//all you had to do was stay//

Chapter 7

She gets into a fight with Brenton after Harry leaves. He's angry about the little bottles of alcohol that lay on the floor, he says that's what he's angry about, but she knows better.

"It was completely innocent." She says, "You have nothing to worry about."

"Let's get one thing straight," He narrows his eyes. "I am not threatened by Style-snake."

He starts picking up the tiny mess they made, grunting angrily to himself. "I find it weak how you forgive him so easily. We both know all he wants is another song." He starts singing, and walks off to the living area where he can find a trashcan. He is fuming when he comes back, but she is not there to face it.

*
The lake is almost black in the night. Taylor throws stones at its velvety surface, disturbing its peace. When she runs out of stones she lets out a small shout. Every single time she thinks she has life figured out, it changes and leaves her feeling confused and lonely. She sits downs on the dark green grass and lets her eyes distantly wander over the artificial lake, over the beautiful tall palm trees. Is Brenton right? Should she hold a grudge? She can't remember the last time she felt as happy as she had moments before Brenton came back.

It's not fair but she replays the scenario in her head. She thinks about how much Harry has grown, how much more masculine he is now. She feels her heart ache. He looks exactly like she had pictured he would, when they were both only twenty years old and and she imagined their happy ever after. She had felt so comfortable with him on the floor, so freed from the world. He had eased her guard down so quickly. She thinks about his words, how he had drunkenly admitted that he had wanted to be the father of her children.

See you tomorrow.

Oh god.

She covers her face with her hands and tries to hide her terror and bliss.


*

In a room full of wealthy old men, she sticks out like a flower in the snow. Harry watches her from a distant like a stupid teenager. He secretly adores the faces she makes at the menu. She's has always had an expressive face, he used to tease her about it a lot when they were together.

Her hair is in a messy bun on top of her head, a few strands are tucked behind her small ears. He takes note of the huge black sunglasses next to a glass of ice water. She takes a few sips and looks around, hesitantly. When she spots him her eyes brighten up.

He hopes it looks like he just got in. He starts walking towards her table and has to press by quite a few people on the way, the restaurant is full of people waiting to have breakfast. His heart is pounding so loudly, he's sure they can all hear it.

"Hey." He says, and kisses her once on both cheeks.

She smiles nervously. "Hello."

He sits down and takes in her face once more, she appeals to him in ways that he doesn't want to admit to himself. He could live off her smile for the rest of his life and never need anything else.

"How are you?" He asks, trying to think of something else.

"I'm okay." She says, "This just...it still feels a little unreal."

"It does for me too," He pulls out a chair and sits down in front of her. "I don't know how to explain it," he looks down at the table cloth, with slow burning cheeks. "I've almost contacted you a million times and....well yesterday, I just....it felt like my last chance."

They both grab their menus nervously at the same time. She orders raspberry pancakes and he goes for toast and marmalade.

"Let's be friends," She suggests.

"I would like that." He replies and then tries to move past the initial awkwardness.

He asks about her Las Vegas show and listens intently when she tells him about the set up. She's done four shows so far, and loves it. He says he'll come to the next one, to which she visibly tenses up. The waitress bring their food over. He waits until she leaves before he speaks.

"I'm sorry." He says "I shouldn't have assumed like that."

She pushes a piece of her pancake around on her plate.

"It's not that." She tries to explain, "I just..." her voice trails off, she takes a breath before continuing. "I broke my knee one year ago, and I've just never been able to dance the same way again after that."

Instinctively he reaches over, under the table, and grabs her hand.

"If people wanted to see dancers, they'd go to dance shows." He looks her in the eyes and smiles a kind of far away, deep smile. "There is a reason for all those sold out shows. You have a special kind of magic."

She's been told this a thousand times...yet strangely, it feels like this is the first time she believes it.He slowly lets go of her hand. Sometimes he feels he's at his most alive when she is happy. It's not a revelation, he's felt it since he was seventeen.

"I have a show tomorrow night." She reveals, "You could come."

He is about to accept her invitation head first when he remembers that he'll be gone by tomorrow.

"I'll be there." He tells her anyway, ignoring the fact that there is a plane waiting for him tomorrow - departing to New York early in the morning.

So what if he bails on it? Who will it hurt?

*

They stay there for a long time. The restaurant goes from crowded to empty. They fill each other in on their lives, their successes and their downfalls. They laugh at how surreal life has become, talk about how they could never have predicted this at the start of their careers.

"Someone was going through my trash," she giggles. "I was so embarrassed because I'd only been eating junk food that entire week. All he could find was pizza cartoons."

He laughs, "I'm sure those pizza cartoons sold at two hundred dollars apiece."

"I doubt it Harry."

He gradually grows serious. "I wish they'd give you some space."

"Sometimes it's alright." She takes a sip of her coffee, "I think the worst for me was like six or seven years ago, it's calmed down now."

Her words sink into him slowly, making him realize the momentum of this innocent meeting between two people who have known each other half their lives. It dawns on her too, he can see that. And suddenly it feels like they're sitting in two different boats instead of the same one, drifting away from each other.