CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
It’s a week and three days later that Harry goes to his internship for the first time to work for his “boss”, I guess. Harry had told me more about him. He told me his name was Edwin Barnes, and that he was forty-eight years old with a wife and three kids. He also told me more about the other people at Simmons & Simmons, but throughout it all, I noticed that he was sure to not talk about Elizabeth.
At first, I thought that she had turned him down. (He had been texting someone an awful lot. He was also sure not to tell me who that someone was.) I thought that she told him she had a boyfriend, possibly a husband?
It isn’t until six days later when I’m helping Harry get ready that I ask him what she’s up to.
“So, Harry, how’s Elizabeth?” I ask.
As soon as I say it, his head whips to me from where it was staring at his dresser. His eyebrows furrow and he shrugs. “I don’t know, I haven’t spoken to her since I went to the interview.”
I stop swinging my legs in the air, but stay lying down on his bed. “Have you texted her?”
He turns a light pink and turns back to his dresser, kneeling down and looking through a few shirts. He waits a bit before nodding and saying, “Yeah,” then, “A little bit.”
“So a lot.” I resume kicking my legs in the air and Harry continues to look through his clothes.
“Not a lot—just a little.” He repeats, seeming very tense about it. He locks his jaw and continues to stare at the dresser, not moving.
I sit up on the bed, noticing his discomfort and say, “What’s up, H?”
He sighs deeply and then stands up, sitting next to me on the bed. “I don’t know, Vi, I just really like her and she’s really cool. I just want to get to know her better.”
I look at him quizzically because is he really acting this stupid?
“How do you expect to become a lawyer?”
“C’mon, Vi!” He whines, and I laugh loudly by his side, “This is serious, I don’t know what to do!”
“You ask her out, Dumbass!” I laugh more and he just sighs, not cracking once.
“I don’t know how without seeming awkward.” He protests and I say something about how he is awkward and he just puts his head in his hands. “I’m serious, Vi, I need help.”
I nod, but then look over at the clock on the oven, noticing Harry is coming very close to being late.
“I’ll help you,” I say, and Harry begins to smile, “But only after you get to work on time.”
+
Six hours later, and I’m lying on Harry’s couch eating cookie dough straight out of the container and watching a marathon of My Mad Fat Diary and, in turn, crying my eyes out.
It’s then that Harry walks in, smiling, but it fades when he sees me. At first I think he’s going to ask why I have been crying, but he cuts straight to: “What are you eating?”
I look down at the container and spoon in my hand, and then shrug, turning back to the telly and saying, “Cookie dough.”
He hangs his bag on the coat hanger by the door and slips off his nice dress shoes, “I thought we agreed to eat healthy?”
I chuckle and stand up, putting the tub back into the fridge and throwing the spoon in the sink. Harry talks a bit about my unhealthy eating, but then goes into what he wants to cook. He settles on a baked vegetable pizza saying, “It’s healthy and delicious!”
