The soft clanking of utensils and the muted sounds of chewing filled the silence around the crowded dinner table, and I couldn't stand it anymore.
"Someone please say something."
"What?" Mom asked, glancing around at her children and grandchildren from the head of the dining room table. "We're enjoying our meal. It doesn't mean anything that we're a little on the quiet side."
Mumbled sounds of assent from my brothers and sisters-in-law paired with wide, innocent eyes and the blissful ignorance of my nieces greeted me then.
Harry stayed focused on his meal.
I looked at all of them one by one. Mom, who shrugged and raised her brows, her eyes wide as if to say, "Nothing to be suspicious about here." Then, Will and Jenny—Will, who glanced at Jenny for approval, then smiled and nodded when she shot me a smile. Then, Mark, whose head was practically in his dinner he was eating so fast, and Emily, who was the only one looking at me with something like pity in her eyes.
They all knew. And I knew that they knew. And they knew that I knew that they knew. And they also knew that I didn't want to talk about it.
Awkward non-conversation was the unfortunate result.
"Gracie, don't put that whole piece in your mouth, you'll choke," Lilly said, oblivious to the tension in the room, only focused on her little sister's eating habits.
Five-year old Gracie did just as her sister said and set the big piece of chicken down, already tearing it apart with her fingers.
Harry glanced sideways at me, and when he caught me staring, smiled half-heartedly, continued chewing carefully.
I took a deep breath, hating every moment.
My family never had quiet dinners. For as long as I could remember, we made polite conversation at the very least, and were screaming over each other at best. It's just the way we were, and the way we always would be.
The last time I could remember a family dinner this quiet was after my last miscarriage, when everyone was walking on eggshells around me. I wasn't eager to relive those days. And I'd spent the better part of the last month tip-toeing around my husband, wondering how to help him cope with this loss—my second miscarriage—all while trying to deal with it myself.
Silence was the last thing I wanted from the rest of the people I loved.
"Please don't do this," I said, my voice quaking with emotion I was doing my best to hide.
"Do what?" Mom asked quickly.
I could feel their eyes on me. Harry's hand came to my knee beneath the table. I tried to smile. "Don't clam up on me now."
It served to make everyone chuckle a little, but it didn't erase the sadness in their eyes. The heartbreak I would've done everything in my power to avoid causing them. The heartbreak that stemmed directly from me.
After Harry and I had gotten ourselves on the same page last week, we'd decided to take a few days for ourselves before we told my family. To reconnect and to allow ourselves to feel whatever we were feeling with each other's support. So, he didn't go to any writing sessions for the next couple of days, allowing us to spend some much needed time together.
We didn't do anything spectacular. Grocery shopping, walking around the city finding little pockets of happiness where we could, which included eating at our favorite restaurants and spending some time in Central Park. All of it was just the right kind of simple normalcy we'd needed.
But what I hadn't counted on was the new way my brain perceived it all, and we each got emotional more than once.
In the grocery store, I stared down the aisle of baby food, diapers, and the like—froze there, hands gripping the handle of our half-full cart, and imagined an alternate version of myself casually strolling down that aisle, a gurgling baby in the cart grabbing at all the colorful jars of baby food with chunky fingers.
Harry had led me away with a gentle smile, and the tears that had formed in my eyes didn't spill over.
While walking around the city, I tried to put my focus on admiring the different kinds of architecture all the buildings had to offer, the sunshine, the smiling faces of passers-by enjoying the beautiful spring day, the delicious food in our favorite restaurants, and the people we'd gotten to know who worked in each of them.
But in all those places, families found me. Mothers and babies. Doting fathers, young and old. Laughing children. Crying infants. Mothers pushing strollers. Bottles being catapulted out of those strollers and frustrated parents trying not to draw too much attention to themselves for fear of annoying other people.
And I imagined myself in their shoes. Bouncing a baby girl or boy in my arms, smiling with pride when someone in passing commented how beautiful he or she was, trying not to explode with happiness when Harry lifted the baby into his arms, and hoping I could remain calm if and when the baby cried in a public place.
All of it was horrible, but all of it was necessary. There was no point trying to hide myself away from reality while I grieved because this was life. Families, babies, all that love—it's what life was all about. And just because I'd experienced this loss didn't mean I begrudged other people their happiness. I couldn't do that and I couldn't avoid seeing that happiness.
But I was glad Harry was with me. Glad I didn't have to witness everything I wanted out of life for the first time afterwards without him by my side. It was hard enough having him there to grab onto in a particularly painful moment. I didn't know what I would've done had I been by myself in the baby aisle of the grocery store, or alone in a restaurant booth watching a young family nearby enjoy each other.
Because I had him, I was able to get through it. And each day afterwards had become a little bit easier because of him.
Which didn't make telling my family much easier, but at least, having faced some of the sadness over the course of my everyday life, I felt a little bit stronger in telling them.
That was a few days ago, and I'd only personally told Mom. Harry and I had made the trip out here the other day when we knew she'd be home alone.
She'd told everyone else.
"Okay," Will said from his seat across the table from me, staring at me with a careful smirk. "What do you want us to talk about?"
My smile came a little easier. I was grateful to him for trying to rally. "I don't know. Someone's gotta have some news or something from the week, right?"
"Ooh, I got into a fight with a lady at the grocery store the other day," Emily offered.
"Perfect," I said, already amused. "Let's hear that."
Mark rolled his eyes. "Not again."
Emily snapped her gaze to him. "What?"
"I've heard this story a dozen times already," he said, talking over a mouthful of potato.
Emily looked stricken. "But you said I was right!"
"You were right! How many times do you need to hear it?" Mark said, the beginning of a smile on his lips.
Emily grew very serious. "Maddie asked if anyone had anything to share. So, I'm going to share it."
"For more validation," he added, his sarcasm evident. "Perfect. Just what you need."
"This is great, guys, keep going," I said through laughter, noticing that the rest of the table, Harry included, wasn't trying to hide their amusement either.
"Aunt Em and Uncle Mark are fighting again, Grandma," Gracie offered up with the tone of a proficient tattle-tale. She had mashed potato smeared on one cheek.
"Aunt Em and Uncle Mark aren't fighting, sweetie, they're bickering," Mom amended.
"What's bickering?" Lilly asked, her question nearly drowned out when Emily exclaimed, "Oh, but it's okay for you to tell anyone who will listen as many times as they're willing to hear it that you're the only one who does anything at work!"
"Cause it's true!" Mark asserted. "That company wouldn't function without me."
"Here we go," Emily said, stabbing at her broccoli with an unamused smile on her lips. "The whole world would come to an end if you didn't do the bare minimum, right?"
"Ding, ding, ding," Will said, signaling the start of a verbal boxing match, laughter dancing in his eyes as he glanced around at everyone else.
We laughed even harder.
Jenny was leaning over her girls, unable to hide her smile even as she tried to explain what "bickering" meant to Lilly, Harry was well and truly laughing beside me, and Mom was doing her best not to spit out her wine.
We were used to the bickering between Emily and Mark. There was at least one round of it every time we had dinner together, and it had become a running joke among the family. And sometimes, it got downright insulting. But they never stayed mad at each other. It was like they got everything out there in the open—each and every frustration and annoyance—so that they could love each other better afterwards.
This particular round ended the same way all the others did. With Mark leaning sideways, unable to keep from smiling anymore, and planting a kiss on Emily's cheek even though she was still totally fired up. And when he looked at her afterwards, joining the rest of the family in laughing along to their antics, there was so much love in his eyes it was disarming.
Emily was ever unfazed by his affection, more concerned with being right. And Mark was always more than willing to please.
"You're right, you're right," he'd say at the end.
"I know I'm right," is what she would finish with before tossing him a smile back.
It was... romantic, somehow. That two people could love each other so much, they could have a battle to end all other battles, come out bloody and bruised, but still finish it with a kiss.
It was the kind of relationship I sometimes found myself wishing Harry and I had. Not that we loved each other any less than they did, because I knew no other love could compare to a love like ours, but we weren't consistently open the way Emily and Mark were.
If there was something wrong, they put it out there immediately.
Harry and I—we were more likely to sit with it first. Try to figure out an answer ourselves to save the other person the trouble or heartache. Solve it alone before talking with each other.
Sometimes it worked for us. Sometimes it didn't.
But Emily and Mark—they had it down.
And by the time they were done with this particular round, I was happy that they'd sparked another round of conversation.
"So, the lady at the grocery store... what happened," Mom demanded, leaning forward over her now-clean plate to stare at Emily.
Mark, still smiling, arm around the back of his wife's chair, rolled his eyes again.
Emily leaned towards Mom as well as she finally launched into her story. "Well, I had to go shopping after work cause we had nothing in the fridge to make for dinner, so—"
"Like you cook," Mark muttered, and caught Emily's hand right in the chest.
He only laughed when she told him to shut up. So did the rest of us.
"As I was saying, we had nothing in the fridge, but I was also exhausted and not up to going home and making an entire meal."
Mark met Will's eye over Emily's head, and the two exchanged knowing smiles.
"So, I was in the frozen food aisle looking for these specific chicken burritos we've had before and both like. And there were only two left when I got there, which was perfect obviously. Except I was just taking the second box out of the freezer when this lady comes right up to me and says that she was just about to take that specific box."
Mom was shaking her head, Mark was listening carefully, and I, truly outraged, said, "Oh, hell no."
"Ooooh," Gracie piped up, mashed potato in her hair now, too. "Grandma, Aunt Maddie said a bad word."
"Language, Madelyn," Mom scolded.
Harry snickered beside me.
I glanced sideways at him, smiling when I caught sight of his dimples despite his chewing.
"So, I'm like, you can't be serious. I'm already taking it," Emily said, eyes wide. "And this woman has the nerve to say that she needed it more than I did because it was her son's first night home from college for the summer, and this particular brand of frozen burritos were his favorite."
"Who has a favorite brand of frozen burritos?" Jenny asked, as confused as we all were.
"Right?!" Emily asked, getting fired up again. "And who has the nerve to go up to someone who's clearly got the last box of said frozen burritos and claim that she deserves to have them more?"
Mark and Will were trying not to laugh, and that made it much more difficult for Harry and I to keep straight faces.
"It's not funny," Emily asserted, still very serious, wide eyes landing on each of us. "I was pissed."
"You had every right to be," Mom said, pursing her lips herself to keep from laughing.
"So, what'd you do?" Jenny asked.
Emily, having caught onto the fact that everyone was laughing at her more than with her, sobered a little. A smile touched the corner of her lips. "Told her there was a Chipotle ten minutes away and she could shove one of their burritos up her—"
"Okay!" Mom said, cutting her off before she could scar the children anymore than we already had. "Who wants more chicken?"
We were all in stitches at that point.
And it was the lightest I'd felt in weeks.
I'd been terrified of coming home today. After telling Mom the other day and watching her lips tremble as tears sprang to her eyes upon hearing the news, I didn't think I could bear the rest of my family's reaction.
Hers was bad enough.
But she'd assured me she'd tell everyone individually, and that they'd all know by today. I still didn't want to come, but Harry had insisted it would be best for both of us. That our family's support was necessary in a time like this.
The evening had started just as I'd feared it would—with everyone hugging me and Harry, pity and sadness in their eyes, an attempt at comfort in their embraces. Even my brothers held on a little longer than they normally did, and I was afraid I'd break down before dinner had even started.
No one said they were sorry, but they didn't have to. It was in their eyes, their hugs, their smiles... every look they gave us.
It left me feeling shaky as we sat down to eat, the kind of fragile I thought I'd left behind after telling Mom. And when everyone stayed mostly quiet at first, no one knowing quite how to approach normal conversation—including and especially Harry and I—I was afraid I wouldn't make it through the meal.
But now—as we all laughed to the point of tears—I was so glad we'd come. So grateful for my family. And so in love with the man beside me, who always knew what I needed even when I didn't.
He stuck by my side all night—as we cleared the table and set everything out for dessert, as we sipped coffee and listened to the girls tell us about their new babysitter, who Jenny said they seemed to love more than their parents. And Harry made sure to reassure me with soft touches when he sensed I was too wrapped up in my thoughts, which happened a few times over the course of the few hours together. And each touch was paired with a gentle smile—one that made me smile again, too.
Jenny, Will, and the girls left first, as usual. Leaving Mark, Emily, Harry and I with Mom for a few hours of catching up.
We ended up in the backyard together, clutching cups of coffee as the warm air of day chilled into night. It wasn't quite cool enough for the fire pit, but we had it roaring anyway. And the smell of smoke twined with the aroma of coffee as I cuddled into Harry, as his scent wrapped around me, too.
And for the first time in weeks, I wasn't excessively happy or excessively sad. I wasn't quite myself yet—didn't know how or if I'd ever be the same woman I was before this loss—but it was the closest I'd felt to getting back to her since.
"Your father hated this thing," Mom said at one point, seemingly out of nowhere.
I looked at her across the fire pit as she stared into the flames, as she prodded the edge of the pit with her foot, her mind clearly somewhere far away.
We all stayed quiet. Harry's hand tightened on my shoulder for a breath.
"Do you remember when he built it?" she asked, her eyes flicking up to mine, a sad sort of smile on her lips.
But it was Mark who answered from the seat next to ours. Emily was tucked beneath his arm. He breathed a laugh. "How could any of us forget?"
I had to chuckle, too. Dad hadn't even wanted the damn thing. But Mom had insisted it would improve the overall aesthetic of the backyard, and the three of us were excited about it, too, so he eventually gave in. It had taken him an entire weekend to gather all the materials and build it.
And it was a weekend full of muttered curses and abrupt shouts from the general direction of the backyard. The boys had tried to help him, but they were young teenagers then, and Dad thought the work too heavy for them, insisting he could do it himself. That it was a piece of cake.
"I think my favorite part of it all was when he slammed a stone down on his finger," Mark said, laughing now.
It hadn't been funny then. Dad's thumb had swelled to a grotesque size, and we'd ended up in the ER with him soon after.
Mom's laugh was breathy. "He couldn't bear to even sit out here the whole summer afterwards."
I remembered. Dad had always liked to sit in front of the TV at night, but when we were all excited to sit around the fire pit, or have it going while we jumped into the pool for a night swim, he'd stayed inside, apparently still frustrated enough that he couldn't stand to be near it yet.
"He came around," Mark said then, thoughtful now himself. Emily placed her hand on his stomach and snuggled closer.
"Yeah," Mom said, staring into the fire again, her face softening. She took a shaky breath that lifted her shoulders. "He could be stubborn. About a lot of things, but... he always, always came around." She looked up, met my eye. Glanced at Mark. "Especially when it came to you kids."
Abruptly, I wanted to hold her hand. Wanted to snuggle into her and breathe her in.
I'd often thought about it—what things would be like now, what we would be like now if Dad was still here. Whether our lives up to now would have gone a little differently, and whether or not he'd be proud, happy with the way we were living them now.
I wondered what Mom might be like. If she would've developed the unique kind of inner strength she had now if she hadn't needed to—if she and Dad would be traveling the world together now that the three of us were happily settled down. I wondered if she felt lonely. If she'd thought about dating again. Moving out of this house. Starting fresh.
But these were things I'd never asked her, too afraid to touch a sensitive nerve.
"He'd be so proud of you," she said then, almost to no one in particular. But she met each of our eyes, including Harry's and Emily's. "All of you."
My chest tightened as she shook her head, her lips clamping together. Her eyes were shining.
"Mom," I started to say, but she cut me off.
"And no matter what you're facing," she said firmly, looking directly at me now. "No matter how endlessly painful it may feel—he's with you. I know it. He's with you, and things will be better again."
I was stunned speechless, tears burning my eyes.
I hadn't let her get too emotional the other day when I'd told her about the miscarriage. I'd given her the important details, let Harry fill in what I couldn't, and didn't let her ask too many questions or offer me anything more than a strong hug. And even that had been hard.
But I knew that Mom's well-meaning attempts to make me feel better would only make me feel worse. Knew in that way you just know that my emotions wouldn't yet be able to handle the kind of comfort only a mother's love could give. Because I was afraid she'd bring up the first one. Afraid she'd tell me what she'd told me then—that it just wasn't meant to be yet.
It had made sense to me, then. It was what I'd needed to hear. I wasn't where I wanted to be in life. I wasn't with who I wanted to be with. I'd made a mistake, and created a life with someone I didn't love. Someone I didn't want to have a child with. Of course that wasn't meant to be. I'd screwed everything up to make that happen.
So, this time... I didn't want to hear that it wasn't meant to be. Because everything was right. I'd fixed everything I'd broken and my life was better than I'd ever imagined. Harry and I were together. Married. Ready to start a family. And we'd tried.
Why wasn't it meant to be now?
I didn't want to hear that I could try again. That it would happen for us soon enough. That sometimes, for whatever reason, these things take time. I just wasn't sure I was emotionally or mentally ready to hear any of that right after revealing the loss.
So, I'd put a stop to it before it could even begin. Told her that I didn't want to talk about it yet, but that I appreciated her love and support.
And that was that.
So now, sitting here in the backyard, talking about Dad and the fire pit and what he would think of how we'd all turned out, it was like—like she'd been waiting for her opening. Like she'd been saving this little speech since the other day, and she'd found the perfect excuse and time to make it.
She didn't say any of what I'd feared. Didn't tell me that this one wasn't meant to be, or that we could try again... it would happen for us soon enough.
Instead, she told me exactly what I needed to hear.
"Think I'll head up to bed," she said then, once she'd effectively and successfully shot me straight through the gut with the precision of an arrow. She tried to smile. "Let you all have a chance to chat."
I guess I wasn't the only one stunned by the turn the conversation had taken, because none of us said anything as she stood and skirted around the fire pit, stopping to kiss Emily, then Mark, before coming around to Harry and me.
Harry stood up and hugged her, pressing a kiss to her cheek as he said, "Thank you for having us."
Mom patted his cheek when she pulled back. "Love you, honey."
"Love you, too," he said as she turned to me.
My chest was crazy tight, and I'd been on the verge of tears right up until she looked at me.
Then, I just cried.
"C'mere," she whispered, pulling me close, holding me tightly, letting me cry in her arms the way I wouldn't let myself the other day.
"It's alright," she said, running her fingers over my hair and my back as sobs I could do nothing about rattled my body. "It's alright, sweetheart. Let it out. Let it out."
In the back of my mind, I knew Emily and Mark were there watching, and I had the fleeting thought that it probably would've been better to get this over with the other day when it was just Harry, Mom, and me. But there was no help for it now, and I couldn't find it in me to care that I looked and felt like an emotional wreck. I was also vaguely aware of Harry's hand on my lower back, warming me through my shirt.
But the only thing I could really focus on was my mother, her arms holding me together, her voice in my ear, her love filling me up until I could barely breathe, until the tightness in my chest eased second by second.
"You're gonna get through this," she said then, her voice low, but strong and sure. Like she'd been waiting to say that, too. "You are stronger than you know, Madelyn."
I nodded helplessly over her shoulder and she pulled back, gripped my shoulders, looked right into my eyes
"We're all here for you," she said firmly, shaking me a little. She glanced at Harry. "Both of you."
His hand curled around my waist.
"Whatever you need, whenever you need it, all you have to do is ask."
I nodded again, staring into her warm brown eyes, noticing through my tears the collection of lines around them—wondering how and when they'd gotten there.
"We all love you, too," she said, smiling softly now, reaching a hand up to cup my cheek. She wiped away a tear. "And we know you're going to get through this."
That was the one thing she did say the other day in her living room. The one thing I hadn't been able to stop her from getting out.
"Can I say just one thing?" she'd asked, sitting in the frayed and tattered armchair in the living room—the one that should've been thrown out years ago.
The one that Dad had slowly worn through with the weight of his body, night after night for years.
With the reveal of the loss, I'd finally released a breath I felt like I'd been holding since I woke up that morning, but when she asked that question, sorrow and a strange sort of determination in her eyes, I felt myself stiffen, my breath catch and hold again.
"What?" I'd asked warily, Harry beside me on the couch clutching my hand, both of us exhausted from the emotion of the retelling.
"You're going to get through this," she said.
"Mom, please—"
"That's it," she said, holding her hands up in surrender as she sat back. Her jaw hardened as she stared at me. Laced her fingers together in her lap. And I knew it was coming before she opened her mouth.
"After all that you've been through," she'd said quickly, knowing she only had seconds before I stopped her, "You can get through anything."
Those were the unspoken words that hung in the air of the backyard now, as she touched her lips to my cheek and brushed the hair away from my heated face.
And after one more firm grip on my shoulders, she was gone, the sliding glass door into the house closing with a quiet snick behind her.
I blew out a breath as I sat, my nose still stuffed, my face still hot, my body still shaky. Harry's arm came around me in an instant, his fingers on my shoulder warm and comforting in their soft movements.
"Okay?" he asked.
I looked at him, embarrassed now to have reacted so violently, and breathed a laugh. "Almost."
"Okay, not to make you feel worse, but now that you've had a good cry, can I say something, too?" Em asked.
Mom had been the one to tell both of them. I hadn't answered Emily's calls since, and only answered her texts with brief responses, so I knew she was chomping at the bit.
I glanced between she and Mark, unsure. But she was leaning forward, her elbows on her knees, her long blonde hair spilling over one shoulder. Eager. Mark had sat up next to her, and he was rubbing his beard thoughtfully, his eyes sympathetic and not lingering on me too long.
But, in a weird way, I felt strangely strong. There was strength in letting go, especially in this. Because what was the worst that could happen now? So what if I cried again?
My hand fell to Harry's knee for support and I shrugged, smiling. "Sure."
"I know you don't want to talk about it, and that's totally fine, I don't blame you, but I want you to hear directly from me how much we love you both, and how sorry we are that you're going through this."
It didn't have the effect I was afraid it might. It still brought a lump to my throat, but instead of feeling attacked, overwhelmed by the emotion of it, I very much appreciated it.
"Thank you," Harry said for both of us.
"Hey Maddie-o," Mark said when I didn't answer. His voice was gentle and playful at the same time.
Emily was reaching for his hand when I met his eye, and he tangled their fingers together as he smiled at me, gave me a wink. "Love you, kid."
I grinned. "I can count on one hand the number of times I've heard you say that to me."
His use of my father's nickname for me wasn't lost on me either.
Mark chuckled. "Felt like it was appropriate."
"Definitely," I said. Harry was rubbing my back. "Love you, too."
Emily sucked in a big breath and let it out with an audible, "Phew." She looked at Mark, then at me and Harry again. "Well, now that we got that out there, we don't have to talk about it anymore unless you want to."
Laughing, I nodded. "Sounds good."
"And I'm ready and willing to listen whenever that may be," she said quickly, firmly. "Okay..." She sat back and settled into Mark again. "Now I'm done."
"Before we put this conversation to rest," Harry said, his voice deep and low, his words slow and thoughtful. He was smiling when I glanced at him.
"Not you, too," I joked.
"Just..." He took his arm out from behind me and leaned forward. "Really quickly, and I'll say this to your mum and the others when I have the chance, but I want to thank you both."
He was looking directly at Emily and Mark.
"All of you have been so—" he shook his head "—so incredibly supportive, even though we've sort of put a limit on that support." We all chuckled a little. "And I just—I'm grateful to you. And grateful to be part of this family."
My heart was beating off-kilter, my chest tight again, but for a different reason.
A better reason.
I gripped his hand where it lay in his lap. Smiled at him.
"Shit, man," Mark said, touching a finger to the corner of his eye. "You brought a damn tear to my eye."
Harry chuckled, and I felt the rumble of it against my side.
"Good," Emily said, glancing sideways at him. "It would do you some good to have something resembling an emotion every once in a while."
"Ding, ding, ding," I said, and then we were all laughing.
And God... it had never felt so good.
___
Author's Note:
After the last few chapters of Maddie's POV, this one felt like a sunny day after too many rainy ones, ya know? Partially because I always love writing her family :) Hope it was just as enjoyable for you guys to read, so hit me with your thoughts! Comment, vote, you know the drill. I'm soooo behind answering comments, but you know me, I'll get to them!!!! It's just a matter of time :)
I'm coming to the end of my time in Pittsburgh (for now--I'll probs be back pretty soon), and I'm SO SAD to leave. Not only do I love it here, but I've been so PRODUCTIVE here!! I've actually managed to edit an entire book. CRAZY. And after months and months of not feeling productive where my writing is concerned, the relief is indescribable!
But I also have something to ask of you. If anyone's interested, I would like to have some beta readers for this next book, which I've never done before. But I think it will be really beneficial now, and there's no one I trust more than you lovely people! It's actually the second draft of my story "Somewhere in the Middle" which is already posted in full here on Wattpad, but I've made some minor changes. Nothing too drastic. So it would be great if I could find some people who have read it, and some who haven't. I'm planning to self-publish it in the fall, hopefully. And it would be even more wonderful if you might be willing to read the sequel, Crossing Boundaries, once I'm done editing that, too. So please let me know if you're interested/have the time, and I'll get in touch with you with more details :)
That's it for now, friends! I hope everyone has had a lovely two weeks, and I'll meet'cha back here in another two. LOVE YOU TERRIBLY. xx