a/n hi!
54.
"Anna," he whispers, voice stripped raw by the morning.
I smile and curl tighter into myself under the blankets.
"Anna," he murmurs again. I feel the tip of his nose bonk against my bare shoulder. I hum.
"You're awake?"
"It appears so," I mumble and twist my neck around, my eye squinting open. His nose is still squished against me. "Good morning."
His bedroom window lets in sunshine. It lands in two bold squares across the comforter. From here I see a block of crisp blue. The color makes me shiver, knowing how cold it must be outside.
"Did you sleep okay?" He wonders. "You were so tired last night, we didn't give each other our presents."
"No we didn't," I twist around to face him entirely, propping up against the pillow. "Is that why you woke me up?"
"Well, our flight's in a few hours too," he reasons. My face folds together. I never heard an alarm go off.
"Did you sleep, Harry? At all?"
He hesitates, which answers my question. I press my lips together and sharply inhale.
"Why not?"
"I never sleep well in this house. On top of the fact that I don't sleep well in general."
"You should have said something. I could have helped," I frown. My fingers reach out to play with his hair. They knot at the back of his neck, gently tugging against the curls. He melts at the touch. His body relaxes and a faint smile traces his lips. He closes his eyes and shyly shrugs.
"I can probably sleep on the plane." He sinks further into the bed, reaching an arm out and wrapping it around my waist. I let him tug me closer, deeper into the sleepy trance that the bed and sun are fighting to keep us in.
"Fine," I kiss his chin.
He melts again. I don't know how else to describe it. It's like all the tension in his body drips away and leaves him soft and happy. I trace my finger in a pattern of swirls along the back of his neck and watch his pleasant reaction. He's so easy to comfort, to please. It's fun to watch how he mellows out at the simplest touch.
"Do you want your present or not?" His eyes blink open, realizing I'm distracting him.
"Yes please."
"Okay." I reluctantly let go as he drags himself from the bed. He digs through his suitcase, until his hand hits something underneath the dirty socks. He grabs it, and hides the object behind him, turning to face me again.
"Did you wrap it?" I laugh at the gesture. He freezes.
"Oh, I guess I did. Don't need to hide it, do I," he relaxes and climbs back into bed, kneeling next to me. His hands reveal a box a little smaller than my forearm, wrapped in shiny peppermint stripes.
"Very cute," I take the gift from him, holding it up to my ear to shake. There's a couple loud thunks. I hold it up to the light. The shiny material glitters when I twist it.
Harry's mouth twitches back and forth. He's fighting a smile. "I, uh. I'm very nervous."
"Really?" My eyebrows perk up.
"You're a hard person to buy a gift for."
"How so?" I tease him, but stop twirling the box in my hand. He shrugs.
"I just didn't want to get it wrong. I wanted to make sure you liked it. But the thing is, you have most of the things you want already."
"Do I now?"
"Yeah, I mean, like, you have your special camera, your signature coat, Emma makes all of your jewelry. I don't know," he trails off. "Just open it, I'm working myself up now."
"I'm sure I'll love it, Harry," I turn back to the gift in my hand, slowly tearing away the paper.
At first the packaging confuses me, but then I reveal the label to the box.
"A can opener?"
"Um, yeah," he mumbles and clears his throat.
"We do need a can opener," I laugh under my breath.
"Yeah, I know," he scratches the back of his neck. "Um. But that's not all of it."
"It's not?" I twist the box around in my hand. He shakes his head.
"Open it."
I huff and peel back the tape. It rips, and I shake it. "Ah," I grin as the contents fall onto the blanket before me. There's two tickets. I pick one up and glance over the words.
"For you and Emma. But it's more a gesture than anything."
"France?" My eyes light up. He grins sheepishly.
"I know you really liked it there. I realize that plane might not work, you're busy. So if you want to change the flight just let me know that's fine. But I thought maybe I could pay for you to go back, and take her with you."
I'm at a loss for words. All I can do is grin ear to ear and stare in disbelief at him.
"But also the can opener," his tone becomes matter-of-fact. He coughs and his finger knocks against the metal of the tool. "You guys really needed to get one. I thought maybe that was a void I could fill."
I push aside the gifts and pounce, tightly holding his face to kiss him. He grins, and our teeth knock against each other. I lean back to take in his eyes, my hands still gripping his jaw.
"Thank you. I love it."
"Really?" He wonders. I nod emphatically.
"Yes," I bend back down to kiss him again. "Thank you." I pull away to let the words out. They hang in the small space between our lips.
"You're very welcome," he whispers, his voice low and warm.
"It's my turn now." I decide, letting go and twisting out of the sheets. I dig through my suitcase at the end of the bed, finding the small paper box holding his gift. I also grab Cherry by the strap and pull her out of the luggage. Before I set the box in front of him, I press record and bring the viewfinder up to my face.
He takes the box and holds it against his ear to mock me. When he shakes his though, a rattling noise startles him. His face switches to curiosity. I stifle a giggle as he stares, bewildered, at the gift in his hand. I zoom in so I'm closer to the top half of his body. He brings his knee to his chest and his hand up to scratch the back of his neck.
"You aren't going to figure it out. Probably best to just open it." I advise. He pouts at me over the camera lens.
"That's boring. Give me one guess."
I roll my eyes. "Fine. One."
"A box of rocks." He says plainly. I cough out a laugh. "I'm right, aren't I," he grins, gauging my reaction.
"I didn't get you a box of rocks for Christmas. I promise."
"A shit, I wish you would've. I'd have felt a lot better about the gift I got you."
"Alright dork, open it," I'm growing impatient now. I want him to see what's inside. I know it's going to make him happy. I know he'll feel special. God, I want to make that smile a million times bigger. He raises a hand in surrender and undoes the little red ribbon I had tied around the box. Then he gently lifts off the lid and peers inside.
"Hmm," he makes a noise, the gears in his brain whirring. I zoom out and tilt the camera down to capture his fingers hovering above the open box.
"What'd you get, baby?"
He pauses, licks his lips, and then reaches to pull something from the box. A heavy, mesh bag dangles from his fingers. He stares at it. "It's a little bag of blue marbles."
"Now why would I get you that," I tease. A redness creeps into his cheeks.
"Because when I was five years old, I stole a bag, just like this one, from a shop." He glances shyly at the camera, flustered by the gift. "I can't believe you remember that."
"Now you don't have to feel guilty, you have your very own bag. Paid for and everything. I promise." He laughs and shakes his head. I shift how I'm sitting, watching Cherry lightly bounce with the movement. "There's something else in there too."
He gently sets down the bag and looks back in the box. His fingers reach for the CD case sitting at the bottom of the paper wrapping. I chew on my lip as he turns over the music in his hands. The front of the case is clear, words scribbled across the top of the CD. He reads over them, eyebrows knitted together.
For Harry, from Q
I really love you, but sometimes that scares me, and words are hard. So I thought this might help.
He smirks and glances up at me through the curls falling into his eyes. I smile back, absent-mindedly playing with the cherry keychain dangling against my wrist.
"A mixtape," he observes quietly. "Like my favorite book." I nod.
"One of your favorites. You have two." I remind him, and then take a shaky breath. "Please don't listen to it when I'm around. I mean, I want you to listen to it, just, when you're alone." I stumble over the words.
"Of course." He looks between his gifts and his face brightens. "Thank you, Quinn."
"I love you," I mumble shyly.
That's what sends him over. He's been bubbling with excitement since he pulled off that little red ribbon, but when those three words leave my lips, he explodes. I see it in his eyes. Like a million fireworks erupting in his irises. My heart starts violently beating in my chest. I gave him that.
I end the recording and set Cherry down.
"I love you too." He sits up on his knees and leans over me, tossing the CD onto the blankets next to us.
I can't look away from him, from the excitement in his body. His joy is addictive. I want to keep feeding him. I want to sustain the high he's riding until my own lungs give out. His head ducks down and he plants a kiss on the inside of my knee, before peeking back up at my face through his hair.
"We've got a flight to catch," he suddenly frowns.
"We've got a little time," I lean in and trace my fingers over his collarbone. "I'll make you cum so fast," I try. He laughs.
"Is that a challenge?"
"Yes, and you don't stand a chance."
"Probably not," he whispers under his breath. Before I can respond, his shadow is towering over me again. He presses our lips together.
We have to race to the airport.
Bags swinging at our sides, we arrive at the gate just as they start boarding. I grin cheekily at Harry and shove him with my shoulder.
"See, plenty of time," I pant from sprinting through the building. He laughs and shakes his head.
"Very impressive." His arm wraps over my shoulder, and his hand moves to curl a strand of my hair around his finger. The line inches forward, dragging us in its slow current. I lean into his frame.
A few feet from us, at the neighboring gate, there's a girl with her phone out. I can't tell if she's taking a picture of us or not. My eyes keep darting over to her, watching the angle of her phone. She's staring intently at the screen.
We take a few steps forward, and the phone follows us.
"Harry," I whisper. His humming tickles my ear. "She's taking pictures, or a video, or something."
"Want me to stop?"
"No it's okay, just, just know that she's recording us," I hesitate. "I don't know, just so you're aware."
"Yeah, I saw her." He mumbles. Leave it to his sixth sense. I don't think I've ever clocked a camera before he has. He's been trained to look for them since he was literally a kid.
"I hate that," I whisper. He nods a little, the action brushes against my hair. "Why do they do that."
"Because we're not real to them. We're a symbol," he speaks gently. The words make my heart lurch in my chest. But he's unfazed, his fingers still playing with the strand of my hair.
"I don't know how you're so cool about that all the time," I force myself to look away.
"She's the reason I have a job." His words leave his mouth plainly, like he's almost bored by the conversation.
We clamber onto the plane. I press my forehead against the window, watching the aircraft leave the ground, the London skyline eventually fading into piles of gray clouds. Harry rests his hand on my knee, his thumb circling patterns into the denim.
I turn back to look at him, "Will you sleep now?" I try.
We compete for the upper hand in our eye contact. Eventually he nods. I shift and pat the top of my shoulder, offering him a pillow. He leans into me, blinking his eyes closed.
It takes him a while, but eventually I feel his head grow heavier. I watch the clouds form and part beneath us. The blue of the ocean occasionally peeks through, blinding me with the glittering reflection of the sun.
But soon the clouds overwhelm the sky. The plane soars across the east coast. I wave at the spiky picture of New York as we pass. We're headed to L.A.. Harry wants the sun and warmth. I have a project. But I'll be home after New Year's, and I'm sure Emma won't miss me too much. She's got Kate and Leo to keep her company.
Although, maybe she will. I think back to Kate and Emma in early December. How Kate stormed out of the house, how Emma cried and watched her from the balcony. Or at Kate's brother's show, when she looked so nervous, so tense. And that night, when Kate threw her ceramic against the wall as they fought.
But what about the way they held each other on the couch? The day I told Harry he was my boyfriend? What about the way they laughed with each other when we went to dinner? The way Kate touched Emma in the backseat, so tenderly, affectionately.
I taste blood, and instantly assess that I've chewed a sore into my lip. I run my tongue over it and lean back in my seat. My legs ache from sitting for so long. They're screaming at me to get up and stretch, but we still have several hours. I huff and blow a strand of hair from my line of vision.
Harry's head is beginning to grow uncomfortable against me. I shift awkwardly beneath the weight, trying to adjust my posture. He slightly stirs. The seatbelt light flashes on above us. I reach over his lap to buckle him back in, my own untouched.
The plane jolts at a gust of turbulence. I gasp and reach out to hold the window frame. Harry's head bounces against my shoulder like I'm a trampoline. He shoots up, groggy but awake.
"You okay" I cup his temple where he banged my shoulder.
"I'm alright," he coughs, looking wildly around.
Another wave of turbulence rocks us. The cabin voices their concern, noises raising over the roar of the engine. Harry shifts in his seat and glances over at me.
"Well that woke me up," he chuckles. The plane begins shaking. A little kid somewhere behind us wails.
"Ladies and gentlemen it looks like we're going to have a little turbulence. We apologize for the bumpy ride. Please keep your seatbelts fastened and we'll hopefully clear this area soon."
I clear my throat and try to stretch my back. Out the window is an endless stretch of dark gray clouds. They whip by. They're depressingly thick, the kind that you could walk right across and not fall through. I shiver and watch the lightning flicker in the distance. The doom and gloom starts to overwhelm me and I pull the shade down.
"It won't last long," he decides to himself. I turn and rub the sleeve of his sweatshirt between my fingers
"How'd you sleep?" He smiles and shrugs. I shelf my chin on his shoulder. The plane rocks wildly from side to side, before the pilots tightens his grip and stifles it. The kid continues to cry, despite their parent's best efforts.
Harry reaches for his armrest to grip and steady himself. "Where do you think we're over right now?"
"I'm not sure, somewhere in the midwest I think," I think back to the New York skyline I saw a while ago. There's a ding from somewhere in the cabin. The lights flicker on, and rows of respiratory masks fall from above us.
"Whoa," Harry's eyebrows raise. He reaches up to grab his.
"Ladies and gentlemen the turbulence we're experiencing is creating dangerous flying conditions. For the safety of our passengers and crew we're going to make an emergency landing in the Chicago area. We will work closely with you all to reschedule flights and make sure you all get to L.A. as soon as possible. We apologize for the inconvenience."
"Oof," I grin at him. "That sucks."
He lets go of the mask and falls back in his seat. "Chicago, huh," he hums and drums his fingers along the armrest. I reach for the window shade and pull it back open. Both of us lean in to look out the little square.
All we can see are clouds for a while. Slowly but surely, the plane drops through the gray and little dots of light appear beneath us. The shaking grows less violent the closer we get to the ground. Now, all around us snow is pelting through the sky. It lands in sticky globs on the wings only to be swept away by the wind.
Harry's hand moves to rest on top of my knee. He's been doing that a lot lately, especially on this trip. His hand gravitates to that spot. He leans into my ear.
"Look at that, wow," he murmurs.
"Merry Christmas, huh," I chuckle.
"We won't be flying for at least a day," he realizes. I nod in agreement.
"You don't happen to have an apartment in Chicago, do you?" I glance back at him. He shakes his head.
"Unfortunately not."
I look back out the window.
"A day in Chicago," he yawns. I'm still staring out the window, but I can sense a smile growing on his face. "The great midwest."
I hum absentmindedly.
"You'll have to show me around."
I turn back and crease my eyebrows. "I've only been to Chicago once, Harry," I remind him. "I grew up in Hibbing."
"Hibbing," his lips roll over the word.
"Minnesota," I clarify. "I went to Chicago in middle school for a band trip. That was it."
"You were in band?" He laughs a little in disbelief. "What'd you play?"
"Percussion. I took piano lessons for like seven years," I frown.
His body relaxes. "Oh I knew that," he offers. "Hibbing," he repeats softly. "Where's that in Minnesota? Up north you've said?"
"Yeah it's up there. Probably like a ten hour drive from here. We took this giant bus the whole way. It smelled absolutely terrible."
"I'll bet," he smiles, but once again I see the gears whirring in the back of his mind.
"Hibbing," he says it again, like his clinging to the word, desperate to keep it close. A clue, a little string he can pull and pull until he slowly unfurls everything he wants to know. I look away. He doesn't say it again.
It takes about half an hour, but finally we step off the plane. His shorts and my tank top seem ridiculous now. We look like dumb tourists, subject to an unexpected winter layover. He pulls his sunglasses out of his pocket and presses them over his eyes. Our luggage is returned to us. Our flight is rescheduled. And then we're left on the front step of the airport, released into the city.
He steps forward and spins around, knocking his luggage against his calf. "So where to first?" His eyes twinkle. He's just far enough away that the snow is starting to stick to him. I shiver and laugh. He tips his head up and lets the heavy flakes cling to his eyelashes.
"I want to change, and maybe get some food."
We rent a car to the closest motel. Well, it's the second closest. We drove by the first and immediately turned to each other in fear. The sign was rusting. Half the cars in the lot were missing a tire or had a headlight busted in. Deciding we didn't want to get murdered in our sleep that night, we went to the next one.
The keys jingle in Harry's hand while he fumbles for the lamp on the nightstand. I toss my suitcase onto a chair in the corner and unzip the top. I reach for a sweater and yank it over my head. The lamp clicks and flickers warm yellow.
The walls here are beige and striped. There's a small painting of a sailboat on a lake. The bed is covered in a worn, ruby red blanket. The sound of a zipper slices the air. While Harry's changing, I wander to the window and play with the curtain, pushing back the fabric barely to glance out at the parking lot.
"Yeah, you better stay in my room. This view's shit," I tease. It takes him a second, but then he scoffs. My eyes dart back to catch him rolling his own.
"You can't use my cheesy lines against me."
"Why not?" I drop the curtain and shove my hands into my pockets.
"Because it's embarrassing," he whines.
We venture back out into the sticky snow, deciding almost immediately not to take the car. Instead, our feet tied tightly into our winter shoes, we hike hand in hand down the tundra-esque sidewalk. The snow is lazy, my favorite kind. It lingers in Harry's dark hair after we duck into a restaurant for lunch.
"Hi there," the hostess smiles at both of us. Harry hides behind me. I step forward, bringing her attention to me. The strategy is to be as inconspicuous as possible. We both seemed to realize that at the same time, moving like clockwork without even registering what we're doing.
"Can I get a table for two? Preferably in the back."
She takes us to a corner of the building without windows. Rough brick walls scratch against our polyester jackets. A vine clings to the grooves in the brick, dancing over our heads. The flakes in Harry's hair melt into shimmery flecks of rain. We slide into the booth.
"Thank you," I speak for us. She nods and passes out the menus, leaving quietly.
"So," I turn back to him. He's playing with the corner of his menu, folding the laminated paper back and forth.
"Are you vegetarian today, Quinn?" He teases.
"For you." I offer. He smiles to himself and looks down at his lap like a shy little kid.
"It's like we get to relive the day kind of."
"How do you mean?" She comes back with our waters and I take a long sip.
"Because of the time zones," he glances back up. "You know, it's one again."
"Well what should we do with our extra time," I play with the plastic straw in my glass.
He hesitates, afraid of shattering the moment with his next sentence. He's sudden hesitance makes my heart lurch.
"Don't do that," I laugh nervously.
"What?" his eyes snap up to mine.
"Pause like that. It makes it seem like you're about to tell me you have a terminal illness or something."
He grins and looks back down at his hands. "Quinn," he begins matter-of-factly.
"Harry."
"I think we should drive to Hibbing."
I must have misheard him. I don't respond. There's an itch in the middle of my back I know I won't be able to reach. His eyes carefully trail up to take in my expression. He knows to be sheepish. He knows what he's saying is dangerous. I don't respond.
"This is the closest we're ever going to get. A ten hour drive, we can do that. And it's Christmas time."
I listen, my body tense. My shoulders throb from the weight I'm holding in them.
"Quinn," his mouth twitches. He thinks he's losing me. He is.
"Yeah."
"I want to meet your parents."
Oh god. Oh god.
"You've met mine," he speaks slowly, gently, like he's calming a spooked horse. "I want to see your hometown. I think we're at that place."
I'm gripping the table before me for dear life. "Are we," I whisper. Not necessarily a question or a statement. The words hang starkly in the air.
"We are," he reassures. His arm extends, probing until it lands on my hand.
"My parents are horrible," I try to reason. He doesn't know what he wants. He's asking to wander into a lions' den.
"They bought you a piano," he slips in. A gentle reminder. "Maybe they aren't as bad as they used to be. What if--" he slams his mouth shut and his pupils widen and shrink.
"Say it."
"What if you've held a grudge for so long, you've blinded yourself with hate."
"Harry," I blow out a breath.
"At least let me meet them," he's growing desperate. "Please. I'll be good, I promise."
"You'll be good," I whisper back. He says that all the time. I'll be good. What a weird phrase. His eyes darken.
"Wes has met them, why can't I."
Suddenly there's an edge in his voice. I recall a memory from last year. Of Wes' dad dying, of me telling Harry I had to be with him, of Harry telling me he was coming with. There was an edge in his voice then. It scared me. It scares me now.
"That's unfair," I whisper.
"It's the truth."
The waitress bounces over. "What can I get you two?"
"A hamburger," I blurt. Harry blinks.
"And for you?" she turns to him. He flounders.
"Uh, just the hamburger," he gives up. "I'll be okay with water."
She bounces away.
"You want to meet my parents," I feel more comfortable now that I've also caught him off guard. I pull my hand away from his and reach for my water.
"I do," he shrinks in his seat, adjusting.
"It won't go well."
"You don't know that."
But I do. I know, because I've been here before. Except it was fourth of July weekend and my birthday. And I was surprised with plane tickets he probably spent a fortune on. I was guilted into going.
I made it to the airport and then feigned sick and hid in the bathroom until the plane took off. When I came out, Wes and Wes' suitcase were gone. He went without me. He came back three days later looking rather amused, pleased with himself. I asked him how it was but he clammed up. I wasn't even sure if he actually met them.
Until just now. According to Harry, he did.
"Anna," he pouts ever so slightly. Just enough to resonate with my coldness, not enough to annoy me. An expert in pushing, in crafting an image. He's been a master of persuasion, mystery, reclusiveness since he was sixteen.
"It won't go well." I try again.
"Don't give up before we've even left."
I chew on my lip, the same sore I developed on the plane ride here.
You're not the person you were a year ago.
What would my therapist say.
I picture Harry's face crumbling at my rejection. I imagine the joy I gave him earlier today ruined by my fear. I picture him walking back to the motel with me, silent, his jaw set. I would stop at our door, and he would just keep walking. It's what I did in Cancún. And I would have to apologize, and call him back to our bed.
He feels my resolve faltering. He leans in ever so slightly and rests his hand on top of mine again.
"I love you," he knocks down the final domino.
"I love you too," I mumble, feeling defeated.
"Let me meet your parents."
a/n
AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH
Song: "I'm Your Dog" - Joy Again