Matrimony Homies

25: England Hand (Loren)

"You want a bite of this?" Harry asks, holding out a forkful of his pan-fried cod. "It's really yummy."

"Nope. I'm good with my burger."

His face scrunches up. "Beetroot and lentil? I wouldn't mind the lentil, but the beetroot?"

"Can't even taste it, Dork. It's mixed in. Plus the pretzel bun is a perfect contrast."

"Mhm," he mumbles, clearly disagreeing with me about the flavours, even though he's not even attempted a bite of the dish.

Our bedroom picnic is cosy, as we chose not to return to the stiff chairs with their table in the middle. Instead we've settled cross-legged on the bed with the serving tray between us.

"Shall we take a look at invitations?" I ask. "I mean, we need to choose a stationer. That was one of our goals this weekend."

Slamming his palm on his forehead, he groans. "I completely forgot. Let's hope the samples are in the luggage that was brought in cause I honestly don't remember where I put them."

"Harrrr–rrrry," I whine, "Don't tell me you didn't bring them."

"Oh, I brought it, Freak. Just gotta find it." Abandoning his food, he uncurls from his position and kneels on the floor next to his suitcase, not having bothered to unpack or put his luggage on the rack provided. Tossing items of clothing in all directions, he reaches the bottom of the suitcase to grasp an brown clasp envelope, holding it triumphantly over his head. "HERE!"

Shaking my head, I cover my eyes as I giggle into my palm. "I see you're still the untidy one between us."

The sheepish look on his face raises questions for me, so I dive in. We haven't set any topics as off-limits, right? "Um, seems I hit a nerve there, H. Wanna share?"

Instead of answering, he raises an eyebrow at my plate, and when I shake my head to indicate I don't want to eat anymore, he piles the dishes together onto the tray. Carrying it to the door, he places it in the hallway. Picking up the phone, he dials the front desk to let them know it's there so it doesn't attract bugs or creatures or – worse yet, encourage other guests to think that room service is available in this establishment.

As he hangs up the phone, he glances at me.

"You can just say you don't want to talk about it, Dork. That's how we set boundaries. Or at least that's what Priyanka claims." I've no problem quoting my therapist when the advice is directed to someone other than me. Ha! Boundaries are not exactly my strength.

"Can we look at the stationary while I think about it?" he asks, his face incredibly endearing.

"Of course." Returning to my propped up pillows, I fluff them and wait for Harry to pass over the first of the samples.

"Girls, don't go far. Once we get Harry some new shoes, the two of you are next."

"Okay, Mum. We're just going to look at these shoes over here," Gemma informs her as we step an aisle away. She twists to me, "Why don't your parents take you shoe shopping?"

Although I try to think of a valid reason or at least a believable lie, I'm incapable. "They forget I need shoes, so your mum will just take the receipt to them, and they'll pay her back."

"Oh. Okay. What do you think of these?" She holds up a pair of shoes with spiked heels, and I giggle. "No way your mum would allow either of us to wear those."

"Agreed," Anne calls, which is when I realise that she can hear us. After all, it's not like we've moved to the other side of the store. Embarrassed that she'd heard me tell Gems about my parents, I vow to keep my voice down.