Come June [ h.s. ]

12

12
.

The morning after he'd made amends with Eileen, he lay awake in bed for almost an hour thinking about what exactly he'd done and all the ways it could possibly go wrong.

Firstly, it might've registered as a date, when it clearly was not.

Secondly, the outing itself would probably take a few hours, and he hadn't had a conversation that lasted nearly that long with anyone for almost a year.

Thirdly, he didn't even like aquariums.

Yet here he was; dressed in his nicest black jeans and a jacket to match, walking along 2nd street to her home. The pavement was wet beneath his shoes. He passed by a cherry tree and watched the petals that were all stuck to the ground, encased in a cold, glossy sheen of dew; everything around him seemed to drip with remnants of the showers. The sky, however, was warm — with no clouds in sight, he could feel the sun on his face again.

It reminded him of standing atop the light house with the wind in his hair and great blue waves crashing from below. He'd been carrying his camera around everywhere since that moment; though he didn't take many photographs. Naturally, he always forgot about pictures when those breathtaking moments came along.

The small white house came into view and he felt his spirits lift. She wasn't outside, and he figured she was probably trying to keep warm for as long as possible. He scaled the steps, and right as he was about to knock, he realized that he'd never paid much attention to the space up close.

His body turned to face the tulips. They were absolutely everywhere; sitting on the railing, hanging in baskets, and springing up from beds she'd placed in the corners. A veil of dew still covered the flowers which peeked out from under the roof. The drops were perfectly round and clear, like glass; glinting and aching for the sun. Harry breathed a peaceful sigh and watched the thin white cloud emerge from his mouth.

She sure knew how to raise flowers.

After he was through admiring Eileen's handiwork, he rapped gently on the door and waited with his hands in his pockets. In the quietness of the neighborhood he was able to hear her feet padding around inside. Some jingling — keys, most likely — and her muffled voice calling out to someone. He realized that she was saying goodbye to Hickory and smiled to himself.

The door released a tired creak and he was met with her wide hazel eyes. She was all bundled up in a scarf and jacket, her hair slightly curled and damp. He watched as she opened her mouth to speak, then buried her face into the crook of her elbow and let out a little sneeze.

"Goodness," she sniffed, glancing up at him with a bashful smile. "And how are you today, Harry?"

"I'm alright, thanks. You haven't got a cold, do you?"

"Oh, no, no," she waved. Her brow scrunched in dismissal. "It's normal. For some reason I sneeze a bunch in the mornings."

There was a pause, and Harry awkwardly gestured behind himself with his thumb. 

"Shall we?"

"Of course!" she exclaimed, clapping her hands together. "Hop into that truck and make yourself comfortable, we've got lots to see!"

He followed her gaze to an old pickup parked against the curb. It was a bright blue color, like a robin's egg — he'd seen it before from time to time and never knew it belonged to her.