Jo sat on the back porch during the early mornings and evenings for days. Even when it wasn't a conscious decision, Jo found herself watching the sun come up and go down.

It was when she let herself cry for him.

The first few days, she was crying all the time it was upsetting her daughter. That had to stop. Zoe had been really cuddly since Harry had given her back their birthday painting. Zoe had found her on her knees that day, in the dark, and she'd demanded food, because toddlers are all id, even the loving ones. That's what got Jo up, but her daughter noticed the tears not long after that, and was blubbering herself when she noticed that her mummy couldn't stem the waterworks, not while she made her a quick couple of pancakes, or while she washed the dishes, or picked up the little gymnastics mat she'd been moving. Jo wasn't even aware of them by this point.

She needed to become aware.

Zoe was so upset about Jo's sadness, so she started hiding it as best she could, and after a week she stopped buying wine because she had been drinking a couple bottles a night without painting a thing.

Her evenings were following a predictable worrisome pattern, she would feed Zoe, and give her a bath, cuddle on the couch through whatever show the little one loved at the moment. Carry her up the stairs, lie her down, tuck her in with a book and a kiss. Then she had nothing to tend to for the rest of the night.

The trek down stairs filled her with dread. With Zoe asleep, the bottom floor would be empty and quiet, a tomb, and she'd inter herself on the couch with a bottle of wine, she would fall asleep there usually mid-way through the second bottle. She'd woken up to a bloodstain one morning and been relieved it was just her spilled bottle. She wouldn't have been so surprised if her emotions had manifested a physical mark. Not that it was easier to scrub up for that.

She was beginning to think she needed to scrub up, or numb out her whole life. The options for the latter were no good and left a small bean unprotected, so she needed to figure out how to scrub up.

She was a mess right now.

Her days were bleary, she may have been hungover, but she wasn't sure if it was the fruit of the vines or that she was cut off from her vine. In more ways than one, more vines than one. Wine usually meant painting, but just like the couch had become her bed, because he haunted her bedroom, his ghost lurked about the studio in a way she could not face.

The feelings of that room, the memories were so overwhelming. She had closed her studio doors. It seemed silly to put a padlock on the outside, but there was a virtual one there.

She couldn't go in there. Jo had tried one evening, stumbled in actually, and seen his outline, her hands had hit the wall when she'd tripped over her own feet, and they'd framed him. She could feel him. It was the closest she was going to get to tracing his features again, he may be a world away. She counted the days since he left, or he may be just an hour away.

But he was gone.

She kissed the wall, where his lips would be, when she could fill him in. Left a lip balm print for reference. And closed up the doors before she ripped all of the paintings, and broke her mirrors and painted over his undone face.

With the doors closed, she could trap him and her feelings in there.

She had called Ethan, "Um..." she'd choked over her tears a bit, couldn't believe she was crying over Harry while leaving the message, "I wanted to tell you, it's over, he um, he left, for Montreal....I'm so sorry, so sorry nugget. I hope you've talked to Sean. Um....call me when you are up to it, sorry baby. I know, well, I don't know. But I'm sorry."

And then one morning when Jo was sick of herself and the way she was carrying on, she'd set up rules. First, she was only allowed to cry on the stoop, at dawn, though a few slipped out when she caught a sunset. Second, no wine in the house. Lastly, she made a plan. Open-ended summer days where she and Zoe rambled around spaces Harry haunted were not going to work, not until she was better.

There were a few weeks before school started, and she couldn't stay in her house for all of them. She called Colin, got his go-ahead and a letter they had notarized and took Zoe to Mallorca. Invited Ethan.

Who had come. Which was an amazing show of faith to her, that they could fix it. Or maybe he was just as miserable and surrounded by memories he couldn't take. In any case, she was thankful, whatever his motivation.

It had started awkward and horrible, the vacation, or mini-holiday from heartbreak. Ethan avoided her during the day, but showed up predictably for meals, free food and all. He disappeared every night, and she worried.

The pain culminated in Ethan coming back to their bungalow late and drunk and him yelling at her. Jo'd heard him stumbling in and gone out to see him safely to bed. He took one look at her and his face cracked, his mouth opened and the ash of her crimes plumed. "What the.. you.. how could you?" He hiccuped. "Mu...my mate was one thing! You slag! But my first love?" He'd retched then, red like lava, or the sangria he'd gone heavy on and she'd rubbed his back and held him over her lap when he was done puking.

"Was he your first love?" She asked him while he was drunk and puking truth once the main waves of sick had subsided.

"Yeah, Yeah, think he was." He rolled his head towards her and his face collapsed, fat tears cooling the heat of his angry eruption.

"I think he was mine too, really." Jo teared up with him. She wanted to ask, couldn't stop herself, though it was so soon. Do you think you can ever forgive me, Ethan?"

He'd stated at her face for minute, before cutting the eye contact and looking at where the held hands, him across her lap like a pieta. "I can forgive you Mum." He said. "I think I can forgive you. I want to. You just hurt me so bad."

"I know nugget, if it's any consolation. I hurt me bad too." A tear fell on their hands. And Jo watched it soften the clay of his heart.

"Did Harry hurt you Mum?"

She shook her head. "No, he just loved me, enough to leave me. Since I couldn't do it. Did you hope he had?"

"No, It's not a consolation. I don't want your company in this misery. I'm sorry your heart's broken. Sucks, doesn't it?" She nodded and they shared a rueful smile. "Is he really gone?"

Yes, she nodded. And Ethan, because that much drink makes you honest, said, "Good."

Jo knew he was right. She did, because Harry being nearby was a temptation she could not ignore. Those moments of freedom his presence brought, transcendence, acceptance, and that he was hers, almost more than she was his. And the way he loved her, it was more than she could bear to put away. She had been trying so hard to do it. Was going to force herself too. And now he was gone it was worse. She loved him more still because he saw her pain, and put them out of their misery, though in uncharitable moments she reckoned he'd pulled them out of purgatory and sent her straight to Hell. But the only way out was through. She had to keep moving, stasis was not helping.

One day, just before they'd left for Mallorca, a place she had no memories or projections of him in. Jo'd felt it. Felt him getting really far away from her.  That was the only time she'd contacted him. Well, tried. She'd called his number, she knew it by heart after all, his laugh her ring tone.

His phone number was disconnected. He'd have a new number in Canada she assumed. But she didn't need it, shouldn't have it.

He didn't share it.

"Ethan, I know I have no place to give you love advice, but Sean is who you want, right? Not Harry?" God she hoped so or this was so fucked up it was going to take more than a vacation and drunk night on the bathroom floor to get over. Major therapy, though she thought maybe they all needed that too.

"No, I think I just have regrets over Harry, like I should have, I could have done things really different if I was just honest." He let his head fall back and she caught his neck. "But I couldn't be, I was so concerned about people knowing, especially my school mates, my side. Had I, had I at least told you...." he trailed off and shrugged, his words crisper for the evacuation of all that alcohol from his system.

"Ethan," she closed her eyes. "That milk is spilled, love." There was no undoing it. And even though she hurt, she was lonely and alone, she thought this time for good, she wouldn't take it back.

"I'm sorry I can't get over it, Mum." He blubbered a bit. "I know it's been ages, but it feels like it just happened, like I just broke his heart and he broke mine. I can't give this to you."

She nodded. Jo wished he could be ok with it too, but truly ok with it, not the nightmare scenario she had imagined. And she just didn't think he could. That milk was spilled too. "Much as that idea sounds good, it's not possible, yeah?"

No, he shook his clearing head.

She had a feeling they had more tears left to cry over it though. "You need to explain this all to Sean, that it's not about Harry, but just the past. Things unfinished, and that you feel betrayed. Blame it on me, it wouldn't be a lie, and I can take it if he hates me. Don't give me that look, we'll get over it. You could go back to Greece?" She suggested, though that gutted her. To send him away. Her son may move away from her, at her urging. For a time, but it may give them a chance to heal.

"Will you help me?" He had such puppy eyes she didn't mind the truth.

"Always, daft one. I'm your mum." She bopped his nose.

And they got tan, found a way to laugh, and had cocktails together and she sent him back to Sean, made him make the tear-filled call and confessions. She didn't know she'd raised him to bury his feelings until they consumed him. But she supposed it's what she did, and he'd learned by watching. She'd feel something forever until her heart broke and then it was over. That's what she had figured would happen with Harry, the hurt would become too much and she would be able to break it off. He'd fly off to his future and she would go on.

Now, well now, she was going on, and her boy was hopefully happy, or learning how to be in a way she still hadn't. By being honest, about his feelings and failing. 

And she, well she loved Harry more than ever, because he sacrificed himself on the altar of her mother love. Done what she couldn't do and ended it. She had reconciled herself to a life alone before he showed her all his colors, but it was more lackluster now, after. Jo knew something about herself and what she wanted now though. Anything less than what she'd just felt wasn't worth it. She was holding out for that, hopefully with somebody less complicated. Or with nobody at all. She'd be ok with that she realized the last day in Mallorca. If she only had this one, beautiful tragic mess of a love, that was ok.

She was grateful, so damn grateful for what he'd been in her life.

She was holding onto her parts. The parts of her he wouldnt let her forget, had awakened. And he wouldn't let her forget. So much so he had sent a letter, probably as he was leaving, to remind her.

He would know, feel, that she was struggling, that was why he sent that first letter, the beautiful bastard.

My Jo,
Teacher, friend, lover, artist, golden woman. These are your names, you are all of these things and more.

But I think I just realized what else you are, first, and why I had to leave you.

Mother.

And being with me seemed to make you question your capacity to be this sacred thing.

Do not forget that you are a wonderful mother, who raised two humans on her own.

Do not forget that even the best mothers make mistakes.

Do not forget to forgive yourself

Do not forget to give yourself time to be more.

Do not forget to create.

Do not forget I am yours

Do not forget you are mine

Even if only for a short time, it's still a moment in forever.

I love you, I love you still.

Don't forget,  Your lover.

The letter was waiting for her when she got home from Mallorca, and she tried, to remember, but it was difficult without him to remind her. Though him being there would have taken all of that away, she was sure, made it all ten times more complicated.

And her life was so much less complicated with him gone. So easy it was empty.

She felt that, when her house was quiet. Jo'd go about her day, work on school stuff a couple hours. Her time was spent settting up class things, writing  syllabi, reading journals and art zines, updating her content. She was excited about the incoming senior profiles. Since she was not able to paint right now, she would be the best mentor and teacher she could be.

The rest of the day she would feed Zoe, and take her to extra gymnastics and to the park. Play with her and take her out. They saw movies. Watched lots of movies. Jo even took her to a footie game even though Jo didn't like footie. Zoe seemed to like the games though.

And museums, she took her to all the museums, made bargains for 'Hungry Hungry Hippo' games to get her to stop running through the galleries. She found an interactive one, and they spent a whole day there. You had to keep special gloves on, but you got to touch the art. Jo was thrilled and her baby caught it, the excitement and ran to and fro with glee touching sculpture and feeling the texture of paint. Zoe was so exhausted that night she didn't even want to play ponies.

And then Zoe was away all weekend, and Jo was going crazy.  She thought she was doing better. The tears were relegated to one time of day and her house was clean and her children were happier. Then she was alone, and the tears caught up to her. She needed to stay busy.

She refinished the dresser in her room entirely. It only took her six hours. What now? But it felt so good to have the fresh piece in her bedroom, and to be physical. She didn't cry the entire time she was working on it. More, she needed to work on more.

As a result of her refinishing furniture, sleeping habits and exercise, her back had been acting up. Jo'd been seeing a trainer, a buff bad ass chick between her house and Colin's. She went after drop off during daddy-daughter dinners and on the weekends too. It kept her out the house. But the couch and the workouts were not working out for her vertebrae.

She needed to move back into her bedroom, but it felt more like a tomb than a sanctuary. Worse still, though she knew it couldn't be true since she had bought new sheets, but she could absolutely still smell him there. When Jo slept in their bed, she would dream about him every time. The dreams were beautiful, snapshots of them in Paris, running around museums and making love on balconies.  Drinking wine from his belly button and him making lewd suggestions and plans for the champagne bottle.

Then she'd wake up alone, with the bedclothes kicked off and his pillow cold, her whole body cold. What was there to do but try to sleep on the couch? She could sleep in with Zoe, but that was just resuming bad habits, plus Jo would wake her up sobbing in her sleep. Something had to be done, his smell was so deep in the mattress, she needed a new one.

That was how she found herself with Zoe on her hip going to different stores with specials and letting her bounce on the springs to "test them out"

That led to tears too, because she knew he would be making jokes as well if there were together, though his test for the mattresses would be different and get them kicked out. The memory of his dimples and wink sent her to a corner away from the salesman.

It took them all day, how could it take all day to pick a slab to lay on?

The frame she chose was different too, a sleigh, with no places to clutch and hold onto so she could cry out. There was no reason she would be moaning so loud she had to hold on. And it had storage. So she bought even more sheets he would never lay on. And then a chair for the corner, where her not quite dirty clothes could go, and a wall hanging to replace their mirror. It wasn't til she got it home she realized how verdant it was. That it was full of greens.

She almost shredded it with scissors. Instead she folded it up and buried it deep.

It was too beautiful to destroy, but Jo needed some time before she remembered.

Finally, for the finishing touch, she needed to paint her room. That might be the only color she was splashing. It didn't go well. Jo wound up in the green section of the paint at the local hardware. She did not want green walls, instead a nice grey that would look beautiful with her tapestry when she could love it properly. But she found herself pouring over greens, found a few that felt right, sage, celery bunch, and some color between garden herb and garden spot were closest. But none of them were right.

Nothing was right.

She left that day in tears with no paint. Jo went back the next day and got griege without looking at any of the colors, she chose it online before hand. It changed her bed chamber enough to sleep there.

Ethan called her not long after, they had been communicating via text since Mallorca; she was grateful he talked to her at all.

"Mum, um, I just needed to tell you a couple things. One-" she knew what was coming, had known since she got smiling pictures on beaches, "I'm moving to Greece, I got a job with Sean, and we are gonna stay and help a year."  She suppressed her tears.

"Well looks like I'll be coming to Greece on school breaks then!" She kept her voice sunny.

"Yeah and I was talking to Sean, and Mum?"

He sounded so serious, "Yeah, nugget?"

"I forgive you, even for the last time. He said maybe you just needed time to let it go. And I'm sorry Mum, for well, everything."

She let the tears go then. "Thanks, and I won't hold you to it either, ok? You can get mad at me too. I'll even let you bring it up a few times." She was laughing a little while she cried, it felt good, like being clean after a long day. His grace astounded her. Jo didn't think he learned that from her.

"I may have to take you up on that." He was laughing and crying too.

She held Zoe a lot that night when she came home. This one was going to grow up too. She wasn't ready.

Jo also wasn't ready for the letter. It didn't have a return address, but the stamp and the handwriting were a dead give away.

Dearest,

Did you know Montreal is warmer than England? I had no idea. I thought I'd come to blustery streets and snow drifts to reflect my heart, but it's sunny and gorgeous and the people are nice, well nicer than Londoners.

I hate it, today I do. Because none of these people are you. And I can't sleep, because I wake up at 2am every night. I think you are too, up, and hurting, and missing me.

But I'm not sorry, because we get to remember our golden valley at dawn this way. Had I stayed, you would have lost more and I would have really lost you.

I'm so thankful I got you, and saw you shine. Remember that you do.

Get better, I Love You, I love you still.

         Lover

She'd been so pissed. That was her first response. She'd been getting better, she even ate the dinner she made last night, and the crying jags were quarantined and her bedroom, she can sleep there again.

How dare he! How dare he remind her that she still had a way to go.

But he was right, as he often was about her. Some parts of her weren't better, but a lot of things were. She'd make progress and she wanted to mark it. It took her awhile to settle on just how to memorialize the last 9 months of her life. That was enough time to create a life, or change one irrevocably. Her body should reflect it. 

One day, Zoe was at gymnastics, and Jo realized she how near it was toHarry's tattoo shop, and the idea of giving herself, and him, a tiny glimmer of always, of gratitude, or memory. Jo couldn't stop herself.

It took 15 minutes and not a little pain to get to forever. How the hell had he sat for so many of these crazy things? And hers was just a little tiny half heart.

A mate for the etching he had given her, a small sign of his feelings. It was in the same spot as his, the opposite way. A matched set. Because her heart was broken, but also his. The only difference was the color.

Hers was gold.

For all the progress, the studio was still locked, and so was her shine. Even her hair was duller. She still could tell that in the mirror while she was looking at her tattoo and imagining showing it to him, not that she ever would. She was still reeling, in progress. Pissed. Jo was pissed that he had reminded her. How dare he, with his new beautiful city and god, she hoped his beautiful inspiration.

She was so proud of him, and she loved him. He just wanted her to get all he way better. And she needed to get better, all the way, and her plan was working, so she worked the plan.

She worked on her classes, and she worked out, and she played with Zoe, and painted her house, but not the canvas. And when fall came, she felt like she was a shade, not of gold, but maybe yellow. Luckilyshe could look at her heart feel golden.

Her new senior advisee, Stella, was amazing. She was a breath of fresh air, her work was full of strings, literally. Paint and strings. Jo's favorite was the guitar string piece. And she played the guitar.

Jo saw her band and remembered she loved to dance.

She learned to dance again. She called Chelsea and Cidra, finally brought those broads together and went out and listened to music, and cried with a room full of people. That was a release of emotion that brought a bright early morning. Afterwards, she started sleeping all night most nights. Smiled at dawn that day, because she saw it from the other side.

A letter came a week later.

Baby,
    I slept all night last night. I'm proud of you.
I love you, I love you still.

Harry

It made her smile. But it hurt too. She'd be going along fine, and be caught off guard. Even as fall turned to winter and her classes took a break, and she threw Zoe a gorgeous birthday party, a petting zoo in the yard. And Ethan and Sean came, they came home for Christmas.

At her suggestion, she and Ethan painted his room and she bought him a new bed too. It was really a guest room now, and they both knew it.

He hugged her when they closed that door.

She still cried at dawn sometimes though. Or avoided the mirror. And always the studio.

She tried to go in one day. She'd had a conversation with Stella that made her feel so inspired she wanted to try. She had some strings of emotion to play.

That day was bad. She'd destroyed a canvas. Punched it.

That week was bad.

At first she couldn't quite figure why she was having so much trouble holding it together after having at least a veneer of recovery for months. She was waking up at daybreak again, every morning, and sobbing.

Then it dawned on her.

It had been a year since they really began, just over a year since they kissed. Or she kissed him. Jo wanted to call him, but of course she couldn't. She wondered if he was up with her very late to her early morning and feeling her heartbreak. She wondered if he knew why, he was better at dates and sentiment than her. She bet he knew, and if he was here....

The flights of fancy she allowed for a whole day tore her apart.  If he was home, if they had made it through, and she had decided to set Ethan adrift hoping he would sail back and be moored to her again, Harry would have made a big deal. She imagined Madrid, and for some reason she knew he would have fed her a meal she'd never forget, dragged her dancing, and then down an alleyway to share cava laced breaths and hungry gropes.

Zoe was at Colin's that night, and she was glad, she was a mess. There was no gym, no painting, but there was alcohol, though not the bubbles of celebration, it was cheap whisky and a toilet seat for a pillow.

A week later she got another letter, and she threw the whisky down the sink to keep from drinking it after she read it.

She finally opened it, long after her daughter was in bed. It was a postcard, why did he put it in an envelope? Maybe he knew she needed to warm up to it.

It's a beautiful art piece. A three dimensional silhouette. She'd been living in 2D. Before him and after him again.

And all it said was, "Please, baby, get better."

It was the first time he'd not ended with 'I love you, I love you still'. It didn't need to be said. She was sure that was what he'd really been saying was, 'This is it. No more letters, because you don't need them anymore. It's time. I'm with you.' Jo rubbed over her heart, the golden one, and found her way to the studio, with the postcard in hand.

At first, it was hard. Literally, her tubes, cans, pots, were welded shut from solid paint. And the first piece she did, on a tiny little canvas was nothing more than a woman's figure, looking away, her hair lines blown out long. But then she could see Stella's lines blowing, and Jo smiled.

The next canvas, was a face. She never drew faces, all of her women were from behind, or simply faceless. The craziest part was the face was her own. And it was a happy hopeful one. A future look in her eye, she thought, and it felt good to find her. When Jo was mixing her eye color, a little extra gold found its way in. And something about it felt so right she'd popped the can and left it at her elbow for ease of use.

It had physically hurt to put the gold on for the first painting, but the second bloom, on her new palate, god, it felt like dawn. When she made the green, the mixings were so familiar after months of obsessing over it, it was as easy as breathing to add the gold. Just a touch to the green mixings when seeing her lover by chance in the art store had almost ruined all of the beauty they had ever had. But once again, Harry had been her hero, and saved her from losing herself. She was so grateful for his gold.

Jo didn't have to play with it for too long. She found it then, the perfect shade of green.

It was never right, because it was missing the gold. That shimmer of electricity, of preciousness, that made him alive and her whole.

She'd went to the wall, and it was a frenzy, he'd taken shape before her eyes. His hair Belgian-chocolate, melted and rippling, his lips were ripe like raspberries on the first bush. It was the dimples that sparked a wet mark on her cheek, she might even have had her own depression there if you caught a quick look at her. He made an impression, she'd carve his place in her heart, not just paint him on her wall.

She did his eyes last.

The color was spot on.

And Jo named it.

Named the golden green of spring, and luck, and memory, on her heart and wall, in her future and life.

Lover.