How It's Going To Be [h.s.]

Chapter 15

{Kate's Point of View}

I heard her walk in the room. She crossed from the door to the window. She pulled the curtains back and the room flooded with bright sunlight. I groaned loudly and rolled over to face the direction opposite the window. I pulled the duvet up over my head.

"You know," my mother sat down on the edge of my bed and pulled the duvet down off my face, "I would feel a lot better about you spending weeks sleeping here at home if it was because of your headaches."

"How do you know I'm not sleeping because of my headaches?" I mumbled.

"Because you could have slept through your headaches back in London."

"I—"

"You came home and have been brooding about because you feel badly for leaving Harry and that confuses you. The fact that you don't know where you stand with him has got you running in circles."

She was right. I hated when she was right. "Maybe."

"Harry has never caused you trouble. He has always been there for you. He is supportive and soft hearted. He is balanced and sweet. Your confusion is justified, but freezing Harry out is not."

"That easy for you to say! You know Harry and I don't."

She frowned at me. "I know Harry because I gave him a chance last summer when I first met him. You don't know Harry because you aren't giving him a chance right now."

"I'm trying, but it's hard."

"No, you're not trying. You're looking for excuses and that is easy." My mother got up and walked out of my room. She closed the door behind her. I climbed out of bed and pulled the curtains closed again.

____________

My legs were tucked under me as I sat on the end of the sofa. A blanket was pulled around me and I was reading the book I had brought with me from London. It truly was an interesting book. I had restarted it and was over halfway through with it. Reading was a good escape while I was away. I could invest myself in the drama of the story and forget about the drama of my life.

Somewhere between chapters seventeen and eighteen, the doorbell rang. I ignored it completely and trusted my mother would answer the door. Like I anticipated, I heard her open the door and give an enthusiastic giggle. She called my name excitedly, "It's for you!"

I rolled my eyes in annoyance. The photograph of Harry and me that had upset me so much on the plane no longer had the same effect. I had allowed it to be used as a bookmark yet again and shoved it between the pages of the novel. I pushed my hand through my hair and glanced down at my t-shirt and sweats.

My mother looked giddy as I rounded the corner to the front entryway. She pointed to the door and left the entryway immediately. I had no idea what she was so worked up over. I walked to the door and looked out. I gasped.

Sitting on the front steps to my house was a large bouquet of white peonies in a blush colored vase.

The flowers were pristine; no yellow or brown wilting had obstructed the pure white of the petals. The blush colored vase complimented the white of the peonies beautifully. My favorite flowers had been delivered to my house and they didn't come without a note from the sender. Sticking up in the middle of the bouquet was a thin plastic stand holding the note. It was the standard of any other bouquet of flowers, but the note was anything but ordinary.