Daddy issues || h.s

0.3

Abigail had her back turned when he stepped into the kitchen. She was cutting some fruit to make one of those super healthy smoothies she always had for breakfast. Her hair was up in a loose ponytail, a couple of dark stray hair falling over her forehead. She was wearing a light brown cardigan and black pants, followed by a pair of killer black heels. She was a businesswoman to the bone. And she could not have been more different from the girl sitting at the kitchen table beside her.

Adelaide was holding a bowl of cereal up to her mouth, greedily gulping down the contents. Her long legs were pulled up under her big black tee shirt and her blonde hair cascaded down her back like liquid gold. She looked so young. Just like the child she was.

The look of innocence lasted a good three seconds.

When she put down the bowl and wiped away the milk draping over her upper lip, she looked up and saw Harry standing in the doorway.

“Look, he's alive” she smirked, and Abigail turned around.

“Ahh, you're up. I didn’t want to wake you, you looked so peaceful” Abigail said and smiled. He knew she was lying; she hadn’t woken him up because she wanted him to sleep until they were out of the house, but it was nice of her to try to cover it up. “I don’t think you've met my daughter Adelaide.” She gestured to the girl beside her, and smiled. Oh yes, they had met, but he hoped to god Adelaide wouldn’t mention it.

“No we haven’t met;” he said. He decided not to leave it to Adelaide to decide whether or not her mother should know. He could feel, rather than see her raise an eyebrow. Why didn’t he want her mother to know that they had met? Come to think of it, she could see why. If her mother had known she had met him in the middle of the night, while he was only in his boxers, she would have gotten suspicious.

Adelaide got up from the chair she was sitting in, excusing herself to go and get dressed for the day. And for about four seconds, everything was normal, but when she reached the doorway where Harry was standing, she stopped. He could swear he could feel the world stop spinning when he looked into her blue, blue eyes. She could not be from this world, she had to come from some kind of underworld. A place where huldras and mermaids lure men to their death, and right now he wasn’t sure he minded if she did.

The moment didn’t last any longer than three seconds, but a part of them stayed there, just looking at each other, for ever.

She snuck past him, her small hand softly brushing his abdomen, a warm summer breeze in the winter wonderland that was his life. And then she was gone, up the stairs and behind a closed door. Out of sight, but definitely not out of mind.

 “Finally.” Abigail sighed. “That girl takes so much space, I feel like I can never breathe freely when she's here”. Her words shocked him, how could she say that about her own daughter, wasn’t she supposed to love her more than her own life? He scrunched his eyebrows together and looked at her strangely.

“Oh, don’t look at me like that. I love her, but sometimes she can get on my nerves.” She laughed it off and leaned against the kitchen counter. “Just don’t tell her I said that.”

One thing Harry would never understand about this woman, was her desire to appear like a stone cold ice queen with no feelings.

“Come here” She opened her arms and he walked into them, feeling her hands stroke over his back as he embraced her. There was something special about hugging Abigail. It was like she was both hard and soft at the same time, as if there was something inside her she did her best to protect. That’s why he loved hugging her, it was the only time he got to see a glimpse of her soft side. The side that had once been her completely. The side that had been trusting enough to let a boy take her virginity when she was only thirteen years old. And the side that had almost completely disappeared when she had to raise a kid by herself only nine months after that.

He knew the story. He knew how strong she was. He knew why she was like she was. And that’s why he stayed.

Her lips were soft and firm, moving in familiar patterns in sync with his. Kissing her had become a routine, like hanging your jacket on the same coat hanger every time, but he liked it. Because just like hanging your jacket is something you do when you're home, kissing her felt like coming home.

Did he love her? Yes.

Or at least he hoped he did.