Beyond Compare (h.e.s)

part eight

Monday...

Tuesday...

Wednesday...

Thursday...

I spend those four days sobbing and in misery without Harry...

Not really. But some part of me does feel a little lonely. It's not that we hang out everyday, though I can't think of a time I haven't seen him for four days straight. It's more that I've always taken for granted that he is just there, in my city, in my atmosphere. I can call him, and he'd get here as fast as he could.

But I'm slowly understanding that there's a difference now. Before, I would have missed him because I wanted him around. Now, I miss him because I want him here.

It doesn't help that he seems to take the sunshine with him on his flight; Monday turns out to be as cloudy and broody as I feel—no rain, just that gloomy sort of day that makes it extra hard to smile. I do smile, though, and even laugh when he sends me a picture of two girls rollerblading in bikinis with the message, Though my flight was to LA, it seems I've landed on the set of Baywatch circa 1992.

By the time he calls me that evening, I am feeling a little desperate. We're right on the cusp of something big, and it feels like now that I've finally gotten my head around it, karma is being a little bitch and making me wait.

And I am not patient.

He tells me to download some program onto my computer—Stripe or Swipe or something—and after some instructions, despite how hopelessly bad I am with technology, we are video chatting. Seeing his face makes me happier and makes my heart ache a little, all at once.

"How's California?" I ask him, my eyes going back and forth between the camera at the top of my laptop and his image on the screen.

"Iz, just keep your eyes in one place. It looks like you're having a seizure." I stick my tongue out at him but look at his face. "California's great. This client is not. They're really putting me through the ringer for this one."

"I'm sorry," I say. "I guess they want to make you earn the promotion."

He nods. "Yeah, that's what I'm thinking. Let's hope I don't fuck it up."

"You won't. Anything I can do to make you feel better?"

The words pop out of my mouth on new instinct; even though I'll be the first to admit that I'm not the most compassionate person, I want to see him smile, to be his sunny self.

"Nah," he says, shrugging it off. "Seeing you is good enough."

I smile. "I miss you," I tell him, because I think he needs to hear it—and because it is my foremost thought right now.

"Finally," he says.

"What?"

"Finally, you're coming around. It took forever."

I snort. "It took a week."

"Whatever. All that work was exhausting. I mean, I knew it'd work eventually, but—"