Eight | W2S

FIFTY TWO.

I'm not saying you should listen to Let It Go by James Bay but I am telling you that I listened to it for an hour straight writing the most devastating chapter I have EVER written okay im sorry please grab tissues

It was six in the evening on Christmas Eve, and it was safe to say that this was the best Christmas I had enjoyed in a long time. 

Even my Dad, who had sworn himself off Christmas after Mum had died, was drinking, smiling and participating in the game of charades Harry's family had insisted we play. 

But that was only the prerequisite for dinner - and who would've thought that so much effort would have been put into a dinner on the day before Christmas. Not me, that was for sure. 

I settled into my seat next to Harry, who had worn a constant smile on his face ever since we'd landed in Guernsey. He was happy to be home, it was easy to spot. 

I notice the crackers on the table, along with little mini name places for everyone. 

"You guys take Christmas very seriously," I whisper, as Rosie and Harry's mum start to bring through the food from the kitchen. 

"Always have. Always will, if you'll let me," he grins, kissing the side of my face before answering a question that comes from his dad. 

I share a quick glance with my Dad, who looks so happy I feel like my heart is about to burst. 

Finally, the queue of food seems to have completely arrived, and the dining table is crammed. There isn't really much room to move, even without the plates on the table. 

"This looks amazing," I compliment, looking at both of the females in the family, knowing they'd slaved away over making this dinner perfect. I had offered to help, but they'd told me to rest. 

I had a sneaky suspicion that Harry had lied and told them I was a rubbish chef just to make me relax all day. 

"If you think this is amazing...just you wait until the lunch tomorrow," Harry's dad laughed, starting to carve up the meat. "They outdo themselves every year," he grins, Harry's mum leaning down and pressing a kiss to his cheek. 

I don't miss the way my dad looks at the pair of them wistfully, and I experience the familiar stabbing pain in my chest once again, but this time it disappears pretty quickly when he sees me looking at him, giving me a reassuring smile. 

Harry's hand loops around mine under the table, giving it a squeeze. He never missed when I wasn't feeling one hundred percent, and it was a testament to how much he truly saw, and understood me. I would never find that in anybody else. 

Once the food was all dished out, it was pretty much silent at the table, except for the Christmas record playing in the record player, setting the mood for the night. 

"So," Harry's mum started to say, finishing her food first. "What's next for you two?" She asks, directing the question towards Harry and I. 

"No children yet, I hope," his dad jokes. 

"Not yet -" 

"Not ever -"

We both speak at the exact same time, but our words clash, and it causes both of us to stop speaking a look at the other, expressions of confusion and fear appearing on our faces.

Everyone else falls silent as Harry's eyebrows furrow, his face starting to turn unreadable. 

"Uhm - does anybody want anymore vegetables? There's quite a bit left," his mum pipes up, breaking the awkward silent that had fallen over the table.