KIWI | H.S.

twenty three.

July 26, 2016

Harry's text last night sent me into a spiral. I was up all night channeling my feelings into yet, another song. Apparently that's my default coping mechanism as of late. I don't want to talk at all.

I've been battling with myself all day. I went out to lunch with Dede earlier to get out of the house while I worked up some courage to call him. Thankfully, we focused on every topic but Harry, which just proves her to be one of the kindest, most empathetic of souls out there. We covered her new blossoming romance, our families, my pregnancy, and every little thing in between, creating a refreshing break from my current turmoil. I'm grateful Dede is so genuine, our friendship not tethered to her boss, even if that was how we were introduced. We talked for hours, up until she had to leave to pick up a friend from the airport.

Although our lunch served as a welcome distraction, I know I can't postpone the inevitable phone call forever. I will be calling him today. The lingering question is how many more mundane, previously avoided tasks can I complete before dialing his number? The clock is ticking, and the anticipation might just keep me waiting until the last possible moment at 11:59.

As the day unfolds, I find myself immersed in trivial tasks, using them as a shield against the impending conversation. Sorting through old photos, organizing my desk, and even rearranging furniture—all tactics to delay the inevitable.

Yet, with each passing minute, a quiet voice in my mind urges me to confront the situation head-on. I'm sat on the sofa—now in the middle of the room as opposed to against the wall, thanks to my redecorating skills— his contact pulled up as my thumb hovers over the little phone icon. I replay all the words I want to say over and over and over in my head.

At this rate I'll never call him. So I do it, I muster up the courage, and just as I'm about to muster up the courage, there's a knock at the door.

Oh thank god. I breathe a sigh of relief, a new opportunity to procrastinate further. I scramble up off the couch quickly, ready to welcome the package at the door, likely the pregnancy pillow I ordered sometime last week during a stretch of insomnia.

I throw open the front door in haste, eyes cast downward toward where the cardboard should be. But I'm met with a pair of boots. Familiar boots. Slowly, my eyes drift upwards, met first with a bouquet of yellow roses, and then following my trail upward, a nervous smile, and lastly, those deep green eyes.

Well this is unexpected.

"Hey," Harry's voice is gentle, treading lightly. He continues as I stay floundering in shock. "Can I come in?"

"Wha...what are you doing here?" Is all I can manage to ask as I step aside to let him in, allowing him to follow me to the kitchen where I fill up a vase for his flowers.

"Well, after I heard your song last night, I really wanted to see you in person, so I booked a flight. Delia just dropped me off" He tells me honestly. Okay, so maybe Dede isn't quite as high up on my list of friends now.

As Harry stands in my kitchen, the air is thick with palpable tension. I place the yellow roses in a vase, my hands slightly trembling. The unexpectedness of his arrival sends a jolt through my carefully rehearsed thoughts. I find myself at a loss for words, caught between the desire to confront the looming conversation and the overwhelming surprise of seeing him here.

I motion for him to sit at the kitchen island, my mind racing to comprehend the situation. The mundane tasks I had concocted to delay the phone call now seem insignificant in the face of his unexpected appearance.

As he sits across from where I stand leaning on the island for support, the silence is palpable. His gaze holds a mixture of regret and longing, mirroring the conflicting emotions within me. The song I wrote, the unsaid words hanging between us, now take on a new dimension in the presence of his physical being.