One last shot at figuring it out. One last diary entry.
That's it. This is the last one. After this, Reign and I have to go find H and give him his things back. All we can do is hope that he'll tell us his story in full.
We have to hope he'll give us names. Who is he? Who is L? Who is G? Who were they and who are they now?
Grammy tells us that he'll do it, he'll spill all his best-kept secrets if we only ask. That seems like a pretty big order to me, but then again, I never knew him, and she knew him well. I want to know him. I feel like I do, at least a tad bit. I feel like I know his deepest secret, but I just can't get past face value of it.
So here's what we know:
1. H has one and only, please, and let us love written on his diary.
2. L and H aren't allowed to be together. Why? Unknown.
3. Grammy was friends with H, L, and G
4. We don't know who L or G are, but we have ideas. Darcy doesn't agree with mine.
5. ...
6. L wrote an entry for H, so we know they were truly in love with each other. It wasn't unrequited.
7. L.T. are L's full initials.
8. L was having a baby, but according to later in the entry, the baby was lost. H was just as sad to learn this as he was to learn of the pregnancy.
9. H was around when mum was a child. He was still close with Grammy when he got older.
10. H wrote many more diaries. His whole life he wrote them, never stopped.
11. Their disagreement about who should know things as mum grew up around H so he took a backseat in her life.
Again, it's not much. It's been months of 'not much', but it's what we have, and it has to be enough for now. It has to be enough for this last diary entry, for our last shot at the story.
"I have so many questions, Reign," I sigh and flop face down on her bed.
"I'm starting to think this is a giant waste of time," Reign slams the photo albums shut and rests her chin on her hand.
"It's not, why would you say that?" even as I say it, I know how close I've been at throwing in the towel.
We haven't gotten anything new, and it all seems to just be a dead end. H doesn't write for months after the last entry. Months of radio silence and then all of a sudden, he's back like nothing happened. Maybe nothing did happen, how are we supposed to know?
We've been going through H's things with a fine pick comb for hours today, trying to see anything we may have missed or overlooked. Nothing.
Nothing is adding up still. None of it makes sense.
"Because this is a waste of time, Darcy. These aren't our things, this isn't our lives, it has absolutely nothing to do with us," Reign tosses the albums toward me and crosses her arms. "Why should we care about some stupid love story" she puts air quotes around the last two words. "When it was doomed to begin with? They probably broke up, who fucking cares?"
"I care," I knit my eyebrows together and cross my arms, mirroring my twin. "I care because Grammy told us about him, he does have something to do with our lives, Reign, he was part of mums for a while and a huge part of Grammy's,"
"So what, Darcy? Genuinely, so what?" Reign gives me a pointed look. "What is so important about some old—"
My phone begins ringing loudly, cutting her off, I had forgotten to turn the ringer off this morning. I pick it up to see who's calling. "It's Grammy" I had asked her to call me when she was free one afternoon.
Reign rolls her eyes and waves her hand at me. "Go on then,"
"Why are you being like this?"
"It's frustrating,"
"Well if you want to throw your sucker in the dirt, go ahead then, but I'm not," I say and swipe to answer the call.
"Hi doll," Grammy's warm smile greets me on the other end of the facetime call.
"Hey," I smile back, she's been calling more recently, probably trying to make sure we get H his things back or to be nosy in what we're doing with them. Same story for the past few weeks.
"Have you finished it?" The diary she means.
"One last entry,"
Grammy hums and nods. "Go on then,"
"What?"
"Ask me whatever question you're dying to know before you go find him,"
I bite my lip and think of the best question to ask. What is one question that she'd answer truthfully and couldn't get around in the cheeky way that she does? I glance at Reign for any ideas, but she's not paying attention, her focus is on her little bottles of nail polish.
"What else can you tell me about H?" I finally ask.
Grammy has a twinkle in her eye and a soft smile like she's remembering years of her life in one moment. But she decides on this, "He had a sister,"
"He did?"
"Yes, she's in some of the photos," Grammy hesitates. "Her name was Gemma,"
My heart sinks to my stomach. "Gemma," I say slowly.
Gemma. H's sister's name was Gemma. G. The girl in the photos was not L, she was not the love of his life, she was his sister. That was G.
Then who the fuck is L.
Grammy is still talking but I'm flipping through the albums to the last pages, looking for something, anything. I fucked up, I got it all wrong. There has to be something, what is it, something has to be there that I...
And there it is. A photo of a piece of paper with H's handwriting on it.
I wanted him to kiss me.
What the hell does this mean? This wasn't... they couldn't... Right?... I'm not so sure anymore.
"I told you,"
🎞
April 1964
When G found us in your car that night all those months ago, I thought we'd been caught. I was so scared, and I don't think I've ever held onto you so tightly. I hid my face in your neck and silently asked you to protect me. You did. You held onto me and somehow everything was okay. It was just G, and she was just looking out for us. I was ready to die for us though, I promise I wouldn't have left you alone.
It scared me, though, L. I thought that was it for us. I thought that was the end of everything we've worked so hard for all these years. It really put everything into perspective for me. I guess it did for you too because we didn't speak for four months. Your birthday passed. I didn't come by. I send your favorite bourbon, the one we were drinking the night we first kissed. You knew that was from me, didn't you?
Christmas passed. You sent me flowers; I didn't call.
My birthday passed I heard nothing from you. Darcy called, but I was out. I was... I was with someone else, L.
I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. I still haven't been able to forgive myself for it. I told you about it. I knew they were... like us. I knew from work. I didn't mean to; I swear I wasn't looking for it. But I felt so lonely. It was my birthday, and I didn't have you, I hadn't heard from you. It had been months and I missed you. I was offered dinner and someone to spend time with and I was weak. I couldn't turn it down and then... and then it led to things that I will regret for the rest of my life.
You told me it was alright, you told me you weren't upset with me, but how couldn't you be? I betrayed you. I know we weren't necessarily in a relationship, but you and I are inevitable, you know this, and I know this. It's simple fact.
So how could you not be even the slightest bit upset that someone else touched me in the ways that only you should? How can you not be upset in the slightest that someone else touched my lips? I would be raging jealous. I don't understand.
I don't understand but I'm grateful. I've never been more scared to tell you something in my life. I was terrified. I thought I had ruined us. But you just nodded and waited till I was finished. You wiped the tears from my cheeks with your thumb and kissed my nose.
I was shocked. I was scared you were going to yell at me, but you didn't. You just said 'alright, thank you for telling me, love. Would you like some tea?'
L.T. you are an anomaly.
You're so soft and sweet to me. Maybe it's the way we're getting older and the way that we know each other so completely. You were once so loud (don't mistake my words, you still are) and sporadic. It was easy to sit and admire you, you were always onto the next thing. Except for with me. There was no next for you with me. I was it for you just as you were it for me. I think we knew that early on.
We aren't made out for cynical people, not for this cynical world. Our souls are still made of the same things, and we are meant for each other.
I think we were meant to be born somewhere else, at some other time. A time that the world understood that we are H and L and there is no stopping us. I don't belong here, and my love, neither do you. And yet, here we are, and we must make do just as we always have.
I know I've always been so vague in my letters to you. I've never told you exactly why I write in this journal so often and secretively. I'll tell you now, though. I'll tell you here on my very last page.
This is my love letter to you. This whole journal. This is my love song to you, L.
This is our story and I want to read it to you. I want to sing it to you. I want to memorize it over and over again with you.
This is a timeline of our love story on paper. Every wonderful moment with you. Every heartbreaking second. I put it all down because all of it makes us who we are. I don't know who I am without you, and I don't care to find him again. He's not someone I would recognize, not without you.
Maybe that's wrong. Maybe that's me being too dependent on you, L. But I don't care. I've never cared. I want this life with you and damn it I will have it. We've tried to be apart, and it doesn't work. We aren't ourselves without the other. It's simple nature.
I tried to write down a shortened timeline of our story. I tried to pinpoint the major moments in our lives, but I couldn't, not really. It's been so many little moments that create the big moments, and none of it makes sense without the others.
I wish I knew the moment that we fell in love, L.
I can remember so many moments where I thought to myself, 'this is the love of my life, I love you,' but I cannot for the life of me remember the exact moment that we fell in love. Maybe there isn't one. Maybe, as I said, it happened within all the little moments.
That's a pretty thought, isn't it?
You tell me what my words are worth. You love reading my writing. You tell me that even my worst poem or story is better than an author's best one. I don't believe you; you're biased of course. Still, I love it when you tell me what my words are worth. So read this, and tell me again, this is all for you.
My love, my darling, my baby, my golden love. Mine.
Always yours.
-H.
🎞
I've been waiting for you:
Five years after the last diary entry.
Harry has loved Louis for a very long time. Since he was nineteen years old. He's quite a bit older than that now. He's learned a lot since then. He's learned that he and Louis need space sometimes, they need to give each other room to breathe because being around each other every day and every night is too wonderful, and they know they can't have that for real.
He's learned that Louis is an excellent father. He's learned that Darcy is a wonderful mother. He's learned that they are a perfect pair of parents. And he's learned that he is a good uncle figure. It's tough. It's tough to watch Louis have his family while he watches from the sidelines knowing that it's supposed to be a family for the two of them.
He loves Louis' daughter, she's the loveliest little thing. Sinclair, he named her. Sinclair.
Harry had given Louis the diary as a gift one day. No special occasion, he just handed it over in wrapping paper when it was finished. Told him it was a story that he'd like Louis to read. He had read it. That's obvious. Louis named his daughter Sinclair. Just like what Harry wanted to name their dream child. It was just a thought, it was never going to happen, just Harry dreaming. But it was his dream. It was his dream daughter with Louis. And now it was Louis' daughter's name with Darcy. Not him.
Sinclair.
It's alright. He knew Louis did it as a thank you, as a secret, I love you to him. Still, it stings just the smallest bit. But Sinclair is beautiful, just her father. Looks just like him. Acts just like him. She is a perfect little clone of her perfect little father. Harry fell in love so easily. When he held her for the first time, when Darcy called him and told him to come, he saw his life in her eyes.
Louis picked her up from her cradle next to the hospital bed and brought her over to him. A little tiny bundle of blankets, placed in his arms. He could barely see her face, she was so carefully swaddled. The first thing Harry noticed was how warm she was. She was so, so tiny. Just big enough to fit in one arm, but he held her with two. She was so warm just like Louis, like she radiated heat only hours after being born into the world. Harry was perplexed by this tiny thing in his arms.
"Sinclair" Louis had said. "That's her name... do you like it?"
"Yes," Harry says. His lip trembled and he had to lean his head to the side so the tears wouldn't land on the baby.
Louis gently wiped them away and kissed his cheek. "I'm sorry," he had whispered.
Harry hated himself for it, but for a moment while Louis sat next to him, with his arm around his waist and the baby in his arms. He pretended that this was their life. Their baby. He pretended that they would go home with Sinclair and have the life he dreamed. Just for a moment, he let himself. He'd never felt happier. He'd never felt more complete.
Harry held Sinclair a lot. He came over almost every day and held her. He held her while Darcy napped, he held her while Louis nodded off on his shoulder, he held her while he cooked dinner for them and picked up the house, he held her and told himself that he knew this wasn't his baby. Because she wasn't. But he loved her.
He helped feed her, he helped change her, he helped bathe her, he helped do everything that Darcy let him. Only after a year did he realize that this wasn't right, and he was overstepping. Darcy insisted that he wasn't and that she loved how involved he was, but it felt wrong to him, they would disagree about this again and again in the future, that much was obvious. It was hard to separate himself from the real situation. But he listened to Darcy and kept on doing everything he could to help and be a part of their lives. He tried not to play pretend too much.
Darcy knew, of course, she knew, but she loved that he had that bond with Sinclair. It was always meant to be the three of them. He treated her daughter like she held the world in her itty-bitty hands, and she couldn't think of anyone better for Sinclair to have wrapped around her finger. Louis did well too, but he mostly watched in awe as Harry was Harry.
Now, Sinclair was almost three. She is Louis, a direct copy of Louis just like Harry imagined it.
Darcy was out sick, has been for three days. She decided to stay with Gemma, who also fell ill after they spent the afternoon together, so that she doesn't get Sinclair sick. Louis was nervous, but Darcy assured him that he would be just fine. Darcy then immediately called Harry to go help Louis while she was out.
Harry was washing the dishes while Louis bathed and put Sinclair to bed. It's far past her bedtime, but they did their best. She's rather exhausting and inherited her mother's energy. It's a miracle they fed her on time, to be fair.
"Hmm," Louis hums a sigh and rests his forehead on the back of Harry's neck. His arms wrap around Harry's stomach, and he squeezes.
"Tired, love?" Harry smiles and tilts his head back just a bit to touch his boy.
"I don't even know what it means not to be anymore," he kisses between Harry's shoulder blades and lets him go. Harry finishes cleaning the last plate and dries his hand on the towel.
Louis looks in the fridge with such intensity Harry wonders if he's looking for the meaning of life in there. "Beer?" he finally says.
"Very romantic," Harry chuckles.
"Alright, alright," Louis huffs and pulls out a bottle of wine. "You're lucky I love you,"
"Hm, yes, I am," Harry kisses the back of Louis' hair as he walks by, toward the living room, with two wine glasses in hand.
Louis follows and pours the red wine in each glass as they sit on the sofa. There's room for space between them, but they both sit with their thighs pressed together and their ankles crossed under the coffee table. Harry wraps his arm around Louis' shoulders and balanced his glass on his thigh.
"Harry?"
"Louis?"
"I'm... I'm really sorry," Louis says.
Harry tilts his head to the side and scrunches his eyebrows together. "What for?"
"I don't know. The life I made you live, the life I keep making you live... for making you help me with the worlds craziest baby,"
"Hey," Harry tilts Louis' chin to face him. "I love this life, I don't care what it looks like,"
Louis searches Harry's face and settles on his eyes. He looks so much like the nineteen-year-old he met so long ago, but then again; he looks like a totally different person. His hair curling less than the wild mop he had on the beach, his eyes softer now with little lines from years of laughing and smiling. 'I did that' Louis thinks. 'I made him happy'.
"We could be out, at least a little bit," Louis says. "Things are starting to change,"
"Not enough, love," Harry kisses Louis' chin. "It'd be too difficult to change things now. Darcy and you are... well you're you and you have Sinclair,"
"Would you want parents that lie to you your whole life?"
"Lou—"
"No, listen to me," Louis pulls one foot under him and sets his wine glass on the table, untouched. Harry takes a deep breath, takes a large sip of wine, and does the same, ready for this conversation. "Sinclair is young enough not to know, and it's not like Darcy and I would ever stop being friends, we're meant to be in each other's lives. But you and I, H. You and I are meant for so much more than this,"
"Sweetheart," Harry takes Louis' hand in his and places it on his chest. "That's not fair,"
"What?"
"That's not fair to me. You can't get my hopes up like that or put those thoughts in my head. It's never going to happen,"
"It could, H—"
"It's not fair to Darcy. She has a life with you. She has security with you, you owe her that for what she gives us, what she's given us all these years,"
"Harry, please, let's be selfish, just this once," Louis pleads. "I know it's wrong, I know what we are is wrong, but—"
"Shh," Harry settles Louis back into the couch and rests his head on his shoulder. Louis doesn't fight back. He lays there and wishes he had just kept quiet. He knows it's unfair, this conversation goes the same way every time. Louis listens to Harry's soft breathing and is lulled by the rise and fall of his chest. Harry watches Louis' head dip to the side and snap back up a few times. It's sweet when he falls asleep, he's so quiet and lovely.
"Lou?"
"Hm?" Louis' voice is gruff and heavy.
"Tell me why it's wrong," Harry says, repeating the words he said so long ago in the empty church.
Louis licks his lips and turns his body, cuddling closer to Harry and nuzzling his face into his neck. "It's not wrong, darling," a soft kiss pressed to the side of Harry's throat.
Harry gives the ceiling a closed-lipped smile and swallows the lump in his throat. "That's the answer I've been waiting for,"