Painted Lady {h.s}

thanksgiving theme

★ HARRY ★

November 3rd
1997

"Well, lady and gentleman. I think we've got ourselves an album." Max speaks from his chair, spinning around to face the group.

My eyes snap to the whiteboard in the corner of the room, the list of song titles written down in full.

1. Babyhoney
2. Are You Gonna Be My Girl?
3. Kiwi
4. Pleaser
5. Snap Out of It
6. Lover, You Should've Come Over
7. About You
8. Sex On Fire
9. Lotus Eater
10. Blitzkrieg Bop
11. Lorelai
12. Only Angel

It's weird seeing them all written down perfectly in line. From an outsider's point of view, it reads like a simple song lineup. But to me? All I can see is the story that it tells. Each song is from a very specific moment in time, almost like I took a photograph. You could pick out one song from the lineup and I could tell you exactly what happened that week, and the lead up to the point until the song was written. It's an odd thing to fixate on, but to me, it feels like it allows the album to flow better if it tells a story.

"I'll finish up the mixing and mastering, you guys don't have to be around for that part. But I do need an album cover, so get to work!" Max nicely tells us to leave, and we all begin packing up our things.

The rest of the group leaves together, all carpooling from the loft to Max's house. For a day or two I felt left out when I had to drive my own car to and from, but I've gotten over that pretty quickly. This way I can completely decompress in my car and not have to hear Mitch's rants about the day.

The drive home is short, but that's mainly because I speed. I always try to rush home so as to not miss a single second with Lorelai. That's another weird thing too. We spend practically every waking moment together since it's just us in the house, but even when I'm at the studio for three hours, I'm homesick. It's like my heart and brain communicate to make me constantly nauseous when I'm not around her, afraid to miss a single thing. But that's the other thing, I'm constantly nauseous when I'm with her too. A good kind of nausea though.

I think it's just stress, honestly. These past weeks I've been nose deep in planning with everyone and I think it's catching up to me. I want everything to be perfect and I have so many different ideas for what I want to do. It's going to take a bit to get everything just right, so I guess I'll have to make friends with the nausea and sweaty palms for the time being.

When I reach our house, I park my car in our small driveway and race to the door. I jam my key into the lock and push open the door, a delightful smell wafting through the air.

Since Lorelai is currently unemployed, she's made it a point to do something new everyday. Recently I've come home to her knitting, painting, reading and cleaning. I guess today she is trying to cook a new meal, and I have to say it at least smells like she's doing a good job.

"Honey, I'm home!" I call out like we are living in a sitcom.

"Kitchen!" She yells back.

I drop my jacket by the front door, kicking my shoes off and racing towards the kitchen. The smell of the food pulls me in closer until I am stumbling into the dimly lit kitchen. Lorelai stands at the stove with her back to me, her hands doing a million different tasks at once. I sneak up behind her quietly, wrapping my arms around her waist and resting my chin on her shoulder.

"Hi baby," She mutters quietly, her eyes never leaving the cooking book in her hands.

"Smells amazing," I sigh. "What is it?"

"Chicken and spinach tortellini soup."

"Mmm," I hum, squeezing my arms tighter around her. "I missed you."