Three Months Later
Sticky residue from an hour-old apple juice spill is melding onto the kitchen table, a sugary and sweet mess that hasn't gotten the chance to be wiped down yet. A passable replica of rutabaga and parsnip soup grows cold and lonely in the ceramic pot on the stove, steam no longer wafting up toward the ceiling. The powdered formula that escaped from a measuring cup dusts the granite counter, a telltale sign that the morning has been very rushed.
Very, very rushed.
It's a quarter after nine, and Harry should be at work right now. He should be walking through the hospital halls with his clipboard in hand and a ballpoint pen tucked into the breast pocket of his doctor's coat. He should be hearing little gasps and footsteps running toward him as arms wrap around his knees, instantly brightening the dismal day ahead. He should be making himself a black coffee with a pinch of salt and sitting down in his decorated office with sun and rainbow stickers on the sky-blue walls, giving hopeful hands a lollipop of their choosing after a checkup.
And yet he's not because Reese hasn't arrived yet.
She's supposed to be at the house to babysit, yet she's nowhere to be found. Friday morning light pours into the kitchen, a beautiful golden hue worth basking in, however, Harry can't wait around much longer. He has to go to work. The kids need him.
An onslaught of calls and texts has already been sent to her, and his fingers are cramping from the number of messages he typed. He can't help but overreact, especially since Marlowe is becoming fussy from all his running around and mumbling to himself. His face is getting warm with worries that something terrible has happened.
Harry needs his lifesaver. Where has she drifted off to?
He's not angry or disappointed. God, he could never bear being upset with her simply because she's never given him a reason to. Maybe she overslept or got her days mixed up. It's an easy mistake that shouldn't warrant a freakout. Right?
Unfortunately, the dark-haired girl who swooped in and eased her way into his bubble is currently making him a high-strung, jittery mess.
Reese really was some angel sent to him when he needed her most. Every time he's come home for the past three months, he's never seen his daughter more immersed in what she's doing. Whether it's watching Reese read a picture book or sitting on her hip while she cleans, she's mesmerized.
Harry would be lying if he said he wasn't mesmerized by her, too. The softness of her voice, for example, is so quiet sometimes that he often has to ask her to repeat herself. He doesn't mind, though, since it gives him time to admire the way her cheeks turn cherry red. And when she comes over in her thrifted outfits and stumbles over her words when he compliments her style, there's just a way about her that makes him never want to leave for work. He desperately wants to get to know her.
But now, he has to go to work and she's not here. What happened to the girl who always arrives ten minutes early? The one who takes his daughter from his hold so he can get ready? The one who doesn't mind adjusting to his daughter's needs without a second thought?
Harry sighs and checks his phone one more time as he shuffles to his bedroom to pace around the room and mentally check off his list of things he needs for the day. Pacifier, hearing aids, squeezable applesauce, four bottles of formula, an extra pair of clothes, the crunch of gravel...
Wait. What?
The sound of a car rolling into his driveway breaks him away from his thoughts. His heart goes through the motions of a rollercoaster. Is it her? Is it the mail carrier? Is it an intruder? It's too early for this.
Harry grabs his heavy tote bag of baby necessities and slings it over his shoulder before making his way back to the kitchen. He slowly treads toward the window above the sink, picking up Marlowe on the way so she doesn't leave his eyesight, and then reaches out to move the linen curtains aside.
In his driveway, he sees Reese's familiar car parked a bit crooked. The maple trees shake in the wind and blow orange and yellow leaves onto her windshield, yet he can still make out her figure. He doesn't mean to eavesdrop, but he can't look away when he sees her head leaning back against the seat with her eyes squeezed shut. She looks to be in some sort of pain; physical or mental anguish, he's not quite sure. Does he go out there? Has she passed out? Is she always in this much distress when she comes over to his house?
Harry closes the curtains and locks eyes with Marlowe. He signs "What do I do?" to her and only gets a tiny hand harmlessly slapping his chest in response. He sighs sharply and kisses her fingers.
After about five minutes of sitting and then standing up from the kitchen chair several times, the tuneful chime of his doorbell echoes throughout the house. Fixing his hair, Harry twists the doorknob and gently swings the door open. Reese stands on the other side with puffy eyes and rubescent cheeks in all their glory. A frown seems permanently stuck on her face, her chapped lips downturned enough to make Harry's heart speed up with alarm. Her hair is thrown up in two tight buns and the coat she wears drowns her body.
What in the world has caused his bluebird to appear on his doorstep with clipped wings?
"Reese," Harry says cautiously, "is everything all right? Please come inside."
She breathes out a puff of air and nods quickly. "Yes, I'm fine. I'm so sorry I'm late. I, uh... there was an emergency I had to take care of."
The contradictory statement throws him for a loop. She claims she's fine, yet there was an emergency. He wishes she'd just be honest with him.
"An emergency?" he repeats, ushering her inside. Marlowe coos happily and reaches out when she sees who it is. "Are you sure everything's okay? You weren't answering any of my calls or texts."
The quiver of her lips is quickly hidden by a smile. An extremely fake smile, Harry notices. "I'm fine," she tells him. "I can stay an extra couple of hours if you need me to since I'm late. Again, I apologize."
Her behavior is strange. She's not herself right now. She looks out of it like there's static behind her brown eyes.
"Reese," Harry gently says, taking a step closer. "Tell me what's wrong. I'm not leaving until I know you're okay."
"I'm okay, I—"
"You're not. I saw you in the driveway. Reese, you're not okay."
Her lips quirk to the side as her eyes gloss over and her eyebrows sadly pull together. She shifts her weight on one foot and says, "My grandma is in the hospital. I had to take her this morning because she fell."
Harry's heart cracks open at the waver in her voice. There's also a pit of bubbling frustration that makes its way through his veins. Is she not comfortable enough around him to tell him that something's wrong? Something as serious as a family emergency?
He swallows it down and replies, "That's terrible. I'm sorry."
"You can fire me," Reese whispers, avoiding eye contact. "I understand."
Eyes widening, he clears his throat. "What on earth are you on about?" He places his hand around her upper arm and bends down to get her to look into his eyes. "Hey, listen to me. You had a family emergency. I'd be an asshole if I fired you over something like that. You don't need to work today. Take as long as you need."
"I don't know what to do," she responds, shaking her head dazedly. "I'm late to work and my grandma is at the hospital alone and my brother is at a friend's house, and I haven't told him and—"
"Woah, woah, woah," Harry gently murmurs as he sets Marlowe down. "Slow down. Talk me through what happened."
Reese rubs her palms down her face and says, "I was sleeping when I heard a shout of pain. I- I walked into the living room and my grandma was on the floor. She told me she got up from her wheelchair to get something. She's such a stubborn woman and must've fell and hurt her hip. She's in surgery right now."
Harry removes his hand that he realizes was still lightly gripping her arm. "What hospital is she at?" he asks.
"I took her to the Medical Center on Canterbury Lane."
"That's where I work. C'mon, let's go. I'm driving you."
"W-what?" she stutters, blinking three times. "What about babysitting?"
"Marlowe's coming with." He looks down at her and smiles. "Right? Gonna come on a road trip with us?"
"Harry, you don't have to do this," Reese utters with hesitance.
He nudges his foot with hers. "I'm not doing it because I have to, I'm doing this because I want to." The soup on the stove catches his attention when he picks Marlowe back up. "Did you eat anything today, by the way? Here, I made some soup. And can you please grab the stroller from my room?"
Reese's dazed expression entrances him for a second before she nods and shuffles past him. It's like a movie is always playing on fast-forward in her brain.
Harry wouldn't mind having a front-row seat.
——
Reese is full-on panicking as she sits in the chair in the hospital's waiting room. She thinks that she's going into cardiac arrest. She can feel her heart in her throat as well as other parts of her body. It's definitely not normal.
It's quite an insensitive thing to think since everyone in the hospital is suffering in more ways than she is, but she genuinely feels like her heart is going to jump out of her rib cage. Which may be an actual sign of cardiac rest. Which isn't good. Should she go see a doctor?
Reese hates the hospital. Too many people filter in and out with melancholy expressions and paperwork in their hands. The ceiling is only one color, so she can't play checkers to distract herself. Even the tiled floors are solid white. It's so drab to the point that it makes her sad that Harry has to work in such an environment.
Rewind, rewind, rewind!
She wants to slap herself upside the head. Her brain is all fuzzy and no coherent thoughts are making it through. Harry, on the other hand, seems cool as a cucumber. With a nice black coat over his body, he pushes the burgundy stroller back and forth to rock Marlowe to sleep. Reese supposes he has to be calm, plus he's probably comfortable being at his place of work. It wouldn't help if he was freaking out as well.
A doctor has already come out and told her that her grandma is still under surgery. Now they wait patiently. It's not necessary to stay, but she feels like something bad will happen if she leaves. She doesn't even know what time it is. If she thinks about it for too long, her mind spirals back to how she was late for work and didn't give any sort of forewarning. She's not sure why she didn't respond to Harry's texts. The nagging feeling of being a burden might have had a part to play in it.
Her mind shifts its worry to her brother. Her legs are brought up on the green leather chair so they can stop bouncing with anxiety over whether her brother is going to come home to an empty house. She's insistent that he shouldn't have a phone until he's at least thirteen, so she has no way of contacting him to tell him what happened. Maybe she should pay more attention to who his friends are.
"Hold my hand, Reese."
Pause.
She lifts her head from her knees. Harry's hand is reached out, fingers delicately bent in offer. The silver ring on his pointer finger reflects off the sunlight that pours in through the large window, and she suddenly realizes she never asked what the symbol means. It's a great distractor.
"Your ring," Reese says, her words coming out a little raspy. "What's the symbol on it?"
Harry spreads his fingers out while looking at it. He twists the band so that the symbol faces upwards. "It's sign language for I love you," he explains, flexing his hand. "I got it when I found out Marlowe was deaf, and it's one of the first signs I taught her. Hopefully, when she's older, I can get her a matching one."
Reese tilts her head and admires the engraved metal. "You should. That's really special."
He looks down and smiles shyly, simply curling his fingers to get her to grab them. When she places her palm in his, he pulls her up on her feet. Reese expects him to let go, but he doesn't.
"Where do you want to go?" he asks, squeezing her hand. "We have a couple of hours to kill."
"I don't know," she replies, enjoying the fact that her hands aren't cold or shaking anymore. "Anywhere but here."
"Home? My house? Somewhere to get a bite to eat?"
"You know what? A burger and fries sound like heaven right now."
Harry's eyes light up in the same way she's seen Marlowe's do. "There's a nice family restaurant downtown if you fancy going there," he suggests.
The corner of Reese's mouth lifts. "Yes, I would fancy going there."
When they arrive inside the small restaurant situated between two antique shops, Harry takes off his coat and puts it under the stroller, then pulls out a stool for both of them.
The yellow sweater that he wears fits him snugly. He sits like a little schoolboy on the stool, feet tucked up on the footrest and a posture that makes him look smaller. He starts unscrewing the cap on a bottle of formula, a towel slung over his shoulder where Marlowe's head rests.
Petit. He's petite in every sense of the word.
After the food and drinks come out, Reese feels the anxiety kick in as she takes the pickles off her burger. It takes her a while to warm up to people enough to initiate conversation, so what is she supposed to talk about with Harry? He's at a completely different stage in his life than her.
"What're you thinking about?" he asks, twisting the noodles of his chicken alfredo with his fork.
Reese drowns out the conversations around her and focuses on him. He seems to be the one to always reel her back in. "Everything and nothing all at once," she says.
Harry chews and swallows. "You're a mind drifter. I've noticed that about you."
"So I've been told."
"It's not a bad thing." He scratches his nose and then puts a fist under his chin. "Sometimes reality isn't worth being a part of."
Reese raises her eyebrows, letting out a laugh. "Cheers to that."
"Cheers," Harry repeats, lifting his glass of half-drunken lemonade.
"I sometimes want to take my brain out and put it through the washing machine."
The rinse cycle of her brain is in desperate need of a change. If only it was possible to douse it in detergent and let it spin, erasing stains of painful memories and coming out clean.
Harry nods and rubs his large hand up and down Marlowe's back, soothing her to sleep. "I feel that. My brain could use a good washing."
"Do you feel that?" Reese challenges lightheartedly. "I've always noticed that you're so casual. You have no problem starting a conversation with anyone."
He bites his lip and laughs a little. "Why do you think I work with kids? They forget what I tell them the next day."
"Yeah, but with someone like me..."
He frowns in question. "What do you mean by that?"
"Someone with social anxiety." Might as well just air her dirty laundry out in the open. "You worked around it so easily, if that makes any sense."
Lips jutting out in thought, Harry shrugs and says, "I don't think l worked around it. It's just who you are. Friends adapt to each other, right?"
Friends. Are they friends? Reese recalls the times in the last three months when she has stayed for dinner with him and Marlowe, or when he would come home early some days and ask if she'd like to go to the grocery store with him to find ingredients for a new recipe he wants to try.
In retrospect, she supposes they're well-acquainted. She's just been too in her head to realize it.
"Friends also eat the other friends' pickles that they don't want," Reese responds, stabbing a pickle slice with her knife and holding it out to him.
Harry smiles, nose scrunching beautifully, then leans forward to bite it off the knife tip with his teeth. She observes him when he looks out the window and chews, jaw flexing with each movement. Compared to other people she has met, he's by far the most comfortable to be around. She doesn't feel the pressure to rewind anymore when she's around him. What comes out of her mouth, awkward or not, he handles it with pure intentions. No judgment and no questioning looks when she drifts off into space.
One day, Reese will learn that life doesn't have a rewind button. It's not a movie. Mistakes will be made, and times will get rough. It's better to take life as it comes. There's no need to pause or fast forward, either. Living in the present is the only time you get.
Let the tape play how it was meant to. Then when the credits roll, it will be known that everything was worth it.
——