Chapter 32
Jeremy came home a few days later to find Harrison sitting on the floor between the couch and the coffee table. A large sketchpad was in front of him, the page he worked on almost entirely covered in thick, precise lettering. Jeremy couldn’t read the words from where he stood, but that didn’t matter. Harrison would show him when he finished. After a quick hello, he went into the kitchen to get something to drink.
“What are you working on?” he asked when he returned with a couple of glasses of water.
“A surprise for you.” Harrison glanced up with a secretive smile. “One I hope you’ll like.”
“I always like surprises.” Jeremy lowered himself to the carpet on the far side of the coffee table. Stretching his legs out in front of him, he leaned back on straight arms. The carpet was coarse beneath his hands and he thought how perfectly the thick rug he had in his own living room would fit here. He’d been doing that a lot lately, picturing his things nestled in amongst Harrison’s. He’d already decided what he’d bring with him when he moved in and what he’d sell or give away. They hadn’t talked about moving in together yet, but it made sense since he was always here anyway. “This place is cosier than mine,” he murmured. “There’s something about it that feels more comfortable.”
Harrison glanced up before returning to his work. “You think so?”
“Yes.” Jeremy nodded. “We should definitely live here. My lease is up soon. I could give my landlord notice I’ll be moving out.”
The pen stopped moving and Harrison raised his head. “You want to move in with me?”
Jeremy shrugged a single shoulder. “I kind of already have,” he pointed out. “I have my own set of keys. Half my clothes are here. I haven’t slept in my own bed in weeks. All that’s left is to make it official.”
Harrison didn’t say anything for a long time, but Jeremy wasn’t put off. He’d long since realised Harrison had no problem voicing his opinion when he didn’t want something to happen. It was when he did want something that he got quiet, because he feared he’d never get to have it.
“What are your thoughts on us living together?” Jeremy asked, hoping to move the conversation along.
Taking a deep breath, Harrison started drawing again. “I want to be wherever you are, every day, for always. You know that.”
“But…” he encouraged.
“I’m not the easiest person to live with. I wouldn’t live with me if I didn’t have to,” Harrison said with a self-deprecating laugh. “At least if you have your own place, you can get away if you want to.”
“I don’twantto get away from you.” Jeremy shifted forward on the floor, moving closer to the coffee table. “That’s kind of the point.” He crossed his forearms on top of the table and rested his chin on top.
Harrison glanced up at him. “That might be true when I’m healthy, but when I’m not—”
“I’m staying,” Jeremy said in a firm voice. “What do you think I’m going to do, walk away every time you have a relapse?” he asked. “Not come back until you’re normal enough to be around?”
“I wouldn’t blame you if you did.” Harrison didn’t stop working as he spoke, but his strokes became short and sharp. “I would understand if you wanted to disappear for a few days now and then.”
Jeremy snorted. “I’m pretty sure you already know I don’t work like that. Besides, who would I have paper ball fights with, and watch home shopping with at three in the morning?” Harrison huffed out a laugh. “I don’t like it when you’re hurting,” Jeremy added, “but I liked some of the places we went together.”
Smiling, Harrison rose up onto his knees to give Jeremy a light kiss on the forehead. “I reckon if we try we can have you moved in by the end of the weekend.”
Laughing, Jeremy raised his eyebrows. “Wow, that’s fast.”
“I’m not giving you a chance to change your mind,” Harrison told him. “Especially now.”
Jeremy gave him a questioning look. “Why? What’s going on?”
“First, I want to show you something.” Harrison reached down beside him to lift a book onto the table. It was the photo album Jeremy had seen him with one night in the middle of his depression. They’d argued soon afterwards and Jeremy had forgotten all about the album, until now.
Pulling it towards him, he turned it around and opened the front cover. The first page had an old, faded photograph of a young woman with a little boy on her hip. They had their arms around each other, their heads touching as they smiled at the camera. A feminine hand had written ‘Harry’s 2nd birthday’ in neat script underneath.
“This is your mother,” Jeremy said, glancing up at Harrison. He nodded. Jeremy’s gaze dropped back to the faces in the photo. Harrison was instantly recognisable, despite the chubby cheeks and the baby blondness of his hair. He still had the same velvety brown eyes—which he’d apparently inherited from his mother. Her hair, though darker, was also wavy like Harrison’s. She appeared happy in the picture, but signs of her mental illness were apparent. There were dark circles under her eyes, and she was skinny to the point of gauntness in a dress that had obviously been purchased by a woman with a fuller figure. “What was she like?”
Harrison had returned to his drawing, his hand moving slowly now, as if to protect against careless mistakes. “She was gentle,” he said quietly. “She was a good cook, but a terrible housekeeper.” He gave a quiet laugh. “When she was well she would take me to the park and push me on the swing for hours. I remember I didn’t want to learn how to swing myself because then she’d stop pushing me and that was my favourite part.”
The woman Harrison described didn’t sound like the sort of person who would try to take her own son’s life. And yet, at some point, that was who she’d become. As Jeremy continued to turn the pages of the album, he noticed places where photos had been removed. He learnt, from reading the notes on the pages, those spots had contained photos of Harrison’s father. It was a strange dichotomy. The way he cherished the photos of the sick mother who’d tried to take his life, while he’d rejected those of the abusive father who’d saved it.
“You’ve forgiven her,” Jeremy said quietly as he closed the album.
Harrison nodded again. “I had to. Being angry with her was eating me alive.”
