Gabriella
I spend the next two weeks at Harrison’s place, and have the time of my life. Talk about a whirlwind romance. Both of us are working hard, but we still find the time to go out and eat, to go to shows, to visit friends, and then we come home and get into bed and have the most amazing sex that shows no signs of fading.
It’s because it’s new, I keep telling myself. That’s the only reason it feels so exciting and wonderful. Harrison’s a lovely guy, but like all men—like all people—he has his faults, and no doubt they’d get on my nerves if this were to turn into anything long term. He’s untidy, he’s obsessed with his work, he doesn’t suffer fools gladly and can be impatient with someone if they don’t get his meaning right away. And the way he bosses me about in the kitchen might feel endearing now, but I’d probably end up resenting it.
True, we do seem to fit together well. We have the same attitudes toward things—religion, children, family, politics. We like the same music, the same food. And there’s something about us that slots together, and I don’t mean physically—although that slots in pretty well too—I mean our personalities just blend in a way I don’t think either of us expected.
I go with him to his father’s funeral, and meet his mother and his brothers and their families. Harrison introduces me as his friend, although he’s not shy about holding my hand or slipping his arm around me, so I’m sure everyone guesses we’re more than that. It’s nice to meet his mother, who’s not really like Harrison at all—shy, quiet, kind of tired with life. I’m surprised she’s come—I’m not sure I would have if the guy who’d died had beaten me, but then he was also the father of her children, and I guess, like with Harry, it might be good for her to have closure and say goodbye.
Harry’s brothers look a bit like him, but they don’t seem to have much in common—the older one is a fire fighter, the younger is a vet. Their wives are what you’d expect, as are their noisy kids. We’re the only people at the funeral—Harry’s dad doesn’t appear to have had any friends or work colleagues. One of the wives has booked a table at a local restaurant, so we all troop along there afterward. It’s odd and awkward; talk about his dad is stilted, and it’s like everyone is a stranger—it’s certainly not a grand family reunion. They’ve all moved on with their lives, and I think everyone’s relieved when we all decide to go our own ways.
Harrison hugs his mother, shakes hands with his brothers, and then we head back to the city.
“Thank fuck for that,” is all he says, and then he changes the subject. I’ve learned not to push him—he’ll talk to me later, once he’s had time to process his thoughts, so I let it go, but I’m glad that he’s not alone tonight.
The days fly by, and oddly, even though I’m aware that my last day at work is approaching before my big adventure, and my time with Harrison is coming to an end, I’m not worried. We’re both too busy to dwell on it. A week after I go, Harrison starts his own travels, taking the news of Hearktech’s innovative products to the rest of the world, so we’re busy with planning and packing and getting mentally prepared.
Soon it’s five days, then four, then a mad rush over the last three days, which pass in a blur because I’m hardly sleeping, because Harry is keeping me awake for most of the night. Our lovemaking is intense, somewhat desperate, and maybe all the sweeter because we know it’s finite. I’m going to miss him terribly. But it is what it is. Better to have loved and lost than never to have loved at all, right?
I have my final day at work, and they give me a beautiful travel diary that I’m thrilled with, along with a special pen to write in it with. And then, finally, it’s time for me to go.
I haven’t seen or spoken to Alex, and I have no desire to. I discover that over the time I’ve spent with Harrison, Alex had faded in my mind, the way a paste necklace looks dull when placed next to one made from diamonds. I’m still not quite ready to forgive my sister. I visit my parents to say goodbye, and Mum tells me that my sister has been begging her to talk me into seeing her, but I’m not ready for that yet. Maybe after I’ve travelled, in six months or a year, her betrayal won’t hurt as much, and I’ll be ready to move on. But not yet. I have other things to deal with first. Not in the least, saying goodbye to the man that I… like very much.
“I’m going to tell you something,” he says on our last night together. We’re in bed, we’ve just made love, and I think it might have been our final time. I’m desperately trying not to cry. I don’t want to spoil it.
I lift his hand to my lips and kiss the tips of his fingers. “What?”
“Don’t freak out. I know we haven’t been together long, but… I love you.”
I stare at him. It’s the first time either of us has said it.
“I should have said it before,” he says huskily, “but I kept telling myself I couldn’t love you because love’s something that develops over time. A relationship needs marinating, I thought, to let love develop. But I don’t know how else to describe how I feel about you.”
“Me too.” This time I don’t stop the tear running down my nose. “I love you too.”
“I know we’ve got things to do,” he says, “and I know you’re going to be away for a while, but I thought perhaps, when you get back, we could catch up…”
I swallow hard. “I’d love to,” I tell him. His words make me glow, but deep down, I’m convinced it’s not going to happen. This feels intense right now, but I’m sure after a few weeks of travelling across the world he’ll meet some gorgeous girl, and that will be that. I can’t imagine him staying celibate until I return. If I return. I’m not even sure I will yet.
I do love him. But this has been super-fast and super-intense, and I need time to think. To see if the glow fades after we’re apart for a while. And so does he. We’ve approached this relationship the same way we approach our cooking—we made it up as we went along, and now, like a gorgeous joint of roasted meat, we need time to let it rest before we carve it apart and examine it.
Unsurprisingly, I suppose, given our record, we make love again, and then once more in the early hours, as the rising sun melts like butter across the bed. But the moment can’t continue forever. Eventually, we doze, and then finally it’s time to call it a day.
Harrison takes me to the airport. I’m going to London to start with, and then I’ll be heading to Paris, Germany, and Italy, making stops along the way as I see fit. I’m excited, but it’s only when it’s time for me to head to the departure lounge that I realize this could be it.
He wraps me in his arms. “Keep in touch. You can send me photos and I’ll keep an eye on your blog. One day we’ll meet up and talk about all the adventures we’ve had.”
“Until Valhalla?” I say.
His lips won’t form a smile. I can see that he realizes I don’t believe we’ll see each other again. “Until Valhalla.”
My heart is pounding so hard I think I might be sick, but I’m determined not to cry. “Thank you,” I whisper as he takes my face in his hands. “I’ve had such a wonderful time.”
“Me too.” He looks suddenly upset. “Thank you for helping me through the past few weeks.”
“I’m glad I could be there for you.”
“I’m going to miss you.” His voice is hoarse with emotion.
“Me too.” Suddenly, I can’t stand it any longer. I kiss him hard, wrap my arms around his neck and hug him tightly, and then I turn and walk away. I don’t look back. If I do, I might never leave, and that wasn’t part of the plan.