tell me what's inside of your head

You just look at Harry till he says, “What?” as if he’s expecting you to agree. “S’a sad song, love.” “Maybe musically,” you shrug. “But aren’t first dances supposed to be all...you know, intimate?” It feels like the first moment you’ve really slowed down all weekend -- between the Vietnamese ceremony yesterday with the offering processional, the closure on Sylvia’s tiny ao dai that you and Harry had carefully fastened before arriving at Annie’s parents’ house, and now. (“Traditionally the groom comes and takes the daughter away from her parents, you know, gives them money and stuff.” Annie had told you with only a slight roll of her eyes. “AJ insisted she do it too just so she could buy the whole roast pig.” “Have you ever worn one?” you ask Harry that afternoon, smoothing the front flap of Sylvia’s crimson red dress with a golden coin-like pattern and checking the hem of her flowing silk white pants. She’s surprisingly amenable to the crown headpiece, insisting that she match with Mummy. Harry nods. “It’s blue. Sylvia’s grandparents went all out for the new year that she turned one -- it was the year of the Golden Monkey, so extra special for her I’m told. Figured it was only right I dress the part.” Annie murmurs translations of her godfather’s speech into AJ’s ear; she cries when her grandmother hands her red envelopes and blesses them. Harry holds Sylvia and points at the altar where Buddha watches over the whole affair. There’s a lot of bowing and tea drinking -- and lots of laughter. It’s wonderful to be around even though you understand little else.) AJ and Annie are barely moving now along the tiled floor of the Orangery, where the reception is being held. It’s a quiet, private moment that almost feels intrusive to look at. You’d nearly shrieked when they’d announced to you last year they’d be holding theirwedding chaos part two at the Kew Gardens; everything has felt like a dream. ((“We hope you can come,” they’d said then, and you wonder if Harry’s fellow co-parents had the same wish you did. We hope this thing with Harry lasts that long. And it did. And it has. You wonder why it still feels like you’re holding your breath, sometimes, waiting for the other shoe to drop.) In a surprisingly bold display, Sylvia stops short of throwing whole fistfuls of flower petals right at guests on her way down the aisle -- “At least she’s not scared,” AJ murmurs; Harry snorts very quietly from behind -- before waving jubilantly at her father from her aunt's lap. “She gets that from you,” he tells her. For the first time today, you see AJ’s eyes well with tears. She blinks rapidly, waving desperately at her mascara. “Fuck you H,” she hisses. He just breathes a laugh and yanks the pocket square from his suit coat. She dabs at her eyes. Family and friends ‘Aww’ as Harry takes back the fabric and kisses the high point of AJ’s cheek. He fixes his square to fit cleanly back into his pocket in about four seconds; it’s oddly, deeply attractive to watch. They settle back into their places along the glass panes of the Conservatory just in time as the music swells. Annie’s arrived.) That's when you need someone Someone that you, you can call When all your faith is gone And it feels like you can't go on Let it be me Let it be me Harry looks right at you on, let it be me. You feel Ray Lamontagne’s plea in the pit of your stomach. “It’s not that sad,” you say quietly, almost like you’re trying to convince him. He just smiles and reaches across the back of your chair; his warm, heavy hand lands on the back of your neck. It’s been hard to keep his gaze today, for some inexplicable reason. You told yourself during the ceremony that you were just focusing on the brides, but you could feel Harry’s eyes on you from across the aisle. You were afraid to look back. You’re not really sure why. Harry pulls you onto the dance floor soon after, and you can only beg off when AJ’s brother announces the father daughter dance. The brides waltz with their dads until the beat picks up into something quick and jubilant. Harry spins with Sylvia; Annie takes her daughter’s hands as she and Harry both sing, You are the best thing that’s ever happened to me to Sylvia’s rapturous, delighted laughter. • saturday, june 19, 2019, 9:27 pm • “Alright ladies, gents, and non-binary pals, it’s time for the bouquet toss!” There’s a chorus of high-pitched laughter as couples and families clear the dance floor to make way for a small throng of presumably unmarried people. A couple of very reluctant men are pushed forward by their friends. AJ slams back a shot and places a smacking kiss on her wife’s lips. The Orangery erupts in hoots and cheers. “I’m drunk.” She points right at you, then at the dance floor. “Let’s do this.” “Go on!” Annie says, grinning widely even as you put your hands up, practically begging. “Oh no I’m fine--” “You know you can’t refuse a bride on her wedding day, right?” That normally sweet smile is a little wicked as Annie waves you off. Harry just laughs. “Traitor!” you accuse, glaring. “If I get tackled, it’s all your fault.” “I’ll happily nurse you back to health.” Annie proceeds to corral a veritable professional sports team of cousins and friends onto the floor. She’s quite a sight in her wedding dress and lacey reception Converse. You understand now why they couldn't just do the intimate version of this Kew wedding package as they’d initially planned -- just Annie’s family alone makes up nearly 50 people. (Thankfully, Harry had murmured in your ear this morning, AJ’s parents are loaded and happy to cover the rest.) Despite the whirlwind of the day and nearly a dozen drinks already, AJ looks immaculate in her white suit and red lip at one end of the long dance floor. You hover where you hope is far enough from the dead center of the crowd. Most of these women seem familiar enough with each other to simply laugh and playfully jostle elbows, but you clock one or two that seem...determined. A strange hush falls over the room. AJ points with Annie’s bouquet like a batter aiming for the stands; the photographer’s camera clicks rapidly. Then the flowers are launched towards the crowd. Or more operatively, towards you. Oh, fuck. Do I catch it? The mass of greenery and petals -- eerily lit now in dance floor light -- is only getting bigger. Do I want to catch it? You can’t decide. Why can’t you decide? A blur of dark hair and red lace chooses for you; another girl full on dives for the bouquet, landing with a triumphant, “Ha!” She springs to her feet with her prize held aloft to whistles and wild applause. Only two other people look even mildly disappointed; you’re pretty certain money exchanges hands as everyone heads back to their tables and parties. Harry’s definitely holding back laughter as he pulls you into him, kissing your temple. “That was terrifying,” you mutter into his neck. His shoulders shake a little. “Did I imagine it, or did AJ really throw that right at me?” Harry’s long pause is the answer, his mirth sparkling in his eyes. He just hands you another flute of champagne and all you can do is laugh, shaking your head. “I promised Annie we’d take some polaroids before we all got too smashed,” Harry says, nodding his head over at the table beside the cake and dessert, holding a dozen polaroid cameras, all manner of costume and accessory, and pens to leave notes for the newlyweds. “I wish we’d remembered earlier.” You frown a little at your reflection in your unlit phone screen. “I’m not sure about the state of my eye makeup right now, Harry.” “Nah.” Harry covers your screen so you have to look up at him. “You’re perfect. Besides,” he continues teasingly, “what’ll we have to show our kids?” The champagne must be getting to your head as you laugh again. “Bridget’s about to take the little munchkins home for bed.” Harry stands and offers his hand to you. “Last chance, love.” You take his hand and let him lead you. You’d let him lead you anywhere, really. But that’s probably just the champagne talking. ** You’re both definitely tipsy by the time you end up on the dancefloor again, not so much dancing as swaying in place. “Have I told you already that you look beautiful tonight?” Harry’s thumb smooths small circles into the exposed plane between the straps of your open-backed dress. You smile against his chest. “Once or twice.” A beat passes. “You seem a little quiet. Something on your mind?” You hum softly, forgoing a response, and shake your head. “You’re sure?” You glance over at AJ, twirling her wife on the dancefloor and dissolving into laughter together as Annie’s dress billows out. “It’s nothing,” you answer softly, trying to sound reassuring. “This is my first adult wedding really, and I guess it’s just making me think a lot more than I thought I would. Life and all that.” “I see.” Harry pulls back a little to meet your eyes. “In a good way?” You consider for a moment. After several glasses of champagne, you aren’t entirely sure that this is the best setting to nosedive into such an existential conversation. “I’ll let you know when I figure it out.” He opens his mouth as though drafting some forethought, but then nods once, planting a chaste kiss at the top of your forehead. “Of course.” You sway in silence to your favourite Sleeping At Last cover. All around you, couples old and young are all in the moment, gazing into each other’s eyes, holding one another. More than one pair of wedding bands glints in the low light. His voice comes gently, only loud enough for you to hear. “You know I love you.” He sounds so certain. You wonder if you’ll ever be so sure of anything. The smooth lapel of Harry’s suit is soft against your cheek as you close your eyes. “I do.” • sunday, june 20, 2019. 1:42 am • “Can still hear ya thinking, love.” Harry’s smile is soft as you click the lock of his flat. His tie is loose around his neck and he’s holding your shoes and a lifted bottle of wine in one hand. Your wedding finery should be out of place in his living room, but of course he makes it look easy, like any other Sunday. You remember your first kiss in the lift and muster that same, inebriated courage. You’re sober by now but it’s probably better that way. “Did you mean what you said earlier? About the polaroids, and our future kids?” His smile freezes in place. “If you were joking, that’s totally fine cause you know, we were drunk at the wedding and…” You make a vague gesture. “I was just wondering.” He gives you a long look. “Does that freak you out? The idea of us having kids someday?” The question is paralyzing. “I need to get out of this dress,” you blurt, seized by a sudden panic. Harry puts down the wine and follows you into the bedroom, as though you could somehow escape the conversation now that you’ve started. The zipper on your dress sticks. “C’mere.” He touches your bare back and deftly undoes the hidden clasp. Harry kisses the top of your spine and desire for him pools low in your belly. Focus. “Talk to me. It’s gonna be alright.” Somehow it’s easier to speak without looking at him. “I don’t want it to be a...” You’re such a coward. You can’t even manage it in a full sentence. “A what?” No sound comes out when you open your mouth. You try again. “A deal breaker.” You turn around, the dress falling into a puddle at your feet. It should feel scary, being mostly naked in front of him like this while laying your feelings bare. But you let go of that fear a long time ago. His eyes rove over your body like an instinct, but when he meets your gaze Harry swallows like it hurts him to speak. “Please say it.” You wish you could look anywhere else but his eyes keep you. You think about that night on his couch, your first date, and that same plea. You’re so much more afraid now than you were then. He’s still dressed. So without asking, you step closer and start on the buttons of his dress shirt, pushing his suit jacket off his shoulders. Harry doesn’t stop you. He doesn’t touch you either, and you’re oddly grateful. “I’m just not sure if I’d ever get married.” You chance a look up; Harry just stares and the flood of stuck words suddenly pours out. “I guess I haven’t really had to think long term, before. Like that. Marriage, kids. Or I hadn’t, and I should have. And I feel like that’s so unfair to you, because you have your whole life, Sylvia and Annie—” “Annie wants to have another baby with me.” There it is, that other shoe. You must look like an idiot, mouth almost agape, hands hovering over the ferns just above his hip bones. “What?” Harry sighs, dragging a hand over his face and through his hair. “Sorry, love. Didn’t mean to spring it on ya like that. I’ve been trying to figure out how to bring it up without–“ he chuckles dryly– “Well, scaring you off.” “Oh.” Harry takes your hands and squeezes gently before shifting past you to his dresser. He pulls out a worn t-shirt, holding it up to you like a question. “Yes, please.” The cotton sails over the bed and lands softly in your hands. You peel out of your backless bra and for a minute the jangle of jewelry and shifting fabric is the only sound in the room. You have a little dish on the bedside table for rings and earrings; a few changes of clothes sit in the laundry hamper –– you didn’t talk explicitly about mixing the domestic landmarks of your lives, but there they all are anyway. By the time you’ve pulled the shirt over your head, Harry’s stripped down to boxers and is holding his contact case. “Let’s talk about this in bed, yeah?” He steers you towards the bathroom with both hands on your shoulders, as if you don’t know the way. It makes you giggle and eases some of the tension in your stomach. There’s always been something comforting in washing the day away, especially a special occasion like tonight that always makes your skin care routine work twice as hard. Harry makes faces at you in the mirror with his toothbrush in his mouth. He dips his fingers into your moisturizer, smearing it across his cheekbones. A sudden longing for him makes it hard to speak so you just smile instead. You wonder if you’ll ever be free of this feeling, or that you’ll ever want to be. You’re so in love with him that it hurts a little. Eventually you crawl into bed, propped up on elbows to face each other with your legs tangled beneath the duvet. Harry’s free hand sneaks beneath his t-shirt to touch your skin, stroking aimless circles and patterns over your side. “So,” you say finally, “Annie wants another baby. With you.” Harry nods. It’s hard to read the emotion behind his glasses in the low lamp light. “I dunno if she’s like, sentimental from the wedding, or if Sylvia’s getting older made her antsy to grow a family… I think part of it is that she doesn’t want there to be, like, a huge age gap between Sylvia and potential siblings.” You digest this carefully. “I mean, that makes sense. She has a huge family. I can see why she wouldn’t want Sylvia to be an only child.” “Yeah.” Harry worries the duvet between his fingertips as he speaks. “I mean, AJ has a cousin who I think is willing to do it, too, but… Annie was sayin’ it’d be nice if, um, if her kids had the same father. She and I talked about it a few months ago.” It’s hard to know what to say, so you’re thankful when Harry carries on. “She said it was completely my decision, and that she was going to have another either way. Not now, like, now now… but she sounded pretty serious about wanting to get pregnant again sooner rather than later.” Wheels in your head turn. “Is that why you asked me that stuff tonight? The future in a good way?” He doesn’t reply. “Do you know what you want, Harry?” He clears his throat. “I always pictured myself havin’ a normal life, like, meeting somebody and falling in love and getting married and having babies—the whole lot, right?” You just nod. “Like, I assumed that would happen for me eventually just like anybody else. But that all changed when Sylvia came along, and I was happy with my life, like, I was fine with that… I kinda figured that Sylvia and Annie, and now, AJ were the one chance at makin’ a family I was gonna get. Which was, like, amazing because I love them. And I don’t think… ” A deep shade of pink blooms on his ears and the high points of his cheeks, and you get the sense that maybe what he’s about to say has been rehearsed a few times. “I don’t think I would be considering turning down Annie’s offer as seriously as I am if you weren’t in the picture.” “Because--” It feels like your ears are ringing. “Because you want more kids with her?” Harry shrugs. “Cause if I have a bunch of kids with Annie, and if there’s… a chance that someday I could have a family with yo—” He can’t look at you but you can’t even begrudge him. “—someone else, well, that’s just a lot of bloody kids ‘innit?” You bark a laugh in spite of yourself and Harry jumps, perhaps a little startled. “Planning on making a football team to take on Arsenal, darling?” He scowls a little, like he always does when you make this joke. “Liverpool, love.” Your giggles fade as you gnaw on the inside of your cheek. It’s your turn now to dodge his eyes as you ask the operative question. “Can you see us ever having kids if we end up… if we stay together?” “I mean… ” Harry almost doesn’t even need to finish his sentence in the endless pause that follows; the way he’s tip-toeing around the answer as though he doesn’t want to hurt your feelings makes your heart sink in your chest. “And I say this as someone who’s currently literally raising a child, but absolutely, yes… Like, very, very easily I see us having kids. If we stay together.” “Really?” He nods, deeply serious. “This isn’t me pressuring you, okay? Not after everything you just told me about maybe not wanting marriage. Overwhelming you is the last thing I want to do, and I don’t expect you to want exactly what I do, or any of it.” Harry exhales noisily. “Just can’t stop thinking ahead. S’ what having a baby does to you, love. One day they’re in diapers and you turn around n’ suddenly they’re running around and screaming at you. ‘M gonna be thirty in the blink of an eye. I'm gonna to need to move soon, to like, a house probably.” He scrunches his nose at you. “Does that make me sound old?” “No, it makes you sound like you became a father at twenty-two.” Harry sighs before shifting to stare at the ceiling. “You know,” he says, “there was a lot I missed out on during Annie’s pregnancy with Sylvia. S’not like it was anyone’s fault, but it was just the way it worked out, I guess, since we never really had feelings for each other, like that.” “What do you mean, missed out on?” “Like, I dunno, I guess it would have been nice to kiss her belly, and talk to Sylvia through it. I did that a little, obviously, but like not as much as I would have wanted to, looking back. I didn’t necessarily get to see her belly get a little bigger everyday… to fall asleep holding Sylvia and Annie when they were growing together. Even just, to like, touch them as much as I wanted.” “You are a touchy person,” you remark, teasing gently. He snorts. “It was always a little strange at first when we didn’t really know each other, you know? Annie and I got a lot closer after we really decided to go in on this whole parenting thing together. It kinda took me too long to let her know that she wasn’t going to be doing this alone.” It’s the first time you’ve ever heard something like shame from Harry in respect to Sylvia’s mother. “She didn't like, expect anything, but I was a scared idiot. I had to work hard to earn her family’s trust and she and AJ were trying to get off the ground at the same time. Can you imagine? Dating a girl pregnant with some dude’s kid? But they really loved each other.” “And here we are,” you point out. “On their wedding night.” “Here we are.” He looks contemplative. “And I was there when Sylvia was born, which was so important to us. But there were a lot of firsts I experienced on my own with her, and I always thought would have been nice to celebrate with someone else, too. Like, I taught her how to walk. She took her first steps in my flat. The first time I got her to nurse from a bottle, the first time she had a tooth growing in, the first time she used the training potty on her own… I was alone with her for all of that. Isn’t that kind of a shame?” “Maybe.” You tilt your head at him. “It doesn’t have to be a shame, though. Single parents have those moments alone all the time, right? Doesn’t make them any less special.” Harry shrugs. “Maybe.” He shifts on the bed to cuddle into your side. You turn over to let him spoon you, though you’re still processing everything he’d just confessed. “So? What are you thinking?” “I’m glad you told me,” you begin. It’s the safest place to start. “That’s...a lot. And we can’t change the past, so we can only look ahead and make the best choices we can. Part of me wants to say you can decide whatever you want and I’ll support you, but that’s like saying, yeah that’s fine don’t consider our relationship at all.” Harry huffs a laugh into the back of your neck. “It’s obviously not the time to be making any huge decisions, right?” He hums. “So let’s just…” You turn back around, your faces close together on your pillows. “Let’s just agree that we keep thinking and talking about it. The future, and what we want. Things can change any which way. I mean it’s just barely been a year, right? Who knows what’s going to happen.” “And if…” Harry tucks your hair behind your ear. “If we figure out eventually it’s not gonna work out? With us?” You lean forward so that he rolls onto his back, bracing yourself above him with your elbows. Harry puts one warm hand on your side like he wants to pull your hips together, but holds back. “Then,” you reply, leaning down to catch his mouth. “Then we loved each other for as long as we could. And I’m okay with that.” Harry nods his agreement. Then as his wandering hand slides beneath the band of your underwear, he shows you -- over and over until dawn breaks through the window. • sunday, september 19, 2019, 2:07 pm • You apply one last coat of lipstick as the lift doors part on the sixth floor, stepping out with a wicker basket and checked blanket swinging on one arm.  Harry had suggested the outing today, as well as breakfast last weekend. He’s been trying to come up with creative ways to get Sylvia used to the idea that you’re going to be a more regular figure in her life, besides the odd hello and goodbye like passing ships. You don’t mind one bit; it’s nice to spend time with his daughter, and though she’s doesn’t speak too much when you’re alone, part of you appreciates that it’s clearly important to him that the two of you get to know each other. Plus, it’s nice to be able to see him while he has Sylvia—you’d grown so used to being with him only on the weeks he has his apartment to himself. It was beginning to make you feel guilty that he felt he needed to compartmentalize his time with each of you. You knock a couple times and straighten out your dress in the interim before he answers. “Hi, love.” Harry swings the front door open, pulling you in for a kiss. You wouldn’t have minded if his lips had lingered on yours for a moment or two longer than they do, but the sound of crying echoes from the bathroom as you step into his entryway. “Hi… ” A sustained wail followed by a short trail of sobs rings in your ears as you set down the picnic basket and blanket by the chest table. “Sorry,” Harry mumbles, leading you through the hallway while you’re still unbuttoning your jacket. “Can’t get her to stop.” Harry shoulders through the door to the bathroom, kneeling before the toilet and the puffy-eyed, slobbery toddler sitting on top of it. Half of Sylvia’s bob is clamped up on top of her head with a barrett and the other half hangs in tangles. She clutches Jojo the kangaroo tightly to her chest as tears stream down her round, ruddy cheeks, and she begins to weep again. “Oh,” you croon through a soft, pitiful laugh. “What’s the matter here?” “Nothing, s’just—I can’t… ” Harry trails off. You watch from the doorway as he tries to tame Sylvia’s dense mess of curls with a familiar sparkly brush about three sizes too small for his hands, a scrunchie suddenly between his teeth. “Her hair’s too thick. We—we’re almost ready to go.” “I want Mummy,”Sylvia pleas, her words broken up by choked little sobs. You notice Harry’s laptop propped open on the bathroom floor by the tub. He glances over his shoulder at it periodically, squinting through his glasses. YouTube is pulled up on the browser—a tutorial on how to french braid is playing with the subtitles on, and you’re suddenly struggling to conceal an endeared smile. Harry’s face goes blank at an especially complicated step. “Underhand twist?” he mutters under his breath, leaning over to rewind the video with one hand clasped around a messy ponytail at the side of Sylvia’s head. He clears his throat before peeking at you over his shoulder. “Uh… you’re welcome to go wait on the couch, I’m sure we’ll only be a few more minutes—sorry about all this.” “No, no it’s fine—I um… ” You take an uncertain step forward, crouching down beside Harry with a hand on his back. “Can… can I just… ” Harry lets you take the brush from his grip when you place your hand gingerly on top of his. He stands quickly to let you take his place as you immediately let Sylvia’s hair down from the barrette, dampen the brush beneath the faucet, and gently begin to untangle her hair, combing your fingers through it when you’re satisfied. Sylvia has stopped crying. “You and I can do this, right?” you ask, with maybe a little more false confidence than you’d ever admit. Though it’s hard to know what Harry’s daughter makes of your regular appearances in her life, she nods slowly. You take the untouched pack of bobby pins from her lap and wedge a couple between your lips for later and in under ten minutes, you’re looping a tiny plastic hair tie around a few of her curls pinched between your fingertips. “That should do it… ” you breathe, helping to balance Sylvia as she stands up on the toilet and spins around to face the wall mirror. Her hair is skilfully wound into two symmetrical french braids; they bounce as she turns her head from side to side to inspect your handiwork. “Is that what you wanted, sweet pea?” You make your voice light, leaning over to ask her at eye-level. Sylvia simply bobs her head at you. “Perfect.” Her smile is almost imperceptible but you take it anyway. The sound of a quiet breath into a laugh draws your attention back to Harry. He’s still looming in the doorway, resting a shoulder against the wall with his arms folded across his chest and you have to do a double take when his gaze meets yours in the reflection. It feels oddly like the lift. The warmth and emotion behind Harry’s eyes is irrefutable, almost smothering, but part of you wonders what had brought it on. It’s more and more often that you find yourself wondering what’s going through his mind as you catch him watching you interact with his daughter; in those moments, his eyes are always quiet and curious and fond—a little too intense at times. You blink a few times to refocus on Sylvia in the mirror before hoisting her up in your arms. “Looks great… You look ready to play!” Sylvia nods again, and when you begin to hand her to Harry, he’s stuffing his hands in his pockets, pushing up off the wall and turning away from you to head for the front door without a word. After slipping into his jacket and gathering the picnic basket and blanket you’d brought, he holds the door open for you and lets you carry his daughter all the way to the lift. You catch him staring at you again in the reflection of the doors so you elbow his side discreetly. “What are you looking at me like that for?” you ask under your breath as you place Sylvia gently on the ground to stand.  Harry shrugs, an exaggerated motion like he’s trying to hide some further thought. “No reason.” He lifts a hand to the back of your head, brushing soft circles into the nape of your neck with his thumb. To your astonishment, as the lift doors ding open, Sylvia doesn’t run ahead. Instead, she slips her hand into yours. Your glance at Harry is quick, lest you have a completely inappropriate emotional breakdown at the look on his face. You keep your grip purposefully loose, but Sylvia’s hand stays clasped in yours, where it stays for the entire walk to the park. • wednesday, october 8th, 2019. 8:36 pm • “Honey, honey, honey… Who could be sweeter than you?” Harry sings. “Honey, honey, honey… Bittersweet, but what can I do?” You don’t think you’ve ever seen Sylvia sit so still as Harry strums his guitar along with the words. He’s sitting up on the couch. You’re sitting on the living room floor with his daughter, absently toying with a Viewmaster left strewn on the ground with her Legos, when suddenly she’s plopping herself into your lap. “Lord, it’s good to talk to you… Even sweeter than wine.” Sylvia leans her soft hair back into you until her eyes flutter closed. Harry smiles gradually, but continues singing and just when you’re sure she’s fallen asleep, Sylvia’s eyes flash open as the song comes to a close. “More!” she begs. Harry laughs once, leaning in close to Sylvia as he sets his guitar to the side. It’s bizarre; they look so much like each other, it’s like he’s having a stare-down with himself. “Mummy’s going to be here soon and somebody’s getting a little drowsy.” He’s using the voice he only ever uses with her, soft and enunciated and slow. “No, I’m not!” Sylvia shakes her head in your lap. “One more, one more, one more… ” She looks up at him with wide, earnest, pleading eyes. Harry raises his eyebrows at her. “Can’t hear you.” Sylvia sits up a little more, her back that childhood ramrod straight, like she’ll have to taught how to slouch one day.  “One more, please?” “One more.” Harry meets his daughter with a hardened, knowing stare. “But if Mummy arrives before the song’s over we’ve got to stop. Kapische?” “Kapische!” “Sweet creature,”Harry begins. “Had another talk about where it’s going wrong, but we’re still young… We don’t know where we’re going but we know where we belong.” The song is Harry’s ode to parenthood—all of the moments of learning and bonding, all the victories and milestones, but also all of the challenges, and times of strife. It’s addressed to Annie in some parts and Sylvia in others, but overall, Harry had written it to capture the general feeling of being a new father all on his own. That’s how he had explained it to you, anyway… You’ve heard the song so many times through the nursery wall whenever Harry would slip away to tuck Sylvia in that you could recognize those first few notes anywhere. “When I run out of road, you bring me home… You’ll bring me home,” Harry sings, slowing his fingers on the strings in the final verses of the song. The room feels serene in the extended silence that follows before a knock on the front door interrupts it. Harry is rising to his feet and you begin to tidy the living room as Sylvia scurries off to fetch her tiny backpack of things. “Hi, love.” You can audibly hear the kiss that Harry plants on Annie’s cheek in the entryway. “Hi, Harry. How are you?” Annie greets before peeking over his shoulder and smiling at you, calling your name with a little more enthusiasm. “Hi, Annie!” You wave. “Mummy!” Sylvia comes running around the corner of the hallway, wearing her backpack and clutching Jojo to her chest. “Hi, munchkin! I missed you!” Annie waves down at Sylvia clinging to one of her legs. Harry crouches down to scoop Sylvia up in his arms, standing with a groan. “C’mere, bug. Give Daddy a kiss goodbye—Hey!” Harry frowns, taking the small, plush kangaroo from her before holding it aloft between them. “What’s this fo’? Thought you left Jojo with Daddy on the weeks you’re at Mummy’s so he doesn’t get lonely.” Although Harry pouts theatrically at his daughter, you can tell by the tone of his voice that he’d genuinely been caught a little off guard. Sylvia perks up in his arms. “Daddy doesn’t need Jojo anymore since Daddy has someone else to keep him company.” She points at you across the flat, meeting your eyes for an instant before looking back to her father. Your heart stops beating in your chest as Sylvia says your name once with a small shrug. Harry’s jaw drops wide open around a smile, and you and Annie are both struggling to conceal your laughter over Sylvia so casually, yet unintentionally burning her father. “Can’t argue with that logic,” Annie chuckles. “I guess not,” Harry mutters. He’s shaking his head at Annie through a smile, feigning that his pride is a little bruised as he helps Sylvia into her coat.   “Are you two coming round for Sunday roast?” Annie asks in the doorway. Harry looks over his shoulder at you inquisitively; you nod quickly, closing the lid on Sylvia’s Lego bin. Harry turns back to face Annie. “Yeah, just text me what you want us to bring, love… See you both soon,” he bids, leaning on the doorframe. “Cheers!” you hear Annie call from down the hall. “Bye bye, Daddy!” Harry is still laughing faintly to himself as he shuts the door behind them. He turns to face you with his hands on his hips. “Drop it.” He nods to the rubber toy in your hand as he approaches; you let the giraffe fall to the floor with a squeak and rise to your feet as Harry wraps his arms around you, resting his chin on top of your head. You nestle into his chest and his sweater is warm and scratchy against your cheek. “And then there were two,” he sighs, tugging up the hem of your blouse to rest his hands bare on your back. “And then there were two,” you echo, turning your head to size up the tower of dirty plates in the sink, and the massive speckled pot left on the stovetop from dinner. “We should get started on the dishes.” “Mmm,” Harry mumbles into your hair. “Let’s leave them.” You exhale into a small laugh, biting your lip as his hands travel up your waist, dangerously close to your breasts. “We need to clean up.” “Says who?” Harry kisses your temple once before turning to press his lips in the same spot on the other side. “Why not make it an even bigger mess?” “Harry… ” you breathe. He dips his head down a little and his mouth is on your neck. The hum of his voice tickles on your skin between kisses. “Did you know that you’re my favorite mess to make?” Harry’s hands slide down to the waistband of your skirt; he’s fussing with the elastic a little. A breathy laugh escapes your lips, and you grab his wrists to stop him by the time he’s got his thumbs hooked just inside your underwear. “Just…” you trail off, placing his hands back at his side, shaking your head before stepping around him. You pull your skirt back up as you shuffle over to the kitchen. “I’m… sorry.” Harry follows behind you, scratching his head. “Have I done something?” “No, no,” you reassure. “I’m just… ” You gesture vaguely to the living room, looking for the right words. “Nevermind.” “What’s the matter?” Harry crosses his arms. His brow creases in concern, but you simply turn toward the sink and begin to busy yourself with the dishes. The only sound in the room is the water running from the faucet, but eventually Harry grabs a dishrag and finds a place beside you at the counter. “You can tell me anything. You know that.” “I know.” You nod, but avoid his eyes as you pass him a few spoons to dry. “I’m not upset or anything.” “You sure? You’ve been kinda quiet the past few times with Sylvia.” “Really?” You make a soft, apologetic sound in the back of your throat. “I’m sorry. It’s nothing, I promise.” Harry stops drying suddenly as his hands fall limply to the countertop. “So there is something.” “Well… ” your voice is softer and less certain as you scrub the inside of a bowl a little too thoroughly. “It’s not… I’m not—” “Do you want to take things slower with her?” Harry asks, his voice suddenly somber and a little apprehensive. You turn to face him; his eyes are already searching yours. “It was when she called you ‘mum’ by accident last week, wasn’t it? Did that scare you? Am I… Are we rushing it?” You shut the faucet off immediately, and reach for one of his hands. “No, no, no. Of course not, Harry… I love getting to know Sylvia.” You shake your head at him slowly. “It’s nothing serious like that.” “Alright… ” Harry’s shoulders relax a little, but you can tell he’s still unsatisfied. “Wish you would tell me but… m’ not gonna bug you about it.” You switch the faucet back on and resume washing until the sink is almost completely empty, save for a few wine glasses and sippy cups. Your heart is racing again; you’ve been trying to find the right words, gathering the courage to speak for as long as it takes to dry two plates and a set of cutlery. “I don’t want you to worry that I’m upset with you, Harry.” Your voice is soft. “Alright… You gonna tell me what’s been on your mind, then?” You shrug. “Sorry, I guess I hadn’t realized I was being so quiet recently… It’s honestly nothing—just kind of embarrassing.” This hooks him, now. “Embarrassing?” Harry scoffs. “What on earth do you have to be embarrassed around me for? I’m, like, the most embarrassing person on the planet.” You turn to face him. Harry’s perplexed frown seems to have relaxed into a smile. “Well I don’t know!” You shrug, defending yourself a little mindlessly as warmth touches your cheeks. “To me it’s embarrassing, yeah.” This time, Harry reaches over you and shuts the faucet off, smacking you in the arm with the dishrag. He leans a hip on the counter to face you, doing a terrible job of trying not to chuckle through his words. “Out with it.” “Well… ” Your voice is hesitant, probing. “I’ve always felt it a little but lately I’ve been noticing it more and more often and—” “Noticing what?” “Whenever I watch you play with Sylvia… or sing songs to her on your guitar, or hold her ‘till she falls asleep in your arms, I get all… ” You wave your hands over the sink, trying not to stumble through what you want to say. “It makes me—” “What? Sentimental?” Harry finishes, squinting down at you in confusion. “No.” You meet his eyes finally. “It makes me want you.” “Want me? Like… you mean—” “Yeah.” You nod in confirmation. “Like want you, want you.” Harry is quiet for a minute, but his eyes gradually soften. “Why were you embarrassed about that?” “I don’t know!” You raise your hands, defensive again, and accidentally spray a few suds across Harry’s sweater. “It seems a little corrupt, doesn’t it?” Harry laughs, reaching up to cup your jaw. There’s no use protesting as he pulls you in to kiss the top of your forehead. “Course not. S’ completely natural… Like, I can’t believe that’s what you were feelin’ bad about.” You cross your arms, pulling away from him. “You don’t think it’s a little odd that the sight of you with small children makes me want to rip your clothes off when we’re alone later?” Harry’s hand drops from your cheek to your shoulder, where he squeezes once. “Love, I literally remember learning about this for my psych Bachelor’s.” A wicked smile flashes on Harry’s lips before he’s pressing the back of his hand into your forehead to teasingly take your temperature. “Don’t think you need to go and see a doctor.” You shove his hand away and feel the blood rush to your face, then turn to the sink again to finish off the last few dishes. “Baby… ” Harry pleas, moving to stand directly behind you and resting his hands on your waist. You continue rigorously scrubbing a spatula when you feel Harry’s lips graze your neck, but your hands freeze when he murmurs something against your skin. “I feel the same way about you, y’know.” You swallow dryly as Harry travels down to your shoulder in kisses; it’s hard to focus on the task at hand when the sound of his mouth on your throat fills the entire kitchen. Your pulse picks up a little. “Do you?” you ask. Goosebumps rise on your skin as he pushes your hair out of the way to kiss the other side of your neck, nipping once at your earlobe. His hands drop to cup your backside beneath your skirt, lifting the hem up your thighs. “Mhm,” Harry hums matter-of-factly without parting from the spot on your shoulder he’s sucking. His hands are still warm and damp from the dishes as he squeezes you. You tense as you feel his fingertips graze the hem of your underwear. “In what way?” You don’t mean for your words to come out so softly, but your throat has run completely dry. Harry pushes his hips against you from behind, pressing you into the sink. You feel him lean his forehead on the back of your head then nestle against you a little. His breath tickles your neck as he sighs before peering over your shoulder and pressing a kiss into your cheek. “I’m gonna try to put this gently,” he starts. “Cause I don’t want to alarm you, but deep down, watching you play with my daughter makes me want to practice making another one with you.” Your eyes close as your lips part around a small, soundless inhale before Harry goes on. He’s tugging your underwear down beneath your skirt until you feel them fall to your ankles. “And practice, and practice, and practice, and practice, and practice.” Harry presses his groin into you again, a little rougher than the first time, and you clutch the edge of the sink for support, glancing back at him over your shoulder. Your legs quiver a little as Harry nudges your thighs apart with his knee. His breath is shaky and low by your ear and he wastes no time sliding a hand beneath your skirt and rubbing your clit in gentle circles from behind. Your mouth gapes wider but you don’t make a sound as your grip on the sink tightens. It’s almost frustrating how quickly he could get you close, now that he’s learned how to touch you. He’s tracing his fingertips over your center time and time again and right when you’re about to ask him to get on with it, he dips two fingers inside of you, knuckle deep. You suppress a gasp; you’re not used to him reaching so deep using his hands alone, but he’s coming at it from a different angle this time. You’re not sure if you could finish from this, but he’s certainly pushing you to the edge. “Fuck,” you breathe. “Feel good?” he asks from behind you. You nod stiffly and he begins to move faster in and out of you. “I’m close.” Harry’s breath hitches behind you and he’s pulling out all too soon. Your heart falls a little until you hear the zip of his jeans. Harry shifts his weight, stepping closer to you until his erection presses into your backside. You can feel him stroking himself, growing harder and harder against you. “Bend over.” His voice is rushed and low; it isn’t a question. You rise to your tiptoes, lean over the sink as far as you can, and feel Harry push himself into you from behind. There’s always something so irresistible about unplanned intimacy with him. Right now, you don’t want a torturous, drawn out marathon; you want quick, messy, and rough, and that’s exactly what he’s giving you. You inch your legs closer together. Harry groans, wrapping an arm around your waist. “Do that again.” His voice is strained. You arch your back for him and suddenly hear Harry’s knee knocking the wood cabinet below as he begins to push into you with more force. You watch in curiosity as his arm reaches over you to the faucet. Harry switches it on and the water begins to flow; he adjusts the temperature, then pulls the head from its removable neck, aiming the stream into the sink… Needless to say, you’re utterly perplexed at this point. There are a number of buttons on the head of the faucet, indicating all the different settings, and Harry switches through a few before landing on one in particular. Then, in a whirlwind, he turns the sink up to the maximum water pressure, yanks the head of the faucet to its full extension, and shoves it under your skirt. The stream of water hits your clit with incredible pressure and all of the sudden, you’re crying out at an unprecedented volume. He has done this to you before with a removable shower head, but never in his kitchen when you’re both fully dressed, spilling all over the tile. “I’m going to cum,” you breathe, reaching behind you blindly before grabbing hold of his bicep. “Cum.” Harry is moving the faucet head like a vibrator so that the water hits you in short bursts. Your orgasm flows through your body in waves and lasts longer than you’d been expecting. Harry’s fingertips dig into your skin, half out of lust, and half trying to keep you both from slipping in the puddle on the floor. Once the noises you’re making cease significantly, Harry reaches over you to drop the faucet head back in the sink and it shatters something that sounds like it’s made of glass. You reach up and limply shut the water off and Harry is moving slower inside of you. “You feel so fucking good,” He breathes against your neck, more than a little winded. Half delirious, you push him off of you weakly, then lift yourself up to the nearest countertop, spreading your legs and nodding once to beckon him over. You hadn’t been able to see Harry when he was behind you, so it takes you a moment to adjust to the dripping, rosy-cheeked, messy-haired man approaching you. He’d somehow soaked the entire front of his shirt and a few strands of his hair. Harry makes his way over to stand between your thighs and pulls you into his chest by the backs of your knees. His mouth is warm and tugging and sleek when he kisses you, but he breaks the kiss suddenly as his hand lands loud on the countertop to balance himself; he’d almost slipped in the water. “Floor.” Harry’s voice is clipped. He helps you down from the counter and you lay back against the cool tile, paying no mind to how the water dampens the back of your skirt and blouse. Harry crawls on top of you as you lock your legs behind him at the ankles. He uses one arm to prop himself up and the other to cradle the back of your head while his mouth moves against yours. You can feel Harry’s erection nudging between your thighs, heavy and slick and stiff. It’s incredibly distracting so you press your palms into his lower back until he gets the message and pushes himself inside of you again. You turn your head to the side and watch the reflection of both of you in the glass of the oven door. You notice the hollow of Harry’s cheek as he kisses down your neck with his eyes closed. You have to look away because you can hardly bear the rapture of watching his silhouette move against your own in scooping motions; under and up, under and up. He’s fucking you in a way that draws something so carnal out of you that your mind wanders back to his words earlier, about how in the darkest corners of Harry’s imagination, he’s ventured to thinking about making a sibling for his daughter with you. “Cum inside me.” The winded plea leaps from your throat before you realize what you’re asking of him. The request hangs pinned in the air between you, however, you realize after a moment’s meditation that you’re not just caught up in the moment. He’s never done it before, or even brought it up—and you can absolutely understand why—but some part of you really, really wants him to… If you think about it too hard you’ll probably change your mind and stop; the last thing you want to do is stop. Harry begins to say your name, hesitating above you but you interrupt him. “I’m on a birth control pill, Harry. That’s more effective statistically than getting your tubes tied,” you breathe. “Cum inside me.” Harry’s jaw flexes and he has to halt the movements of his body. He sighs and leans in to press his forehead against your temple once before he starts moving again, heavy, slow, and deep this time. He still hasn’t addressed what you’d said. You know it’s a safe bet. He knows it is… Regardless, you don’t want to push him. The kitchen falls silent as Harry moves above you. He takes your hand and interlaces your fingers with his above your head, and his grip is so tight that it’s almost uncomfortable. Keeping this more mellowed rhythm, Harry starts to drive himself into you with more force. Your mouth falls open and you try not to inhale each time his hips smack against your backside with an audible thwack. Harry sighs once more, and lets his lips loiter by your ear. “You want me to cum inside you?” You nod. “You sure?” “Yes.” “Cause that’s like… you know that’s like, a very difficult offer to refuse.” “Then don’t.” Harry lets go of your hand in favor of wrapping an arm around your back, bringing his lips to yours again. You hook an arm around his neck. His fingertips dig harshly into the flesh of your hips until his thrusts become frenzied and uneven. He swears against your lips before cutting himself off with a groan. “I’m sorry. S’ gonna be a lot. Last chance to change your mind… like, very last chance.” “Finish.” As though the statement had sent him over the edge, Harry’s mouth gapes slightly, his face twisting. Instead of pulling out, he pushes his hips forward, burying himself inside of you as deep as he’ll go and a moment later, his whole body tenses on top of you. He breathes a series of stifled curses against your neck, but eventually he slows his movements before collapsing on top of you entirely. The only sound in the entire apartment comes from the two of you chasing your breath. Harry stays inside of you for a while as you lay in the small lake on the kitchen floor. You comb your fingers through his hair and after a minute, he lifts off of you to lay by your side, tucking himself back into his jeans. He begins to laugh then shakes his head, draping his forearm over his eyes. “Swore to myself I’d never do that.” “Do you regret it?” you ask gently. Harry drops his hands to his chest. His cheeks are still flushed and he’s still covered in dewdrops of perspiration, but he’s staring up at the ceiling in a way that feels sobering, and thoughtful. He cracks a smile, snorting once before turning his head toward you. “Like… not even a little bit.” “That’s good to hear,” you laugh. Harry rolls over to prop himself up with an elbow, surveying the kitchen before looking over at you with a smirk. “Now what’s that you were saying earlier about needing to clean up?” • thursday, may 26, 2022, 11:11 am • “I can’t believe you lost your wallet on the second most important day of your life!” you shout over your shoulder, rifling through the laundry. “You’re sure it’s not stuck in the couch cushions?” Harry’s voice echoes from the living room. “I’ll look again.” “How far away is the Uber?” “Uh… Fuck. Three minutes.” “Three minutes?” If your bedroom had passed for tidy before, it certainly isn’t anymore; sweaters, and undergarments fly over your shoulder haphazardly. “Should one of us go wait out by the curb?” “They won’t let us in the delivery room without proper identification—learned that the hard way last time—” “Alright, alright.” You groan in frustration, staring down at the now empty hamper. Harry’s bedside table is just as empty as it was when you tore in here, as if you could materialize it through sheer force of will. He didn’t leave it on your side table, either. “C’mon love, we gotta go!” The panic in his voice pitches higher and higher. “You think I don’t know that?” You have to take a deep breath. Both of you aren’t allowed to fall apart at the same time, not now. “Don’t worry, Harry. We’re gonna find it.” You consider the wardrobe door. Surely it would be like a man to put something in his pocket and then back in the closet, right? Well, you have nothing to lose at this point. The row of suit jackets and trousers you’d first admired so long ago hasn’t changed all too much in two and half odd years, though new additions have appeared and many beloved pieces have been retired to charity shops or organisations supporting the homeless. You blitz past your dresses, jumpsuits, and coats and seize all the fabrics that fold his cologne and aftershave between them. Pocket after pocket comes up empty. You pass the suit from your very first encounter in the lift, the one from that fateful run-in with the blue-eyed man, and even that first New Year’s. It’s such a strange and lovely way to reminisce on your relationship, but you don’t have the time right now. Until your fingers finally bump into something that isn’t a wallet. The velvet is undeniable against the silk inner lining of Harry’s suit jacket. You’d gotten desperate about six back and started dipping your hand into the inside jacket pocket as well (the special occasion section includes the one he wore to the wedding two summers ago) until you pulled out the non-wallet and realized you don’t recognize its hiding place. Is it new? The deep green velvet box in your hand certainly is. Holy fuck. You almost drop it like it’s going to bite you. Is it… Your birthday just passed, barely a month ago. Harry has never gifted you anything so luxurious before. The golden initial necklace you’d received for your second anniversary cost exactly twenty-seven quid from a local Etsy seller (because he’d bought the exact same one you’d pinned four months earlier) and you’ve never felt the urge to buy your grandmother’s heirloom family ring a companion on your right hand. (AJ had also loudly proclaimed while drunk once that any man who bought any jewelry in such velvet boxes that wasn’t an engagement ring deserved to be punched in the throat.) It probably is. Do you open it and confirm your (fear? elation?) suspicion? Or do you leave whatever lengths and efforts Harry’s clearly gone to in order to maintain this secret? His love of surprises is one of the things that endears you the most; it’s why you already know the sex of Sylvia’s silbling – literally due to arrive any minute – and Harry’s been determinedly in the dark for months. There aren’t a lot of surprises left in life, he told you. So shouldn’t this be one? (As much as an agreement that you’d come to together right before Annie had announced this pregnancy can be a surprise.) Now that the shock has sort of worn off, a buzzing, giddy joy has fizzled up in its place. This is really happening. The whole rest of your life, with Harry. Some part of you still can’t believe any of your life here in London’s been real, let alone him. “I found it! Fuckin’ hell– let’s go!” It’s all you can do to shove the ring box back where you found it, shuffling the hangers so they seem more-or-less undisturbed in the deepest part of the wardrobe. He chose a good spot; you can’t remember ever having gone rifling through his suits before. Harry is practically vibrating by the time you make it to the door of your flat, his hand on the doorknob. “Oh god,” he exclaims, and you’re about to scream if he doesn’t have his keys. “What about Sylvia? Where is she?” It takes at least two seconds for you to realize he’s actually serious, and then you smack him a little as if it could jostle his brain. “We dropped her off at your mom’s last night you weirdo!” That panic from I can’t find my wallet hasn’t quite faded from around his eyes yet. “Right.” Your heart could burst with how much you love this ridiculous man. You touch his cheek. “C’mon, Harry. Let’s go meet your new little one, huh?” He holds your fingers in his, turning his head just enough to kiss your palm before closing his eyes. Like he’s grounding himself in you. But then Harry’s smile is the most bright and beautiful you’ve ever seen. You didn’t know one person could hold so much joy. “Ready, love?” You know what he’s asking. It has nothing to do with that little secret tucked away in velvet and silk in your bedroom. You wonder how long you’ll have to wait; you couldn’t be more excited to find out. You squeeze Harry’s hand. “Ready.”