When Love Arrives (H.S.)

Chapter 35

Harry was fast asleep when I got home that night, which was surprising because it was only ten thirty. I didn't want to wake him up, though, because I was convinced that I would come home and tell him, face-to-face-fully-conscious, that I was in love with him, and his asleep-ness gave me the perfect excuse to chicken out.

I didn't bother waking him up before I went to my grandfather's house to meet up with my family the next morning, since it was quite literally the crack of dawn. He hadn't moved at all in his sleep, which made me feel inclined to check his pulse, but I didn't. He was snoring, though, so that was a good sign. I couldn't help, however, kissing him softly on the forehead. He didn't stir.

I put on a black long sleeve shirt, my jeans, and my converse, and was proud to say my hair was actually cooperative— it was curly, but not too frizzy. I was nervous that I would cry, so I didn't bother with the makeup. I hoped nobody would comment on that.

I tip-toed past Erica and Niall who were fast asleep on the living room couch— Erica, wrapped up in her comforter, and Niall, laying on top of the comforter... butt ass naked. Excellent.

The city was quiet that Sunday morning, the subways littered with the hungover and the church-goers and, well, me.

I liked Gramp's neighborhood. It was way nicer than my current neighborhood, but not as uppity as where I grew up. It was probably the only place in Manhattan where a family could have that white picket fence kind of feeling, without the actual white picket fences... Because nobody actually had a backyard.

It was, in a word, quaint. Just my style. The houses weren't too big, they buildings weren't too tall, and there was considerably less litter lining the streets than my neighborhood, but it still looked lived in.

When I was in high school, I wrote a short story called "The Curb" about a garbage can in this neighborhood and its observations on the atmosphere of the place. It sucked, of course, but it was the first time I actually wrote something that felt important. Another way in which my walk through this place was affecting me.

It felt like summer, an escape from my parents, my childhood, and my home... I never actually lived here of course, but I spent enough time at that house over the years to grow a certain attachment to it. And, of course, there was my attachment to my grandfather, but it was easier to think of the house, because it didn't really breathe. It only breathed in metaphor.

I didn't want to go clean out the old house, because I didn't want to someday walk down these streets and think about endings. To think about absence in a place that made my heart feel so full.

When I turned onto my grandfather's street, I was surprised to see so many cars lining the sidewalks. I was so focused on where I was going and what I was doing that I didn't realize that I had seen all of these cars together. I didn't realize what was going on until I saw a familiar looking figure walking towards me down the street.

"Hey, mija!" a voice yelled.

"Sylvia?" I called out, squinting my eyes so I could see her better.

"Who else?" she called back and, once she got close enough, she engulfed me into a tight hug. The embrace was rib-crushing but that was how she always hugged me since birth so I was used to it. "How are you doing, baby? I was going to call you, but yesterday Gabriel told me you would be here."

I tried not to roll my eyes at the mention of my brother. "I'm... Okay, I guess. I don't know... How are you dealing with all this?"

Her wrinkled smile contorted, just slightly, in pain. "I keep going on, mija. That's what Sal wants us to do. He's a good man."