Dead Flowers | H.S.

Chapter Twenty-Three

It was as if someone had taken out my brain, gently rearranged and shifted and moved it until it was correct, then placed it back, sealed it with a kiss. It was like somebody had suddenly made Harry's apartment our apartment although we had returned to the same apartment we'd left. My red jumpsuit was still hanging in the living room, Oscar Wilde Selected Poems was still cracked open on the coffee table, the fridge still hummed and bumbled in the corner, Harry's platforms still sat loyally on the rug, Let it Be was still sitting on the record player.

Yet walking into the chilly apartment on December 26th at nine in the evening, it was suddenly my home. I dropped my bag off my shoulder and fell into Harry who threw his keys in the bowl beside the door. He kissed the top of my head and watched my eyes scan the room.

"Penny for your thoughts?"

"This is my home."

"It always has been."

We fell back into routine immediately-I grabbed a shower while Harry cooked dinner, we ate beside each other and chatted about our eventful drive back, I did the dishes while Harry took a shower, we read silently beside another with our fingers interlocked, Harry dried my hair while I brushed my teeth, we stripped naked, fucked against the kitchen counter, fell into bed, held each other, slept in until it was morning.

Sunlight streamed in through the window at six in the morning. Harry was already awake when my eyelids fluttered. We were still naked and his chin was on my pubic bone, cheek against my uterus, lips parted only slightly, fingers dancing up my thigh. I did not say good morning, Harry. I raked my fingers through his hair and looked down at him.

"We've got to figure something out about this," Harry kissed my uterus, and I swore that something moved. I shifted my hips and nodded.

"I'm not sure what to do."

"We don't have to be yet."

"I just want to lie in bed for a while."

-

We were the first to wake up on Christmas morning. We had dressed in our flannel pajamas after making love in case somebody busted through the door the following morning to wish us a Merry Christmas!

"Wake up, Harry. It's Christmas." I had rolled over on his chest, kissed his face, patted his hair.

Harry had grinned himself awake, wrapped tired arms around me, kissed me, slowly shuffled out of bed. His bedroom was cold that morning-so cold that we both whined in our throats when our bare feet touched the wood.

Blue light flooded the home and all was quiet-William and Beverly wouldn't wake up for another hour at least. The orange embers of the precious nights fire rested gently in the fire place until Harry prodded them and added more wood. At seven in the morning, Harry and I sat beneath a blanket on the couch that was too big for one woman, and watched the lights glisten on the shiny sea of wrapping paper beneath the tree.

"I want to give you something before everyone wakes up," Harry whispered, "close your eyes."

My world was dark and my hands were empty. Harry shuffled around for a moment and then something cold and hard pressed into my hand.