I hated every step of getting ready to see Harry again. From his stupid text that had given me heart palpitations, the fact that I'd needed to sit on it for five hours before replying to him, to getting ready to go to his stupid apartment the same evening and sitting on that stupid bus.

My brain had been starting to re-open the details of our last encounter, and I couldn't help the conflicted feelings it was bringing out in me. How dare he joke about me offering marriage to random people when I was just trying to help him, brought out the anger. But he's sick and terrified and has his little sister crying over him while he's still very much alive, brought out compassion and sadness and tears. Oh, the tears. I was lucky if my dumb tear ducts didn't make that meeting look like he was breaking up with me.

The feeling of halting any thought that my brain might have wanted to produce as the bus reached my destination felt very much like closing the laptop lid without shutting the million tabs I'd had open in Chrome. I walked out into the cool breeze, my bare legs tingling with goosebumps as I looked around; within a block of buildings, there was a certain one that held my gaze as I walked up the street from the bus stop. I shook my head at it before approaching the door, like the bricks and I were just having a discussion that ended on a note of disbelief that I would go back to the place and person that had caused me so much anxiety the last time.

I watched my knuckles make contact with the door and braced myself for whatever greeted me on the other side of it. In any case, the day would pass and I would once again work on making it a distant, distant memory. By this point, planning to move on with my life was something I looked forward to like a vacation.

The door was opened, and Harry and I gave each other identical tight, awkward smiles before he stepped to the side to let me in. The denim shorts and black blouse felt a little over the top compared to his gray sweatpants, the same ones from a couple of days earlier, though his T-shirt was black for this occasion. "Hey."

"Hi."

He locked the door without removing his other hand from his pocket, "You get here okay?"

"Yep."

"The bus again, huh?"

I looked up from taking my sneakers off, "You'd rather I came by bicycle?"

His lips were a thin line, and for a moment he rubbed his forehead as if the sight of me had immediately given him a headache. "Alright, I deserve that." He nodded, though he didn't appear to be too devastated about the defeat, "Come on in."

His living room felt familiar, though I hadn't actually spent any time there before. The small kitchen and dining room were also connected to it, so while Harry proceeded to the kitchen to pour us a couple of mugs of coffee, I opted to take a seat at the dining table, figuring that whatever we were going to be talking about would feel less intimate in wooden chairs than on a comfy couch. I looked around the room while waiting for him and the coffee, but regrettably, my eyes ended up on his broad back, then down on his large hands, and then I just looked at my own hands to avoid any awkward thoughts. I was already needing two weeks at the seaside minimum from this encounter.

"How do you drink your coffee?"

"Sweet."

"Milk?"

"Sure." The tips of my fingers were red from squeezing the ring on my other hand. Distant memory. Soon.

"Here we go." He walked over to the table, the subtle necklace around his neck dangling lightly as he set two mismatched cups down, one in front of me, and one to my left where he took a seat. "It's not a latte from a coffee shop, but I did my best."

"Thank you."

"So..." He began, pausing for a moment to crack a couple of his fingers, "I wanted... to apologize. For last time. I could have just politely turned you down, but I was a jackass. And I'm sorry. I'm... sorry for what I said, I didn't really mean any of it."

I didn't look up from my cup but could feel that same anxiety from his initial text creep up on me at the thought that I was there just so he could further explain why he had to reject me. "Okay."

"The thing is- not that it really matters, but I hate having to... ask others for help. Or rely on anyone. When I can't do something on my own and solve my own problems, it's my personal hell." He stared at the table for a moment. "If I didn't have this condition I'd say I'd rather die than have to bother people, but, you know, I don't wanna jinx myself."

Even if he'd been trying to be funny and lift some of the thick atmosphere, the attempt got lost in how bitter he genuinely was. His forehead was in his hand as he stared through the table, and I offered a sympathetic shake of my head, "Harry, you can't bother the people who care about you. They'll always want to help."

"Yeah, the last time I did that, I ended up in the ER because of a bicycle." His head was in both of his hands, and I was desperately looking anywhere but at him. "A fucking bicycle, Evelyn. Got me by the short and curlies."

"I'm sorry."

"Don't be sorry, it's fucking hilarious. Just a little less to me since it happened... to me." I gave him a small smile, still feeling bad for what had happened to him despite how he seemed to have gotten over it and could even joke about it. At least about the bicycle part, the girlfriend part neither of us dared to mention. "Anyway, back to the point. If we're gonna do this... I wanna get some things clear. If you're still offering." He added the last part so awkwardly, "I wouldn't blame you if you weren't. I wouldn't blame you if you slapped me and left, either."

I pretended considering his offer, "I'll just hear you out first."

"Okay. So... so, we get married. You put me on your insurance. That's not insurance fraud, right? No one's gonna be checking if we're a real couple?"

"No, it's not like getting a green card or something."

"Okay. Good. Then it's totally fine if we don't see each other after we sign the papers."

I nodded, despite the little pang of insult in my chest and the fleeting 'why is he so repulsed by the thought of seeing me?' question that was hightailing it through my head. "Yep."

"Alright." There was another silence where he looked like he was still getting his thoughts together, and I took a sip of my coffee in the meantime. "And how long were you thinking that we... I mean, how long should we stay married?"

"As long as you need therapy and check-ups. Could be a year, could be more or less than that."

"And you're okay with that?"

I inhaled to give him a reply, but still took a few seconds before answering the question, "I mean... like you said, we don't have to see each other or anything. We're barely acquaintances. So nothing in my life is gonna change, really. The next time we see each other can be when we sign the divorce papers. Which can be in ten years for all I care."

"Okay, good. That's good."

"If you're okay with it, so am I."

Harry nodded, "With the current terms and conditions, I am. I'd just hate for you to be stuck with me when you don't have to be."

He said it casually, but I was left wondering if that last part was an echo of something his girlfriend had said when she rejected his proposal, sending him further down his rabbit hole of solitude. He rested his chin on the heel of his palm with his fingers covering his mouth, his eyes focused on the table yet again. I looked down at the same spot to see that he was staring at nothing, then awkwardly looked around while I waited for him to say something. "Did you know that I took stick figure lessons?"

"Hm?" I blinked.

"Since you showed some alright ball knowledge last time, I thought I'd impress you too." He got up from the table and my eyes followed him to the coffee table behind me, from which he picked up a small mint green notebook and walked back to where he'd been sitting. Alright, completely changing the subject. Noted. "Now remember I'm still learning, so these probably aren't any good yet. You ready?"

The best reaction I could offer was a shrug and a shake of my head with which I relinquished any judgment I might have held before his question, the puzzlement that had come with his sudden statement about drawing lessons still going strong. Harry's expression had somehow changed, but I still couldn't quite put my finger on the emotion in his face. He turned the notebook toward me and, well, he had said he took stick figure lessons, so I had no idea why the sight of a stick figure cat made me laugh. Not even laughing at him, just finding the kindergarten-level drawing endearing. "That's adorable."

"Yeah? It's a stick cat." He flipped a page, "And that's a dog."

"Very good."

"And that's a dog with floppy ears."

I nodded encouragingly as he flipped through a couple more pages of animals and people drawn stick style, and then he stopped with a very dramatic breath, "Now, this is gonna get kinda controversial, but bear with me. I've been drawing some abstract things."

"...Abstract how?"

"I've been drawing thoughts."

"Oh." I was doing my best to be supportive and not make fun of him, but he was making it near impossible. "Naturally."

"Here're some attempts at that." He flipped to the next page, but it only showed a man's head. "This is what you think about. It actually represents me, as I am in your head all hours of the day because of my unrivaled looks and wits."

"...Jesus Christ."

"I even gave myself my original beach waves that were forcefully taken from me, though I look a bit soggy here. Still good enough for you, right?"

"If you ever want to apologize to me again," I mumbled, "make it an email."

"I said bear with me!" He feigned offense, "Moving on, we have... my thoughts."

He turned the page, and it took me a moment and a couple of blinks to register writing on the page instead of a drawing. Due to the small size of the notebook, he had used the entire page to write out–

Will you marry me?

There was no helping the half laugh, half snort that came out of my mouth. I leaned back in my chair with my hand over my mouth, not caring for my reaction or his laughing at me. I know it was all fake, but there was no denying that the thought he had put into the proposal and its agonizing intro brought all of my blood to my cheeks and the biggest, stupidest, most childish smile to my face. "Well? What do you think?"

"I... think it's your best one yet."

"Yeah? A lot of thought went into it. Pun intended." I barely got myself to roll my eyes at that; he was smiling for a completely different, self-satisfied reason than me, but whatever the reason, we were still two idiots grinning at each other wider than anyone else in the state of New York tonight. 

And while he may have been expecting a formal 'I do' or whatever, I was thinking we were already way past it, and was after more important information. "What made you change your mind?"

"...Regrettably, Stella."

"What? What'd she do?"

"She..." He sat up and cleared his throat, his energy doing a full 180; he stared at the page he'd turned for another few seconds before looking at me, almost like he'd just decided that he'd answer that question. "Sat me down a few days after you were over, and told me that since I was gonna kill myself, we needed to look at grief counselors for her and my family." I couldn't do much other than widen my eyes, so he continued, "She showed me a bunch of articles that show how... chances of suicide ramp up in people after they've lost someone close to them, so she wanted to be sure that she doesn't lose anyone else."

Nothing could've prepared me for the words that came from his mouth. I leaned back against my chair, still staring at him with my eyes falling out of my skull when I finally found my voice, "I'm stuck on the part where you're killing yourself. What?"

"Basically she said that I'm turning down immediate help when it's being very openly, unequivocally offered to me, which is the same as offing myself. And then she really started going into it, saying that our mom would be better off with a female counselor because she opens up to women more easily and stuff like that." His arms were leisurely crossed on the table and he had a straight face as he spoke, indicating he'd had time to get over his sister's ambush, but he swallowed thickly before speaking again, "She genuinely had plans for all of them. I was sitting there speechless, and she was showing me therapists in Colorado in like twenty different tabs and giving suggestions for herself, my brother, and my parents. It was terrifying. Kind of an eye-opener, but terrifying more than anything."

I couldn't help but wonder if that had been the plan she'd told me about over the phone that night. In any case, it had worked, but I doubted that she could comprehend the damage it could have done to her brother. Or maybe the damage it had done, which he was hiding very expertly.

It wasn't up to me to worry about it, either way. He'd made it very clear that we have no business with one another other than sharing the same health insurance for a period of time; I was already encroaching on a part of his life that I had no invitation for. "After that cataclysm, texting you was a walk in the park."

I nodded in agreement, "God. Yeah, even I am traumatized."

"Yep. I know she had good intentions, but... God forbid she had good intentions ever again."

I was playing with the ring on my hand again, having forgotten about it since a bit after we'd sat at this table. I guessed him simply retelling the story was enough to give a shot of anxiety to my brain. "I'm sorry for asking at all."

He gave a small laugh, "'s okay." I suddenly lost hold of the ring on my left hand when it was snatched by his two larger hands, "So here I am."

My eyes were darting from our hands—from his hands, mine had just completely disappeared between the two of his—to his face. "...Here you are."

"Asking for your hand in marriage so my little sister would stop bullying me."

I smiled, even suppressed a giggle, the excitement from his proposal having started to bubble toward the surface from under the weight of the Stella situation. "Yes, I'll marry you, you giant nerd."

And when he readjusted his hold so he could kiss my knuckle, I decided to think about maybe not making this night a distant memory.

○○○

Violet had only two things to say.

1. A complete, exaggerated retelling of the story just to make sure she was hearing the same words I was saying;

2. "Alright then, when's the wedding?"

The latter was a response to me asking if she'd be our witness. All of Harry's friends were still out of the state, and his sister wasn't over the age of eighteen. As for the rest of his family, he said he would wait to tell them in person when they arrived in less than twenty-four hours from the moment we stepped out of the city clerk's office. Kind of comical how we'd gotten the license and ceremony over with just in time for me to escape meeting the in-laws.

Violet exchanged her goodbyes with Harry and walked out before us, giving us some absolutely unnecessary privacy. My arms were crossed over my chest as I walked beside him, the scorching sun not helping with the overheating my body was already doing from just marrying the guy a few minutes earlier. He came to a stop on the sidewalk, and I stood in front of him, knowing that was where we parted ways; he went to the bus station—despite Violet insisting on taking him back to his place—and I went in the opposite direction, to her gray Honda where she was waiting for me. "So."

"So."

"You can call me, you know. For anything that comes up." I was careful not to say 'for anything you need'. "Seriously. Reach out anytime."

"Thanks, Evie. For everything."

"You're welcome, Henry."

Our goodbyes were just as awkward, and I took a deep breath of relief when we both turned to walk toward our respective rides. Violet had her brows raised when I opened the door to the passenger's seat, "So?"

"'So' what?"

"What did he say? What did you say?"

"I told him he could reach out to me anytime." I tossed my bag in the backseat, "He said 'thanks'."

"That's all?"

"I told you." And I had told her. I'd told her how the whole thing was nothing more than some paperwork that I would have to go over with my mother later on, so he could be added to our insurance plan as soon as possible. As for him, I'd told her how apathetic, even callous he'd be about the whole thing. I'd warned her that he would not be the same witty, vibrant person she might have met when they volunteered together. I'd had to warn myself about the same thing. "He's weird, but I just let him be."

"I guess." A silence ensued as I put on my seatbelt and checked my notifications. "Kind of underwhelming, to be honest."

"I told you about that too."

Another silence. "You know, he turned around to watch you walk away–"

"Drive, Vi," I stressed.

○○○

Saturday, 5 August

12:57

From: Harry - Communications Law

Remember when you said I can reach out for anything? I'm reaching out. Help