Paperboy. (h.s. au)

44.

Several hours have passed full of procrastination and distractions from what today entails. Harry and I had done a puzzle together, organized my book collection, even cleaned my room. But we leave in about two hours and the nerves were starting to creep their slow, torturous way into my actions.

Harry can tell, I think. He chooses to remain calm himself and pretend like nothing is changing. Like this isn't a big deal. It takes me some time, but I decide that this is a good decision on his part.

I can't blame him for not fully understanding, and I know he may not ever. But that's okay, because I'm not so sure that I understand either. Why can't I just be happy for my dad and what's happening in his life? It's starting to annoy me- the way I feel about this. I feel selfish, and I hate being selfish. This day isn't about me. It does not matter how I feel.

Harry is showering in our bathroom across the hall from my room, so I've had a little while to be alone with my mind and simmer. My worrisome nature is so strong that even they distract me from Harry across the hall.

I pace for a few minutes, but when that proves to be futile, I lower my back onto my bed and stare up at the ceiling. It's cracked and the paint is chipping. I find myself getting lost in the swirls and twirls that an old paint brush left there many years ago when this house was constructed. I wonder about the painter who did my ceiling and what he would think of his work now.

Do people often regret things they've done in their past? Whether that something is as simple as a painted ceiling or as complex as a marriage. Though, contrasting views might state that those things could be switched around, or are varied in importance. Will I ever grow to regret what I've done in my life, or more importantly and more relevant, what I haven't done?

I might not regret staying home and reading instead of going to parties, or staying away from a certain group of people who may cause trouble. I won't regret any of those things. Because, in the end, are they important? Do they really and truly effect someone's life? Would they have changed mine? I suppose they would have, in a way or two. I would be a different person, and I'm wondering now if that would be a good thing or not.

I guess, for some people, it's easier to regret. But, to regret, one must first do something to regret. And the most interesting thing I've done in a long, long time is get to know Harry and, as it happens, even grow to love him.

I suppose anyone could grow to regret anything they set their mind to.

"Hey Birdy, do you ever wonder about the first wedding?" Harry says slowly from my doorway, as if he has recently been deep in thought; he isn't quite down to Earth again. He stands in the threshold, droplets from his dark, wet hair running down his angular face and dripping onto my floor, his face glowing with curiosity and Harry-ness.

And I know one thing.

I don't regret him.

I smile as I push myself to my feet from my laying position and stride over to Harry in a few quick steps. I lift myself onto my tiptoes and place a light, soft kiss onto his smiling lips.

"Hello there." Harry mutters as I turn and walk back to my bed, sitting on the end of it once I get there.

He joins me at my side, laying down as I sit up, the sudden appreciation for Harry taking over my fading anxious thoughts as I smile and shake my head slightly. I guess the best distraction is him.

He speaks up again, "Because you know, it must have been a bit strange, you think? I mean..." He trails off into the wonders of his own interesting mind. I turn around and smile at him. "What?" He questions.