Morning || Self
Every time he asked, she felt like she could give an easy explanation. Melissa was ready to spit words that weren't quite there yet. Though he wasn't asking through voice, she could read it through his body on the daily. Harry knew not to push, but even he couldn't help but insist with actions. This day— like most other days— she chose to ignore the notion and enjoy the waffles her husband had pressed.
"Had that dream again last night," he began, pouring more batter into the waffle iron.
"Oh, yeah? The one with the town crier guy? Or, he was a priest..."
"I'm almost sure they were called heralds, but yeah, that's what he was." He closed the machine's lid, and set the chicken-shaped egg timer for a few minutes.
"Was the prophecy any different?" Melissa asked, sawing her last remaining waffle into quarters with a butter knife. A small smile grew on her face as she remembered the ridiculousness of the first story he told. Oddly enough, she couldn't remember just what it was, exactly. Only that it had managed to make them both laugh for a healthy moment. He shook his head and reached for the roll of paper towels on the counter.
"Not exactly, but there was something different about the hall. It was painted really... really–"
"Regal? Classical? Gothic?"
"Gross," he concluded. "It was really uh... fuckin' ghetto for 1560's Rome." They shared a mall laugh at the eloquence of his description.
"So it was like... thick, grotesque, paint and images?" She stabbed a corner with her fork and ate some of the syrup coated waffle. "Gotta explain, babe."
"Yes, grotesque. I wasn't close enough to see the paint but the pictures were– were sloppily made pictures of Jesus and whatnot."
"Well that does sound like it belongs in the holy city. Every known thing has bad fan art!" She chuckled and ate another piece.
"Baby Jesus, though? And he... The thing was like, fuckin'— I dunno." Before the timer could ring, he switched it off and retrieved the waffle from the iron. "It was really creepily drawn, I guess."
It was a bad lie. Melissa knew Harry too well to let it pass. Without another word, she rose from her chair and walked to him, reaching out to embrace him from behind. This one reoccurring dream of Harry's had once been a source of humor for their mornings, but like many good things in Wonderland, it went sour before it could even blossom. If it was getting to him at night, Melissa knew it would only be a matter of time before he would start asking with words again. She couldn't let the sad uncertainty eat him at the core, but all the same, she was just too afraid to say yes.
