Across the Pond

Chapter 28

We eat slowly and I take my time with my juice box especially because I still find it hilarious.  When we are finished and push the plates aside, Harry holds my hand over the table and we just talk.  The longer he talks, the more I get distracted and start to play with his fingers.  I turn them over back and forth in my hand as if I am inspecting them.  Then I bend them at each joint and hold them up to measure to mine.  It's very fascinating actually.  His fingers are so long, but skinny and the moons on his finger nails are barely present.  I am completely not paying attention to his words anymore. 

"Tori, are you even listening to me?"  Harry asks.

"What?  Sorry" I blush and look up at him. 

"Did you hear a word I just said?"  I smile shyly at him and shake my head.  "Never mind.  Come on, let's take a walk." 

We walk, hand in hand, down another sidewalk.  I wrap my free hand around his upper arm to be closer to him and he squeezes my hand reassuringly.  I don't know what it is with him, but he just seems real.  He doesn't try to hide me anymore-- even when people are clearly watching. 

"It's really pretty here" I try to make up for my lack of interest before. 

"Yea, my dad used to take me here when I was little."  The way he says "little" makes me smile.  Even after all these months, I still can't get over his accent; it's really attractive.  "Like my biological father, not Robin," he clarifies, then continues, "This was mine and my dad's place.  Gemma only came sometimes, so it's really special to me.  And I would always sit in this swing."  He lets go of my hand to walk onto the playground and sit in a long, blue, plastic swing. 

The pebbles crunch under our feet as we cross to the swings.  I take the seat next to him and hold the chains as I gently sway myself back and forth.  "That's really nice that you guys had this place."  I don't really know what else to say because I know the situation with his father is a touchy one and he avoids it like the plague. 

"Yea, he would push me in this swing.  Then when I got older, I would climb up to that tree house--" he pauses to point behind me and I turn to find the tree house with a blue plastic roof and slide jetting out from the side.  I turn back to him with a smile and he continues "and I would take these pebbles and throw them down at the kids on the swings."  He finishes with a soft laugh at the memory.

"You were a little troublemaker" I giggle.  "And lemme guess, you hung little girls' babydolls by their ankles from up there too."

"How'd you know?" he smiles and we both laugh.  I lean my head on the chain and just admire how simple of an activity we can be doing together, and still enjoy ourselves.

"What's it like?" he asks after a minute and looks to the ground.

"What's what like?" I tilt my head in confusion.

"Having your parents stay together.  Like the same mum and dad growing up" he clarifies and kicks at the pebbles in the dent below the swing. 

I don't really know how to answer this properly so I stumble at first, "Uhh-- it's different.. for sure.  But it's not necessarily better.  Now you have two dads who love you so much and nobody loves you more than your mom." I tell him and try to read his expression.  All I see is sadness