becoming {h.s} | {b2}

CHAPTER FORTY-EIGHT

— CHAPTER FORTY-EIGHT —

may, year four.

Looking back, I suppose that May 27 started just like any other day.

Harry and I woke up wrapped in each other's arms. I walked Stevie. Harry drank his coffee. We went to work just like it was a normal day; it was a normal day. We returned home early, the both of us. Both of us happened to be closing in our overtime hours and were sent home, accordingly. At that point, we started drinking. It only made sense—for once, we actually had the time, and the next morning off.

To be fair, once we started drinking, it wasn't even like we were drunk. We've definitely been drunker in the other's presence, and alone. It wasn't one of those nights where we were breaking banisters or anything. In actuality, we were just sitting on the couch, watching movies and drinking homemade margaritas. Only recently, I had found out that Harry has a particular talent for making them. About halfway through the first movie I turned to say something to Harry. I don't even remember exactly what I was trying to say to him because as soon as I looked at him, the words were stolen from my lips.

Something about the curl that refused to stay in the style of his hair stole the air right out of my lungs. My heart began to thud in my chest, hammering in a way that made me certain that it was about to burst right out. I think he sensed me looking at him, then. He had to have. He turned to look at me. Pink lips were pursed and dark eyebrows knitted together. Confusion was clear on his face, but he smiled good-naturedly. In that moment, I was certain. The ring on my finger was heavier than ever, but heavy with a sort of lightness to it. I was aware that it was there, though exceptionally pleased that such a thing exists. "Let's get married."

If he had been confused before, that was nothing to how he looked in that moment. His eyebrows pinched tighter together and he scratched at the back of his neck. "We already agreed to do that," he reminded me curiously, slowly. I was aware that he was speaking to me slower than usual. His eyes dipped down to the ring settled on my left ring finger—the same one that I had grown an intensely pleasurable awareness of—as though to ensure that there was something there. I think a part of him had been inclined to check on the off-hand that his proposal and my acceptance hadn't been just a dream.

"I know," I told him, hitting him lightly in the shoulder. Relief surged, but just as quickly it is replaced by that same confusion that he had just modeled so well.

"What do you mean, then?"

"Now," I turned to face him completely then. I tucked my legs under me, kneeling as I faced him on the couch. I wanted him to know that he had all of my attention at once. He realized it, but I don't think he realized what I was proposing. "Let's get married now," I expanded my thought. There was a hopeful look on my face: pleading eyes and pouting lips.

"Now?" He repeated, the expression on his face telling me that he is certain that he had misheard me.

For a moment, I could tell that he was getting swept up in the imagine with me. He, too, was imagining the both of us running to the courthouse and signing the papers that would pronounce us husband and wife. For a moment, he let himself get caught up in the fantasy. Though, it was only just a moment. Just as soon, he returned to reality. I could see the transition of thoughts on his face clear as day. Idealistic as he can be, I could see the way that he was fighting to remain practical. "Gray," he sighed my name. The pout was on his lips, then. An obvious way of presenting his displeasure at having to be the reasonable one, lest I suppose that he secretly has no intention of marrying me at all. His arm reached out to wrap around my shoulders and he tucked me neatly into his side. I complied with the gesture, more out of confusion than genuine want. I couldn't understand the hold up on his part.