"I think we need to turn off the lights. Do you have a torch? Or a camping lantern?" Harry was committed to his silhouette painting. Jo was committed to making him smile while they were together. Over the long days and short nights he had been letting himself into her house, she'd reconciled herself to their new odd arrangement.

It was like a jacket too tight in the shoulder, but perfect everywhere else. Most of the time together though, she just enjoyed it, as the bitter chocolate for the bit of sweet.

"We have the lantern from the Lake District." Her smile was glass.

Harry didn't break it, "Yeah? I'll go fetch it? Where's it at?"

"Probably," she thought about it, god that camping trip felt like forever ago, "it's probably in the back of the car- the boot, maybe?"

"Ok, I'll be right back, baby," he leaned over and kissed her. They were ignoring it. That's what it was, they were both doing it, pretending, playing house.

Their suspended reality, tightrope walk was exhilarating and addictive. She never knew that was a thing she had inside her, to do a thing because she shouldn't. And she was squeezing this lemon for every bit of juice. That's what tonight was.

They were making lemonade, to drink when they were thirsty for each other in the near future. Nearer than she had shared. Zoe was coming home in three days. So Harry was out, and Zoe was in, and that was that.

She had yet to tell Harry this. She had to tonight, end the fantasy.  But not yet, not before they drew their dreams.

Harry came in, lantern aloft, like a hero. A tragic one, Greek. His hair was up and she knew that was necessary, but she could not wait to take it down.

"Found it!" Those dimples, they were something to draw about. 

Jo walked into his arms and backed him up to the stool and hung the lantern on the string they'd put on a hook in the ceiling. It cast his shadow beautifully and she started on the canvas.

"You're frustrated?" Harry asked twenty minutes in when her sighs were louder than needs be.

"I just- I want to trace you, lover." But that would mean on the wall. She'd have to paint the whole wall if she did-harder to hide.

Harry looked at her, then the wall, then her. "So trace me, and I'll trace you."

Jo's heart sped up. They were horrible about leaving evidence. They still hadn't discussed the video tape. The idea was compelling though, she could already see him there, a version of permanent. She could hang something over it, and he'd be in her house with her forever.  She could look at it when she wanted. Harry would not have that luxury.

"You won't have it if it's on my wall though." 

He bit his lip and closed his eyes, drawn for a minute, "I'll make do with the canvas." He said when he opened them. "Or you can come over and I can cast you onto my wall."

Jo shook her head. She hadn't been to his at all. Couldn't, and as she had discovered about herself in the last seven months, she could be very selfish. She wanted to keep all of the memories inside her own walls. And his house, well his studio, was a place where all of her reason flew out the nonexistent windows. She'd say vows in that room if he asked, and got an officiant, she was sure.

"Ok," Harry quirked one side of his mouth, and the smirk was like a really good fake purse, only she could tell it wasn't authentic. "Get tracing woman!" He stayed put, and she listened, walked to the wall, stood in front of him, and used the thin black pencil to capture just the edges of his face. She'd finished the square of his jaw, when she looked back at him. The next step was her must. Instead of asking, she walked over and loosed his hair, pressed a kiss to the right angle of his mandible and went back to get the hair. His hair, she was almost jealous it was better than hers. She wondered how they looked from behind, in their vintage flares and t shirts and messy buns. She'd set up the camera and check, today. Or tomorrow, their last day. Today, more lemonade, she'd swim in it if she could.

"Do you like it, Harry?" Jo asked over her shoulder.

He cocked his head and looked at the slightly shaded outline, the edges of him. "No, it looks, blank....but I think I'll love it when you fill it in."

Jo didn't say he may never see it. The idea was to fill it in when he was gone, he was due to go away in three weeks, and she would be filling him in before that.

"Do you want to do me now?" She asked and when she heard her phrasing she knew the face he would be wearing.

His eyebrows were up and the slice in his cheek was a crease and that left side was up, none of his bunny teeth. "Well, maybe if you ask nicely." He said nonchalantly.

"Oh yes, wouldn't want to put you out!"

"Well, I want you to put out, so..." Harry was cracking up.

"Honestly, lover, your jokes are so bad!" But she was laughing. They'd been laughing as much as possible, because every time they made love she cried. Like she had last night when he finally mentioned it.

"Baby, what am I supposed to think if you cry every time I'm inside you? I must not be doing it right." He'd said last night.

Her wet smile and eye roll brow quirk made him burst out laughing. And then her answering laugh made them both moan when it squeezed him.

"I think we both know, it's not because you don't do it right." She'd panted onto his tongue, and he'd taken her mouth and possession of her thighs until neither of them were laughing. But she cried again when he drew out her last gasp.

She'd rolled away and he'd not let her go far, but she'd buried her head in the pillow and pretended to sleep.

"Jo, I know you're not asleep." He'd rocked a little. There were words in the bed with them, like Montreal, where he was going, and Zoe, who Harry must know was coming home and they'd already had a fight about, and Ethan, Ethan was always in bed with them. Which was why she was crying, all the time, unless he was with her, but not inside her. She could smile then, and create, remember their possibilities without mourning.

When they were one, and that perfect union and it's transcendent moments pushed her beyond the moment to lost forever, she wept. Hard to ignore what you've got when you are counting down until it is gone.

He'd wipe her tears, bite his lip, look heavenward and usually stave off his own. Though sometimes the drops on her cheeks were suspect in origin.

Harry hadn't forced it that night. So she'd tried to keep herself together until she could cry herself to sleep without hurting him, more. She revolved in the bed, and watched him, the crease of his brow, puff of his eyes, pout of his lips and tried to figure out how to do this. How many times did they have to say goodbye?

She was sick to death of it. But knew she was the one to blame, had she left it be, early on, liked that other man she tried to date, or not received Harry. Had she kicked him out when he told her his plans for children, like a grown up and not a dicknotized girl, they wouldn't be here.

Once she had accepted forever, as more than just their silver haired dreams, it felt like the loss was unbearable. Why she kept putting it off and putting them through it.

But she had to bear it. For all of them.

For Harry, because she could not be with him, their future was like erased pencil on paper. The impression remained. He deserved to go into the world with his wings unclipped, so he could fly. To Montreal and wherever beyond that. He needed to make art, then a life, and then a family. And that wasn't with her, not even in ephemera.

For Ethan, because he hadn't asked her, but she had seen the plea over every inch of the skin she had knit together in her womb. Don't be with him. It hurts me, he said. It hurts. It hurts to think about. Her intuition said there were some things unhealed there.

For herself, well, that was the hardest part. Apart from Ethan, she had not much more to lose. They were out of the woods with school, his mom knew, and may disapprove but they were adults. Zoe loved him. She loved him. He loved her better than should be conceivable.

But Ethan, and her family. It would rend her family. If she tied more knots between her and Harry, she'd be cutting the apron strings to Ethan. Jo could see it. It may not happen all at once, but the distance would start as it had when she and Harry were hiding and Ethan was waiting patiently in a closet for her to come find him. Slowly, they'd know less and less about each other's lives, until she not only didn't know what he liked for breakfast, but when he took a new job or even moved. That level of exclusion gutted her.

There were other options, the worst being that instead of the slow erosion, it was a landslide. They'd immediately be brought down. Either her and Harry would get caught again, or they'd be brave and come out. In any case, the scene would be as ugly, maybe uglier, than the one in her bedroom not so long ago.

Now maybe Ethan's attack would find the right target, "How could you, you selfish bitch? What kind of mother chooses a man over her son?"

What kind of mother was she?

A bad one, and Ethan would realize. Jo had been fucking up with them since the beginning. She'd chosen bad fathers for them. For both Ethan and Zoe, and so they'd been raised by her alone. It was too big a job for one person. She did her best, but her bad choices impacted them for their whole lives. And that didn't count the daily failures of her mothering. Those were compounded because she was alone, and tired, overwhelmed. And now another bad choice for a man.

But Harry wasn't a bad man, just impossible.

That was the worst case, the best case wasn't much better. In the best case, they were honest, and Ethan, probably with Sean's hand in his own and comfort in his ear, tried to be ok with it. Took some distance and then came back around.

The specter of that idea gave her anxiety, worse than Ethan saying the horrible things her mind was always telling her.  She'd already heard those truths. The days, the long days, especially during nap time she thought about how that might play out, and that would play out. Those were daymares. She'd seen it.

Harry was hands deep in the bird and she was trying to make puddings, or potatoes, or summat.
"Baby, please calm down. And put the wine away, or share at least. It's early."

"I know, I'm just—"

"You're nervous, for us all to be together, I get it, but you'll be mad at yourself if you are wine drunk when they get here. So put it on the table, yeah?" The last directive was phrased like question, but she would have listened anyway.  And when she got to the table she was so thankful, when had he had time to set it. Even in her daydreams, Harry gave her reasons to choose him, despite the consequences.

And the consequences were more than obvious during the most tense Christmas dinner she could imagine, worse than the one when her mum had found out about her dad's mistress and was barely concealing her umbrage.

She'd never seen Ethan sit at her table with such excellent posture. Even if he was uncomfortable, she imagined she would be happy still to have him at the there this possibility must be happening next Christmas, as there was no way he'd turn up in six months. Not even with Sean in tow, which he was in her hoped for future, and his hand was conspicuously on Ethan's thigh the whole dinner.

Jo saw it for what it was, him comforting and calming Ethan, but she could see the flex of Harry's jaw over it. Which made her screw up her own brow.

But Ethan would try, and so would she, and there would be red and white on the table, she'd put the red far down from her at first. And her son would try to act natural, but he'd be full of compliments with no cheek, and everybody would know it was off.

She wouldn't help.

"Mum, this pie is so good!" Ethan would enthuse and she might without thinking say, "Oh, Harry made it."

The look on Ethan's face would suggest the pie had suddenly gone to sawdust in his mouth, but he'd finish it. And Sean's hand would be back on Ethan's thigh.

Sean, beautiful Sean, would be so prickly, because you want to protect the person you love, right? So his hand was always possessively on Ethan. And he'd snip at him. She'd never heard him bite his head off before this disastrous meal. Ethan would spill the wine and Sean would say, "Jesus Christ, Ethan! Calm down!"

Jo would catch all of the looks at Harry, this might be the first time Sean saw him in person. Though he'd probably have given him a good Facebook stalk, or she supposed Instagram. Facebook was for old people, like her. But in person, Sean could see him, and he was always a sight. Jo could see Sean silently comparing himself to Harry when nobody was looking. It was setting him on edge, and he was slouching, a new habit she'd not seen, like he wanted to hide under the table. When he snapped again, Ethan had served himself more potatoes,
"stop with the stress eating babe!" He'd grasped Ethan's wrist.

Jo watched Harry's brow really furrow over the grab at Ethan's hand. The control there. She told him to leave it, vibed him until he looked at her and shook her head. But later, when they all scattered after the meal was over and they weren't forced to talk and choke down food, she saw him edge towards Ethan while Sean was in the bathroom. She got it, knew that Harry loved Ethan, and would be concerned over this uncharacteristic behavior he was witnessing in this stupid situation. "Ethan, that was rude. Is he always rude to you? You don't deserve that! No matter what he looks like." The last part would be a bit snide, because she was sure Harry would have the same measuring stick out that Sean did. And Sean was tall, and that seemed to strangely matter to everybody, being over 6 ft, especially. Harry would be feeling wanting, though he nearly hit that strange cultural marker for masculinity.

And Ethan, realizing with Harry and Sean in the same room that they look a bit alike, would be riled. "What he looks like? The hell Harry? And no, he's the best person I've ever been with. And I love him. Now, fuck off with your opinions about my lovely boyfriend."

"Well, that's good Ethan, that's good." Harry slightly miffed he wasn't the best person would turn and she'd catalogue his expression. His brow furrowed and words pushed out like gum over a tongue.

That one would send Jo to the pantry if she wasn't worried about Sean coming out and seeing Harry and Ethan in such close proximity, so she waited.

Zoe would be ping-ponging back and forth between Sean and Harry, with little idea of the drama but amping it up. Jo didn't need to work hard to imagine the clenched jaws and poorly hidden smug looks on whoever was winning her attention from moment to moment.

When Zoe handed Sean a unicorn and Harry blurted, "That's my unicorn. He can't have it." Jo had to laugh.

But everything was funny to her by this point, because she had been nursing that bottle of wine since cooking and since she'd given up all pretense of not being out of her skin anxious. This day felt like when preschool had a lice scare, she could feel it all over her skin, even just the thought of it. So she had taken the bottle in the pantry and downed it. Hidden there as long as she could. She could taste the Cabernet in her daydream.

Ethan would catch her and take the bottle away, tell her to slow down. So then, they were not talking. As they always were about the important things. She peeked out the hinges of the pantry door at the three young men assembled at her table.

Harry watched Sean and Ethan closely and looked worried.

Sean was scowling.

Ethan was too, but in her direction.

Even when she wasn't hiding, Jo was running away as often as she could, and definitely on the clumsy side of drunk. When she sliced her palm cleaning up, and both Harry and Ethan got involved in the triage, shouldering each other out of the way, and she was left bleeding on both of their shirts, the day was finally called quits.  Jo needed stitches, seemed right she was the one to bleed, the whole dream was an oozing untreated wound.

The only person still smiling was Zoe, and that was only until Sean left. Then she cried and Harry tried to comfort her, and his face, those raspberry lips shaped around a lime.

And this was her best case scenario. The reality could be worse, or nonexistent. Even this relationship Titanic would fade to another bad case. If it went like this, she couldn't see many holidays together afterwards. She loved Harry enough to live through that sort of day, a couple times a year, and she believed he felt similarly.

But if those days weren't coming, did she love him enough, or was she selfish enough, to forego all the Christmases of tomorrow with her son?

No.

The answer was no. But all of this was for naught the angst she was conjuring. Because they had a three week deadline anyways. That was the real end, it's easy to stay away from somebody when they were an ocean away, but they were about to get a practice run anyway.

Her daughter was coming home, and that was their next goalpost.  She was missing Zoe's little voice ringing round her house. Jo missed her enough to be ready as she could be for Harry to stop coming around.

Another go on the break up merry go round. She was sick to death of it. The mirror said she looked a little like death, felt like it too, unless she had those infusions of life from Harry.

Harry. She wondered how he would take it. He hadn't like their recent conversation about Zoe.

"I can't wait until the shimmer princess comes home. It's too quiet around here without her. Not that you are dull, love." He'd assured her with his tongue literally on her cheek.  Normally, Jo would laugh at his antics and roll over to bite at his tongue.

She did roll over, but not to tease. Jo put her hands on his deltoids and squeezed before looking into his eyes. "I know you do, she misses you too. Has asked for you since... well, since..." Harry nodded so she continued, "But, I just, I just think maybe, maybe—" how did she say this.

"Are you telling me I'm not allowed to be around Zoe?" He'd taken his hands off of her and there was a Grand Canyon of space between the two of them suddenly. Much more real estate than ever separated them when they shared a mattress.

"Wait, no, I'm telling you, Harry, I just—"

"Just fucking say it, Jo! I know that's what this is! You have good reason to exclude me from your life, but as you've bluntly told me, you enjoy having sex with me. So, Harry gets relegated to nighttime again, used for his 'big dick and loving words' as always." He was pulling his trousers up, and Jo almost reached for him and tried to pull him back. She caught her hand in the air, and it looked black in the light, the opposite of a green thumb. "But he's not good enough to let around our sweet baby."

"Har-." She stopped the hitch in its tracks and let him walk out the door, put her hand down when he looked back. If he stayed gone it was for the better. It was for the better if they made the finish line then, or tomorrow, or, God she hoped she was strong enough for it to be when he left for Montreal, if her imagination was anywhere near reality, there could be no Christmases for the Smith/ Styles/? Shit, she didn't know Sean's last name. Jo'd have to ask next time she got a call from her gallivanting boy. Her mind was whirring, the way it always did when she was alone in her bed. That sleeplessness that she used to be bedfellows with, and even had when Harry was around sometimes now.

It was undeniably worse after having months of deep rest or purposeful passionate wakefulness.

She would suck it up, not call him. Let him go- it was for the best.

But her pillow was wet when he made it back to her now so long later. Jo wasn't asleep yet, she'd rushed to the window when she heard the van, but waited for him in bed, pretended to sleep. It seemed neither of them could sleep alone.

But at least she got to dream, and her mind's eye conjured gold instead of gray after he wrapped his arms around her middle and kissed her head. The sound of his foot shuffle was so comforting she forgot about blank silhouettes and making lemonade.

Lemon was the wrong color for dawn.