Day three.
Day three of waking up with extreme nausea and feeling fatigued no matter how much sleep I get the night before. It's gotten so crippling that Harry convinced me to take the rest of the week off of work. I've been taking off so much lately that I hesitated, but ultimately the kids would be better off with Haley and September considering I can barely form a coherent thought in the mornings.
After I found out I was infertile I read every book and blog known to man about pregnancy, I know all of the ins and outs. So, of course, I know morning sickness and fatigue are some of the first few signs of pregnancy. I didn't understand Harry's worries at first because the thought of being pregnant is so far from my mind, it will never happen for me.
But after some constant overhinking, I went to the drug store and bought three more tests. They're not always accurate so I assumed maybe I was pregnant and I just needed to take some more.
Each test came back negative.
Had I found out I was pregnant I don't know how I would've felt. Part of me would be bursting with joy because I've always wanted to be a mother, but the other part would be scared. Scared that I'm still technically in a relationship and pregnant with another man's child, scared that I'm not ready.
But now I'm back at square one. I don't know what's wrong with me, but I've boiled it down to stress. These past few months have been horrible on my mental health because of all the anxiety, so it's not crazy to assume it has started to affect me physically.
If this mysterious illness has made anything clearer for me, though, it's my feelings for Harry. Perhaps it's just because he's a father and taking care of someone who is sick is part of that, but he's so damn good at it. He's been so gentle and understanding. If I wanted to stay in bed until the late afternoon, he was laying next to me, if I could only stomach something very specific, he was at the store or in the kitchen making sure I had it.
All I could think about was all the times I was sick as a child and I never had my mom taking care of me like all the rest of the kids. Or how Rho would tell me I was being dramatic because god forbid I come down with something. My entire life my problems have been minimized, big or small. To have someone like Harry show me that no matter how minuscule they may think my issues are, they care, and they'll never tell me I'm not allowed to feel the way I do.
I never felt unconditionally cared for until I met Harry. Which is hard to wrap my brain around. How did I go twenty-five years without a person like this and then he comes along and shows me so much about how I deserve to be treated in such a short time span.
He has to be God sent. I can't fathom any other explanation.
I've been basically bedridden for the past few days so about thirty minutes ago when Harry got home from taking Autumn to Rose Grove, he insisted I get some change of scenery. Of course with it being November in Vermont, the change of scenery is just to the living room.
"You play?" I ask as Harry sits on the floor and I lay with my head in his lap, watching with curious eyes as he picks up a guitar I've never seen moved from it's corner.
He nods. "A little. I only know a few songs," he explains as he begins plucking the strings and tuning it before he starts playing.
"So, is that what you do? You're a musician?" I ask, curiosity getting the best of me. The more and more I fall for Harry, I realize I don't know much about him. I know his character and how good he makes me feel, but when it comes to his job and other basic things, I have nothing. I know he owns that coffee shop, but he's not there enough for that to be his only job.
He shakes his head. "Nope, but close," he smirks down at me and softly begins strumming the guitar with a smug look on his face. He wants me to guess.
"What's close to a musician but not a musician?" I question with a small, exhausted laugh. "A producer? No, that's not it. I feel like I'd know that by now," I think out loud, trying to make sense of his small and extremely vague hint.
"It has nothing to do with music, I guess it's just similar in a way," he gives me more vague information that doesn't truly help.
I shake my head and stare at the white ceiling above me. I begin thinking of occupations that may be associated with music but wouldn't make him a musician. Writing, maybe? Musicians write song lyrics. "A poet?" I ask with furrowed brows, thinking that seems like something he'd do.
He shakes his head with a laugh. "No, you're bad at this. Still warm though," he takes his hand off of the neck of the guitar and runs it through my hair that must be knotted to Hell by now.
"This isn't fair, you know what I do," I begin getting frustrated and he breathes out a laugh at my sudden outburst.
"Well, obviously. That's how we met," he tilts his head at me.
"Whatever," I roll my eyes. "Do you make art? Musicians make art?" I say the last thing that comes to mind, assuming that wouldn't be correct either.
He nods. "Bingo. I'm a painter," he finally tells me I'm correct.
I sit up and look at him astonished. "You paint?" I ask. From his personality alone it makes sense and I should've considered something along those lines from the beginning, but I can't help but feel shocked.
He smiles at me and nods. "Yeah. It was a hobby at first but I channeled a lot of the feelings from Winter's death into my work, and it became a full time career," he explains.
"You don't talk about her much," I say, regretting the words as soon as they leave my mouth. I know grief is so complex and him not speaking about her might be a part of that, but I'm curious about her. I want to know every part of him.
He shrugs. "I just wasn't sure if you were ready for the dead girlfriend talk," he says quietly.
"I'm ready whenever you are. If you want to talk about her, I'm all ears," I say as my hands find his and squeeze them comfortingly.
He laughs and shakes his head. "It's funny that the first thing that comes to mind is her accent. She was from the deep south, it was the first thing I noticed about her," he smiles widely.
I hum happily when I see him speaking about her with a smile on his face. You can tell someone is healing when they can recall happy memories and feel the joy they bring. "I'm assuming that's where Autie got her attitude," I tease.
"You're joking, but that's true," he sighs, "She was a firecracker, and I see that in Autie every day."
"I'm sure that makes you feel closer to her," I say as I bring his hand up to my mouth and place a small kiss on top of it.
"It does, had Autumn not existed I don't know how I would've gotten through it. She's my rock and if I ever miss Winter I see bits of her in Autumn's nose and her humor. She got her looks from me, but her personality is all her mother's," he goes on as he begins strumming the guitar again. "I'm sorry if this is weird for you," he looks up at me with anxious eyes.
"Not at all. You loved her, and you always will. I understand and accept that. I never want you to lose those feelings, no matter how you feel about me," I reassure him as emotion begins to create a lump in my throat.
"Thank you, Della," he says somberly.
"Why are you thanking me?" I furrow my brows.
He shrugs. "I never thought moving on was in my cards. I always wanted to feel a connection with someone again, maybe even give Autumn a mother figure. I just couldn't do it, but then came Della," he smiles before leaning in and kissing my lips a few times. "You've shown me so much about myself in such little time, you're a sorcerer," he chuckles as he pulls away from me.
"I could say the same thing. My life was so gray and depressing before I met you," I say with a sad smile, trying to keep my tone lighthearted although my statement is truthful. Every day before meeting Harry, the only sliver of color and happiness I had in my life was Rose Grove. For four hours a day, I got to pretend I was happy, but then, I went home and got reminded of my harsh reality. Nowadays, though, that's not the case. If anything, coming home to Harry and Autumn makes me more happy than teaching.
Teaching will always be my first love and my true passion, but it's an insane feeling to finally have something reach that level for me.
"No reality with you in it could be gray and depressing. When I'm working and I think of you, all I can visualize is bright color," he cups my cheek in his hand and looks into my eyes with enough intensity to make my brain explode.
"You think about me while you work?" I tease with furrowed brows, laughing when he throws his head back with a groan when he realizes I ruined the moment.
"Yeah, I do, what about it?" he says through small laughs. "A lot of my recent pieces are inspired by you, actually," he admits sheepishly, making my stomach swarm with butterflies.
"Can I see them?" I ask as I sit up abruptly, all the energy that's been drained from me this past week seemingly coming back all at once.
He laughs and rubs my back. "Not yet, they're not ready. My art tells a story, would you want to read a book with the ending torn out?" he poses a good question with his brow cocked.
I groan and lay back down in his lap. "I guess not," I say in defeat. "But now I can't stop thinking about it. Can I see one that's not about me?" I ask with an innocent smile, hoping to persuade him.
He simply points to the far wall with three canvases that I've noticed and admired everytime I see them. "Those three are the ones that kick started my career. I painted them only a week after Winter passed, a coping mechanism, I guess," he explains as I stand up to walk toward them, hoping to get a closer look.
I stare at the first one and I've always found it emotional and deep, but now knowing these pertain to his life, I can't help but cry. It's the ocean with the bright moon shining down on it, a little girl is standing at the coast line by herself, a teddy bear dangling from her hand. "Autumn?" I ask as I turn back to him with tears streaming down my face.
He nods with a sad smile as he stands up and walks toward me. "Don't cry. I know they're sad, but making them brought me comfort. I like to let that feeling come through most when I see them," he explains as he rubs my shoulders from behind and kisses the side of my head.
"You guys don't deserve this kind of pain," I ease my back into his chest a take a deep breath as my eyes make their way to the second canvas.
"I know we don't, but it's our reality. Might as well make something beautiful out of it," he whispers and his words make goosebumps raise on my skin.
I take in the second one, analyzing it with the new information I have. The canvas is completely black besides a small rectangle in the middle which has a yellow background with a man painting in front of it. "You, I'm guessing," I say as my tears begin slowing down.
He hums. "Yeah. The black represents my grief," he explains further, introducing a new interpretation to me.
"That's so beautiful," I whisper. "Well, not beautiful, but," I ramble nervously when I realize my choice of compliment might have been insensitive.
"I think it's beautiful too, don't worry," he says as he rubs his hands up and down my arms.
When my eyes land on the last one, my eyebrows furrow. It's a woman, with long wavy brown hair and bright green eyes, hugging the invisible silhouette of a person. "I don't get this one," I admit.
"That's okay," he reassures. "It's Autumn, aged up obviously," he chuckles softly.
I nod and wipe the stray tear that runs down my face as I turn back to him, seeing his bloodshot eyes that let me know he was crying too. "I wish you would've told me you paint sooner. This just gave me a new perspective of you," I say as I place my hands on his chest.
He nods with a smile. "I know. My art is very personal, clearly. I didn't want to put too much on you so early on," he explains.
I nod. "I get it. Harry, this is amazing," I say as I stand on my toes and kiss every square inch on his face, finishing deeply on his lips.
"Im really glad you think so."
_
authors note:
short but painful chapter... sorry for that. it only gets more painful from here, i fear.
thanks for reading!!
- L