At work the next day, my mind was positively reeling and my stomach wouldn't stop tying itself into knots. I wasn't sure which was eating away at me more. To say that I was distracted was an understatement. I was jittery, forgetful, clumsy, and hardly managed to do a single thing right the entire shift. More than once, I caught the annoyed eye roll of a coworker, but was too preoccupied to care.

The hours passed by in an agonizingly slow fashion, torturing me with every second that ticked by. I just wanted to know what was going on with Harry and my dad. I wondered if I would go home and discover them hanging out together, or if Harry would have gone home by then.

I wished I'd have asked Harry to stop by my work or something when he was done so I would know.

Finally, after what felt like years, I was able to go home. It was nearly 10pm, and the parking lot was dark as I practically sprinted to my car. My knees bounced anxiously up and down as I drove home, nervous, excited, and scared for whatever I was about to find at home.

I parked my car in the driveway and forced myself to take a deep breath before climbing out of my car. Walking up the porch, I didn't hear any noises coming from the house; I took that as a good sign. At least they weren't fighting.

Cautiously, I let myself into my house and set down my bag and coat before venturing further inside. A quick peek in the kitchen showed my mother sitting at the counter, sipping a cup of coffee and apparently happily surfing the internet on her laptop.

Another good sign. I hadn't even thought about how Harry would talk to my dad with my mom around, but he must have managed somehow if she seemed so happy.

I didn't go into the kitchen, not wanting to get pulled into a conversation with my mom when I was so otherwise preoccupied. Walking down the hall, I came to the archway that led into the living room, where I found my father watching some game on TV, no Harry in sight. I stayed silent as I entered the room and gingerly sat down on the far end of the couch, away from the chair my father was in.

"Hey, Joey," he greeted me, seeming surprised I had chosen to come sit with him.

"Hi," I returned quietly. I didn't know if I should bring up Harry talking to him or not.

"How, um, how was work?" he asked awkwardly, fidgeting with the remote in his hand and not looking at me.

"It was fine."

He nodded at the TV. "Good, good."

I didn't say anything, feeling more awkward by the second. He seemed to be in a good enough mood, it was just that he still struggled with holding a normal conversation with me. I decided to wait and see if he would bring up Harry at all. Nearly a whole minute of silence had ticked by before he spoke again.

"So that Harry," he stated, glancing at me with a raised eyebrow.

"What about him?" I asked innocently.

"He came over for a chat today," he told me. I was careful to keep my facial expression neutral.

"About what?"

"Hmm, mostly your mother and I," he said. His expression, like mine, was difficult to read. He didn't say anything else, giving me literally no information as to how it went besides his seemingly pleasant mood.

"Oh," was all I said, thinking of nothing better.

"He's a good one, that one." I was surprised at the compliment, even though I should have been. They'd apparently known each other years, and of course Harry was the most wonderful person I'd ever met, but it felt good to hear my father acknowledge that.

"I know," I replied, smiling softly.

Finally he turned his head to fully look at me, eyebrows pulled together as he studied my face. He pursed his lips together, smiled gently, and nodded before saying, "Good."

I was confused yet encouraged by this careful interaction. While he wasn't saying much, it was clear he wasn't upset. He was possibly even happy, although it was hard to tell. I felt a flicker of hope, eliminating some of the anxiety that had been building up.

Whatever Harry had said to him seemed to be helping, although it was pretty obvious I wasn't going to figure that out from my father. Again, I felt my heart swell with appreciation for Harry.

I sat with my father for a few more minutes before stating I was tired and heading up to my room. I called a quick goodnight to my mother, darting back though the hallway to the kitchen before climbing the stairs to my room. Smiling to myself, I felt better being at home alone with my parents than I had since my dad had returned.

True, he had hardly said two words to me and was still as awkward as ever, but the overall shift in his attitude was easily noticeable, which made me hopeful. I flopped down on my bed and was about to pull out my phone to call Harry when it started ringing in my pocket.

I grinned when I saw the caller ID, the picture one I had snapped of him when he had been trying to study. He was smiling, dimples present in his cheeks, glancing sideways at me as if trying to avoid the photo. I loved it.

"Hiiii," he said as soon as I answered.

"Hello Harry," I giggled, instantly feeling giddy at the sound of his voice.

"How are you?" he asked.

"Good, how are you?"

"Eh no complaints," he returned. "So, um, have you talked to your dad?"

"Yeah, he seems... good," I said, struggling to find a word to describe his mood. "How was your talk?"

"Good, I think. I dunno, he didn't say a lot but he seemed to listen at least," he said into the phone.

"He didn't say much to me either," I tell him while staring at my ceiling.

"I really hope it helps, Joey," he said sincerely.

"Me too." I sigh heavily, fighting the hopes I can feel rising in fear of them being crushed. It was something I was cautious of now ever since the first night I told Harry I loved him and he hadn't exactly responded how I had hoped.

I talked with Harry on the phone a while longer before struggling to end the call for nearly ten minutes, each of us stereotypically refusing to hang up first. He was finally saved for this pointless argument by his sister coming in to tell him they would start the movie they planned to watch without him, making him have to hang up. He then invited me to join, but it was late and I was tired from work. He pouted, whining that he had hardly seen me all day.

This interaction was something that would have made me positively gag before him, but now made me smile like a ridiculous fool. The things this boy did to me.

After taking a quick shower and getting ready for bed, I climbed under the covers and tried to quiet my mind enough to fall asleep. Thoughts of Harry, my parents, and what would happen over the next few days swirled around in my head.

And, I couldn't deny, the small speck of quiet hope in my brain, cautiously daring to exist, waiting to be squashed at the slightest negative turn of events was present as well.

***

The next morning, I was surprised to find both of my parents eating breakfast quietly in the kitchen, sipping their coffee as they scanned their respective sections of the morning paper. It was the most peaceful I had seen them yet. I smiled softly as I helped myself to some cereal and joined them at the table.

"Morning," I said sleepily. I had gotten up fairly early, considering it was a Saturday.

"Good morning," my father returned, glancing up at me before reverting his attention back to the newspaper.

"Sleep well?" asked my mom.

"Mmhmm," I hummed. I actually had slept really well, despite all the thoughts I was distracted by before falling asleep. The rest of the meal passed in a quiet silence.

I couldn't help but notice how very tired both of my parents looked; my dad had bags under his eyes, almost as dark as the day he showed up, and my mother's eyes were red and puffy, the way they always looked after she'd had an exhausting shift at the hospital.

I had just gotten up to clear my dishes when my father spoke again.

"Joey," he started, tone loaded. I froze in my place as my heart gave a heavy thud.

"Yeah?" I couldn't stop the fear from creeping into my voice.

"Can we talk to you?"

I swallowed harshly before setting my dishes back down on the table and lowering myself stiffly back into my seat. "Sure."

"I don't want to patronize you, so we're just going to be honest," he said calmly, actually looking me directly in the eye for once. I did not like the sound of this, not one bit.

"Okay..." My breathing felt shallow as I waited.

"We've both done a lot of thinking, and we were up late last night talking. After how this week has been and after talking with Harry and trying to make things work, we've decided... it's just not going to," he said. He was trying his best to keep his tone gentle for my sake.

I felt like my chest had collapsed, and I stopped breathing as he spoke, jaw hanging open. I tore my gaze away from him to look at my mother, who was studying me quietly, eyes full of concern.

"You're... you're giving up?" My brain felt fuzzy as I spoke.

"No, not giving up. Just... separating," my mother said calmly.

"Separating? Or getting a divorce?" The two were very different in my opinion. A divorce was so solid. So final. So scary.

"A divorce," my father admitting, pinching the bridge of his nose between his fingers, squeezing his eyes closed as if this were all giving him a very big headache.

My body felt numb as the word hit me. Divorced. They were getting divorced. It was probably the cause of a lot of things, but the phrase that kept repeating itself in my head was the one that hurt me the most.

After talking with Harry....

After talking with Harry....

What had Harry said to him to make him think a divorce was the right answer? The talk was supposed to help, to encourage him to try harder, not to make him give up.

My heart felt like it was going to explode and I felt my throat constricting, threatening to cut of my airway as I fought to hold in the tears I could feel building up.

What had Harry said to him that could have backfired so horribly?

I stood abruptly from the table, needing to get away from my parents before I said something I wouldn't be able to take back. I needed space, air, time to think. Most of all, though, I needed to know what Harry had said.

Stiffly, I forced my legs to carry me out of the room. I could vaguely hear my parents calling after me, but it was no more than a soft buzzing in my ears, no where near strong enough to pull me back to them. I needed to know what he had said to my dad that had made him decide to divorce my mother.

I managed to hold back the tears as I tore down the sidewalk, towards Harry's house. My emotions were a raging mixture of anger, sadness, fear, confusion, and shock, each of them fighting to win the battle for the dominating one.

I nearly tripped on his front porch as I stalked toward the door, raising arm to knock solidly on the wood. Bouncing on my toes, only a few seconds ticked by before my impatience made me knock again, more aggressively this time. I bit my lip harshly, trying to make myself focus on the words I needed to say.

The door swung open to reveal a confused Harry, looking pleasantly surprised to see me until he took in my facial expression, which was surely a terrifying mix of everything I was feeling, and certainly not one you'd want to find on your unannounced girlfriend.

"What did you say to my dad?" I demanded, skipping greeting him. I sounded much angrier than I had been aware.

"What?" he asked, trying overcome his shock still.

"What did you say to my dad yesterday?" I repeated, enunciating the words sharply.

His eyes searched my face, eyebrows knitting together in confusion and concern as he realized something must have happened. He stepped out of his house and closed the door so we were alone on his front porch.

"Joey, what happened?" he asked instead of answering me.

"My parents are getting divorced, and my dad said it was partly because of something you said," I told him, trying to reign in the anger in my voice.

"Oh, god, Joey, I'm so sorry! I don't know... I'm sorry! I didn't mean to... to cause anything bad to happen, I really didn't," he pleaded, stepping closer to me and trying to take my hands in his. I ripped them away angrily.

"Harry, something you said changed his mind," I said, hating myself for accusing him already. I already regretted the words as soon as I said them, but didn't take them back. His face fell, awkwardly pulling his hands back from my rejection and his eyes looking hurt at my words.

"Joey, I'm so sorry. If it was something I said to him, I'm so sorry, baby, I didn't mean for this to happen at all," he said honestly. He visibly had to restrain himself from trying to touch me. "Please, come inside so we can figure this out," he pleaded.

"No," I said, stepping back from him. I could feel the angry expression on my face and wanted to wipe it off, but couldn't. Something he had said had changed everything, and I couldn't get past that right now.

"Joey, please," he said softly, taking a tiny step toward me. I shook my head slowly, hurt written all over both of my features as I backed away from him.

"No," I repeated, my voice cracking with emotion as I said it. It must have broken his heart to see me like this because his face full of concern and sadness and hurt, but mine was breaking, too. After looking into his eyes one last time, I turned from him and ran down the sidewalk.

I ran off the porch, down the street, and away from him, leaving him standing alone on the porch, watching me disappear.