I lay curled up in Harry’s arms for hours, not moving, not speaking, not sleeping; just lying there, reveling in the warmth of his arms around me, feeling his peppered kisses, focusing only on his words. Not once, over the several hours we laid there, did he cease his actions.
He didn’t sleep, didn’t stop whispering comforting words, didn’t stop holding me. Grateful wasn’t nearly a strong enough word for what I felt.
My parents had given me a little over an hour of solitude before calling my cell phone over and over again. I watched it vibrate nearly constantly as it sat on Harry’s bed across from me. The screen would glow, begging me to answer, only to darken for a few seconds before lighting up again. After nearly an hour of this, I couldn’t take it anymore.
“I’m not coming home,” I spit into the phone, my voice cracking from not speaking for so long before I aggressively ended the call and turned it off. I had already decided I would not be spending the night in my house; I couldn’t, especially without Harry.
I turned myself around, rolling to my other side so I could face him. My head rested on his bicep as his other arm stayed draped over my hip. My fingers reached up to run along his sharp jaw before falling to his chest.
“Thank you so much for everything, Harry,” I said softly. I felt like I was always thanking him for something, but I didn’t know what else to say to him when he was always so wonderful.
He reached between us to grab my hand and bring it to his lips, pressing a kiss to my palm before bringing it back down to his chest. “Of course, love. You don’t have to thank me, I’ve told you that before.” His voice was gentle as he spoke, his lips shaping carefully over the words that slipped out. His hand squeezed mine softly as he trialed his thumb across the back of mine.
“I just can’t tell you how much it means to me to have you here,” I told him, my voice seeming to grow even softer.
He studied me intently, lips pressed together tightly before he relaxed his jaw, the muscles flexing beneath his skin. “You don’t have to, I know.”
I felt a whoosh of relief wash through me. At least now I didn’t have to try and find the right words that could never do justice to how I felt; he knew. For now, that was enough.
I smiled softly at him, which he returned, causing his dimple to lightly dent his cheek. Leaning toward him, I pressed my lips to it, leaving a light kiss on his skin.
“Do you want to stay here tonight?” he asked, as if reading my thoughts. He knew me too well.
“Yes,” I answered. “Please.”
“Okay,” he said, kissing me lightly on the lips, lingering for a few seconds before pulling back.
“How well do you know my dad?” I asked him suddenly. It was something I had been thinking about for a while now. At first, I had been so distracted by my parents’ confession that I hadn’t worried about my father recognizing Harry. Now that I thought about it, however, it seemed kind of strange.
Harry hadn’t been surprised when my father had seen him, nor had he ever mentioned knowing him before. While my dad had never really been around for long periods of time, I couldn’t remember him ever having many friends, much less Harry’s dad. It struck me as odd that no one had ever mentioned it before.
“I used to know him pretty well,” he admitted, ripping me back to the present.
“How long did they know each other?” I asked.
“College, I think. He was over quite a bit when we were in middle school… the last few years before my dad’s crash,” he explained further. I nodded, urging him on. “He and my dad would fix stuff in our garage and I’d go watch sometimes. They’d tell me stories about college and all the crazy things they did.”
This was all news to me. It didn’t upset me, necessarily, just confused me. Harry and I hadn’t been friends up until this year, so he would have had no reason to ever mention it to me. My dad, however, had never so let so much as a whisper out about a friend. And an apparently close friend, at that.
It was becoming more and more clear to me that there was a lot I didn’t know about my father.
“Why didn’t you tell me?” I asked. Not accusingly, just wondering.
“I honestly forgot about it until he came back today,” he said honestly. “We weren’t friends back then, so… I don’t know, I don’t think I even realized he was your dad until mine was gone, and by then I didn’t want to think about anything to do with him.”
I didn’t say anything while I absorbed what he said. I didn’t blame him- he had a perfectly logical explanation, and I knew he wouldn’t lie to me about this.
“Please believe me, I didn’t mean to not tell you,” he pleaded, sounding worried I would be mad.
“I believe you, babe, don’t worry,” I said gently. He looked relieved as I said it, exhaling softly and squeezing my hand again to his chest.
“Okay,” he said quietly. “I love you.” His hand pet back the stray hairs that had fallen in my face, holding his had against my cheek after.
“I love you, too, Harry,” I breathed, scooting my body even closer to him and nuzzling my head into his neck. I puckered my lips against his skin, leaving a kiss on his throat.
Eventually I fell asleep; at what time, I had no idea. The only thing I had been aware of was Harry as I drifted off, feeling his body against mine and his even breathing that rose and fell with his chest. He refused to fall asleep until I did, wanting to make sure I was okay.
Surprisingly, I slept deeply, my rest uninterrupted by any dreams or nightmares that may have threatened to wake me. This could only be attributed to Harry and how incredibly safe I felt with him, reassured with the knowledge that he would never let me go, no matter what.
***
The next week was a strange one. With each passing day, I found myself more and more torn into two very opposite directions. On one extreme, I was happier than I had ever been with Harry. He continued, unwaveringly, to be the perfect example of a boyfriend.
He was kind, understanding, loving, and did everything in his power to distract me from what was going on at home. Every waking moment possible, he was by my side, soothing me when I was sad and distracting me with silly jokes when I needed him to.
On the other extreme, I felt like I was crumbling every second I wasn’t with him. The worst was when I was at home alone with my parents. True to their word, they were trying to make things work.
But perhaps too much time had passed since they had truly loved each other, or perhaps too much had happened, because their efforts were relatively unsuccessful.
They had fought almost every day since my father’s return. Some days, they had more rounds of the screaming match I had walked in on. Other days, they would bicker quietly back and forth, taking digs at each other for the tiniest of offenses.
I wasn’t sure which was worse.
I was still clinging to the small shred of hope that they would be able to reconcile their differences, because I found myself longing for the days before any of this had been an issue. The days when they had clearly loved each other and would laugh and smile like the best of friends- the best of friends in love.
With each passing day, it became more and more clear that they were no where close to that state of mind anymore, but I couldn’t get myself to stop hoping they would maybe get it back.
Even when he was alone, my father seemed to be different from how I remembered him. He was quieter, duller, older. He was no longer the rambunctious man who had taught me all about football and insisted that I learn how to properly throw a spiral pass. There was a defeated air that hung around him, clouding his presence whenever he was in a room, and I hated it.
I wanted my father back.
Every day, I tried to talk to him, to coax him into a conversation that didn’t feel forced or pointless, but to no avail. His answers were polite, simple. The type of answers you would give to a friend of a friend, or a cashier at the grocery store. Whatever it was that was bothering him, he refused to talk to me about it. I grew more and more frustrated with each passing day.
The only time I got even a glimpse of the man I once knew as my father was, oddly enough, when Harry was around. Despite their strange, somewhat awkward reunion, my father seemed to adore Harry now. He would ask him questions, hold actual conversations that were interesting, even make jokes with him.
Harry, as wonderful as he was, would return the behavior, but always made sure to make it clear he was on my side. I tried not to be jealous of their easy relationship, but it was hard.
After observing them one afternoon after school, I finally figured out what it was about Harry that made my father seem as close to his old self as I had seen him. It wasn’t that Harry was another male, or extremely charming, or easy to talk to, although surely all of these things helped. It was that Harry reminded him of the time before whatever had gone wrong in our family had happened.
Talking to Harry, he felt like he was back years ago, when he and Harry’s dad would hang out in the garage, telling stories to a surely captivated, curly headed little boy.
Back when life was easier and he was younger, stronger, healthier. Back when his job wasn’t so hard, when he loved his wife without question. Harry brought him back to where he wanted to be.
It was this realization that gave me an idea. It was a risky idea, but it was one that I couldn’t stop thinking about once it had occurred to me. Of course, I had to talk to Harry about it first, but I knew by how much he loved me that he would probably do anything I asked.
I didn’t want to take advantage of that love, but I knew if I didn’t at least discuss it with him I would never be able to get it out of my head.