Finley
When Harlyn nudges me awake, it's almost midnight, and I have three missed texts from Mom and one from Dad. I roll my eyes and lay back on Harlyn's shoulder.
He chuckles. "Finley?"
"Just give me two minutes," I mumble, trying to blink enough sleep from my eyes to get back to the hotel.
"Do you need me to walk with you?" he asks.
I sit up and rub my eyes. "No, it's ok. I'll be fine." I stumble off his bed and spin around, still a bit drowsy. The confidence I had earlier, the need to touch every part of him like he was going to disappear, has burned off a little. But I'm still feeling forward and clingy and just a little loopy from exhaustion and being close to Harlyn again after so long, so I pull him in and press my nose to his neck again. "I miss you already."
"Hey." He pushes me back to look me in the eyes. "You only have to miss me for, like, twelve hours."
My brain takes a second to catch up to the fact that I'm not dreaming. I'm only going a few miles away, not countries. And I'll see Harlyn again tomorrow when Mom, Dad, Bridget, and I come over for lunch and the grand meeting of our families.
"Right! I forgot!" I giggle.
"You are so tired, love," Harlyn says, grinning and pressing a kiss to my forehead.
"So tired," I agree.
I make my way downstairs with Harlyn trailing behind me. At the door, he kisses me goodnight, and try as I might, I still can't quite wrap my head around being here. In England. In Canterbury. On his doorstep. I've been in the country for almost twelve hours. I sat and talked to his mom for two hours. I fell asleep curled up in Harlyn's arms. And my stupid, anxiety-ridden, sleep-deprived brain will not accept it. So, I cry on my way back to the hotel like I did when I got on the bus to leave in May. There's an empty feeling in my chest that is in direct contradiction with the nerves broiling in my stomach about lunch tomorrow.
I'm going to see him again. Our parents are going to meet. My brain knows that. But my heart isn't quite convinced yet. God, I'm a mess.
Sneaking back into our hotel feels like the most scandalous thing I've ever done in my life, and Harlyn and I literally only kissed a little. Thankfully - or not since I will definitely be hearing about this in the morning and not in a sleep deprived and therefore possibly less harsh way - my parents are asleep. Bridget is still up, swiping through her phone with an ear bud in. She looks up when I enter and smiles a bit ruefully, a single eyebrow arching.
"A nice reunion then?" she asks.
I plaster a smile on my face and stretch out on the bed next to her. "As a matter of fact, it was, but not in the way you are very obviously implying." It's true. It was perfect, even if I can't convince myself it was real.
"Whatever you say," she mumbles. "Mom and Dad thought you died or something, and I had to very awkwardly remind them that when two people like each other very much and haven't seen each other in a very long time, they probably want to spend more than twenty minutes together."
"He also got off work later than planned, which I texted Mom about. I'm sure she didn't believe me."
"I'm sure she didn't."
"They don't seem to trust me with much anymore." I've said this probably a hundred times over the summer. Even with how much our parents have been trying to treat us as adults and support our decisions, there's still the lingering part of me that doesn't trust that it's genuine or lasting.
"Yeah, well, now we're both adults. They can't exactly stop us from doing stuff. They can just make us feel like we're still children and convince us that we're guilty of something when literally all you did was spend time with your boyfriend who you haven't seen in four months."
"Lovely, isn't it?"
I stand, pull out the bed from the couch, and make it just enough that I won't be sleeping on a bare mattress. When I'm changing into my pajamas in the bathroom, Harlyn texts me.
Harlyn: Can't wait to see you tomorrow, love. I hope you get the sleep you need.
And I finally start to believe it. I finally start to realize that I'm here. In England. I stare at myself in the bathroom mirror and think about Harlyn's arms around me, the way he pulled me closer when I told him I felt like I couldn't get close enough. The fuzzy feeling that gives me stays with me as I fall asleep, and it even sticks around through the passive aggressive comments Mom makes in the morning about being out so late without telling them when I'd be back. It buoys me through breakfast with them, through a quick walking tour up and down High Street, and finally through the walk to Harlyn's house.
His mom answers the door, a tea towel draped over one shoulder. "Hello!" she greets, smiling brightly in a way that looks so much like Harlyn I almost cry. "Come in. Come in."
It's a squeeze, and a bit of an awkward one, as we all file in and leave our shoes near-ish the door. When I look up from taking my own shoes off, I find Harlyn halfway down the stairs smiling a little half smile at me. That empty feeling in my chest doesn't feel so empty anymore. He meets me at the bottom of the stairs and gives me the smallest of pecks on the lips.
"Hi, love," he whispers and pulls me in for a squeeze. It's short but tight, both painfully aware of all the people watching us. He grips my hand as soon as he lets go, and I can't help but notice his hand is shaking.
"That's all? One little kiss after four months?" Marley has appeared in the doorway of the living room, his fiancée, Mel, by his side.
"We saw each other last night," Harlyn says.
In the few times that Marley was with Harlyn when we were talking on the phone, he managed to make Harlyn blush every chance he got. And Harlyn always ended up apologizing to me, even though I assured him I found it funny. So, the next words out of Marley's mouth are not exactly surprising.
"Ah, got some time to yourselves then," he says, sending Harlyn a massive wink. I actually stop breathing, not even daring to look at my parents. Bridget manages to hide a smile behind her hand. And Harlyn's mom makes one of those "I'm face palming in my mind" faces, closing her eyes like she's experiencing physical pain.
"Yes, we had a very nice conversation," Harlyn says, emphasizing the word just a tad too much and shooting Marley a warning glare.
Marley glances at my parents. His eyes widen, and he looks back to Harlyn, nodding shallowly. Well, this is starting out swimmingly.
"I'm Diana," Harlyn's mom jumps in breezily, offering her hand to Mom. "It's so nice to finally meet you. We just love your son."
And then the introductions happen, and I force myself to look at Mom and Dad. They're both stiff, like they're about to hightail it in the other direction but manage to look gracious and polite as they introduce themselves and Bridget to Harlyn's mom, Marley, and Mel. And then it's Harlyn's turn. I squeeze his hand hard and take a deep breath. I can do this. I can introduce him like a normal person.
"Mom, Dad, Bridg...this is Harlyn," I say. "I mean, you've met him on video call but...in the flesh."
"It's nice to finally meet you in person," Harlyn says, smiling his winning smile and squeezing my hand so hard I think I might lose a finger.
Mom and Dad both nod at him politely.
"Good to see you again," Mom says.
Bridget steps forward to give Harlyn a tiny little squeeze around the waist. I let out a shaky breath.
"Well, Martin's in the yard grilling, and that's where we're all set up. So shall we?" Harlyn's mom says, gesturing back toward the kitchen and the back door.
We let Bridget, Mom, and Dad follow her first, and Marley sends me a deeply apologetic look, muttering "I'm so sorry" under his breath when he and Mel follow them. I shake my head and try to give him a convincing smile. It's really not his fault. He shouldn't have to stop being who he is because my parents can't take a joke.
Harlyn tugs me back when I start toward the back door after Mel. I look up at him expectantly and find his worried eyes staring back at me.
"You good?" I ask.
"I was going to ask you that," he says. He still has my hand in a vice-like grip.
"Harlyn," I say. "You're literally cutting my circulation off. It's ok to say you're nervous."
His eyes flit to the back door, which is open just a crack, and we can hear more introductions being made. "What if they hate me?"
"Harlyn." His eyes stay trained on the door. "Sweetheart, look at me." He finally does, though a little distantly. "It's going to be fine. If they hate you, that's their loss, and they're complete idiots, because you're amazing. Now breathe. And we'll be nervous messes together, yeah?"
"Yeah," he breathes.
As soon as I step onto the back patio, I realize that I've never been in Harlyn's backyard. It's fairly small, long and narrow and fenced in in dark weather worn wood. There's a tiny shed in the back corner. The patio, a patch of uneven paving stones stretching maybe fifteen feet into the yard, holds a wrought iron table and chairs (with a few folding chairs to make up our numbers) and a grill where Harlyn's dad and my dad are dutifully flipping chicken breasts and chatting.
Harlyn keeps a tight grip on my hand, dragging me to two of the empty chairs at the table. The topic has already turned to the wedding next week, and Mom is listening intently to Mel describe the little town where the wedding is being held.
"My family's lived in Murkwood for generations. Literally. I grew up there. Everyone knows everyone." Mel shifts closer to Marley and leans her shoulder against his.
"We know what that's like," Mom quips.
"It's definitely a unique experience. The Minister performing the ceremony? I've known him since I was, like, five. And the church is beautiful, up at the top of the hill with a view of the whole village. And then we're all staying at my parents' inn and that's where dinner and the reception will be." You'd think she'd be tired of talking about this all by now, but I guess if I was getting married, I'd want to tell everyone I could.
"You're all staying there?" Mom asks, flashing me a look.
I shake my head. "Just the family and the bridal party. I'm getting a hotel room with Elly in the village."
"Well, it sounds like it will be amazing. You'll have to send us pictures, Fin." Mom gives me a wide eyed look that says I better or there will be hell to pay.
"I will. Promise."
Harlyn squeezes my hand. He's eased up on the grip, but he still obviously has no intention of letting go. I'm glad that the table is covered with a tablecloth, because that means that Mom can't see how casually our clasped hands are resting on my thigh. I have a feeling she'd be very obviously trying not to give me the side eye.
Dad and Harlyn's dad join us with the plate of chicken and add it to the spread already on the table - potato salad, chopped veggies and dip, and lemonade.
"Thank you, darling. This looks amazing," Diana exclaims.
Dad claims the chair next to Mom, and Harlyn's dad starts passing each plate around. As we help ourselves, everyone falls into their own conversations. Mom and Diana talk about how weird it is to have kids moving out. Dad and Martin bond over teaching. Marley asks Harlyn and me what classes we're taking this term. Mel asks Bridget what her plans are.
Harlyn and I are forced to drop our grip to eat, but Harlyn presses our shoulders together when he pulls his chair closer to the table. The chatter continues, and I start to relax. This is going well. Mom and Dad don't look like they're going to bolt anymore. And Bridget has already made herself at home, gushing with Mel about wedding colors and flowers and bridesmaids and pictures Mel has saved on her Pinterest.
And then Dad turns his attention to Harlyn. "So, Harlyn. I feel like I hardly know anything about you."
I wince, try not to roll my eyes, and stop myself from blurting "And who's fault is that? 'Cause it's not mine." by shoving a bite of potato salad in my mouth.
"Yeah," Harlyn chuckles. "Video call and thousands of miles kind of makes it hard." God bless Harlyn Evans.
Dad starts in on a line of questioning that has me suppressing more eyerolls. He knows most of this. I've told him most of this. Harlyn is majoring in history. It's his last year. He wants to teach or curate museums. He's starting a new job soon. Dad is just showing how much he hasn't been paying attention the few times he's asked about Harlyn this summer.
When I clean my plate, I slide my hand onto Harlyn's bouncing knee to stop it. After a few minutes, he rests the hand he's not using to eat on top of mine. I don't think anyone notices. Until I sweep the table and lock eyes with Bridget, who has a single eyebrow raised. I resist the urge to stick my tongue out at her.
The nerves I had about today are fading. The sun is shining. I'm full of really good food, and Diana brings out something closely resembling strawberry shortcake but without the cake for dessert. My parents are...well, they're not grating on me as much as I feared. And I'm sitting close enough to my boyfriend to hold his hand.
What more could I ask for?