of it. It's warm and welcoming, even if I hate the taste of it on Harry's breath. "Like you're certifiably insane?"