sign {h.s.}

hoofdstuk vijfenvijftig

A pit settles in my stomach as I stare at the familiar door leading into my room. My name and Lola's name are pitted nicely on the door, avocado shapes greeting with our name. Hardly three months ago, I began the whirlwind of going to school here. Somehow, the realization seems impossible. Easily, it feels as though it has been something more like three months instead. Parties and people swirl around in my brain--some more fondly than others-- as I recall the amount of time that I spent in school. 

Nervously, I tuck a piece of hair behind my ear.

Thanksgiving had taken me longer than most. Initially, Harry's mother had offered us a place at their table. Thanksgivings for her were a small feat. Typically, the table would be composed of Gemma, Leah, and herself. Gemma and Anne--English, through and through--continued in their celebration of the holiday not through acclimation and adaptation of it; but, instead out of solidarity to Leah. Later, behind the closed door of Harry's bedroom, I was informed of Leah's childhood. A mother who was not prepared to be a mother came from a big family. Big Thanksgivings and family events were a constant in the first few years of Leah's life. It was once her mother left that Leah was left with only a father. A father whose parents died young. A father who took his daughter over state lines to get rid of the looming presence of the unfit mother. 

With such a story in mind, it was easy to want to say yes. My parents were equally as swayed. As it stood: we were already in Philadelphia for Connor's leg--turned out fine, by the way. Why wouldn't we just remain to celebrate the holiday?

In an odd twist of fate, it was me who turned down Anne.

Politely, I told her that I needed to return home with my family. Our Thanksgivings are nothing particularly special. Some grandparents come over and we eat and laugh together. Sometimes, we spend the day with Jace and Nina. But, in more recent years, that has stemmed off from truth. My immediate family is large. So, when I tell people that my extended family is rather small, I am frequently given something of odd stares. Both of my parents hated not having a large family to spend time with; so it was easy enough for them to recreate what they had wanted.

Reality is slightly different.

No part of me wanted to spend the time away from Harry. Since the panic attack I had in his bed, it almost seems as though we are closer than ever. Frequently, I spend my time fawning over him. Almost always, there is some bodily part of ours attached, intertwined, or--at the very least--touching. Something about his presence calms me down in a way that I cannot begin to understand. 

Of course, when I told him we would be returning home, he looked at me with hurt. I could tell he was excited by the prospect of us spending our first major holiday together. But, when I sat him down--alone--to tell him my thought process, he was immediately understanding. Helpful, even, when it came down to it.

The conversation ended with a key around my neck.

Tucked in, so my parents wouldn't prematurely ask questions, I was the one to tell my parents that we needed to return home. Our reasons for being in Philadelphia were finished: Connor made it out of the hospital fine, Harry and I reunited, and the drunk driver made it out of the hospital okay. Okay is a relative term, considering that they will wake up to a hefty pile of medical bills and insurance forms for the car and our care. Likely, also some jail time.

The car ride home, I remained silent.

Internally, I was plotting what to do. What to say, and how to say it. There are a million and one things that I wanted to get off my chest. My parents are better than most. They are understanding and they listen. Granted, maybe I just never did anything bad enough for them to draw the line. Maybe I am about to find out.