Misadventure

62

Harry's POV

I'd just seen Gemma a couple weeks ago over spring break. It surprised how much her stomach had grown already. She wasn't huge, but she was certainly showing by now.

It was early evening, the sky just starting to go dark through the wall of windows in the Windsor Hospital waiting room.

"Why did you wait so long to be here?" I finally asked, because it had been weighing heavy on my mind since she arrived.

"Harry, you just called me this afternoon. I got in my car literally the second you told me he was in the hospital."

"That's not what I meant." There was a lump in my throat as I swallowed back tears. "Where have you been for the last two years? You've promised to always be there for me, then the second Mum died, you've made yourself scarce."

"When have I not bloody been there for you?" She looked shocked, and downright hurt. "How many times have you called me crying? How many times have I stayed awake on FaceTime with you in the middle of the night, just cause you needed to vent."

"What about winter break?" I argued. Now I was beginning to cry. "When my car broke down, and you were too drunk to come help me?"

She let out an exasperated sigh. "That was one time. I'll admit, I was in the wrong. But to say I haven't been there for you at all these past couple years... that's a flat out lie, and you know it is."

"A phone call isn't being there," I whispered, dabbing my eyes with my sleeve.

"I would've loved to be there physically as well, but in case you haven't noticed, Dad and I don't have a relationship."

We were making a bit of a scene at this point. I didn't care. Not at the moment.

"That's exactly my point," I cried. "You know the only thing I've ever wanted in life, was an actual family. I get things are complicated with you two, but you didn't even try. And now that he's in the hospital, suddenly you care."

"It's not like I anticipated an emergency would happen."

"Really? Because I did." I was sobbing embarrassingly loud at this point. I had to pause to catch my breath. "Ever since Mum died... the amount of anxiety I've had... I can't even find the words to explain it. I just... I constantly worry about everyone and everything... I always feel like something traumatic is about to happen..."

She was quiet for a moment. "Harry, sit down." She turned to face me, wiping my tears with her thumb. Her nails were painted the same coral pink color she'd worn ever since she was a teenager. The sight was comforting. I didn't want it to be. I didn't want her comfort, not when it was such an erratic thing. If I relied on her now, I would likely be let down.

"I'm not going to tell you you're wrong for feeling that way," she said. "But I'm not wrong either, okay? Just because I don't spend my time worrying constantly, that doesn't mean I don't care."

I couldn't wrap my head around what she was saying. How could that be true? Was there really a way to care without being constantly on the verge of an anxiety attack? It seemed to good to be true.

****

Poor Holly was a mess.

She arrived about twenty minutes after Gemma. By this point, the two of us had finished arguing for now. We were sat silently, side by side in stiff, plastic chairs.

Holly burst through the door, gnawing on her bottom lip. Her curls were unkempt. She was in sweat pants and a baggy sweatshirt, tear-stains and mascara underlining her big, round eyes beneath her glasses.