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“Darling, come to bed.” Harry hears the tension in her wife’s voice and sighs. She knows she needs to sleep, knows that if this hasn’t come together in three days, it definitely won’t come together now, and yet...she’s going to try, just one last time.
“I’ll be there soon Lou, just want to try and get this right. I promise I’ll be up though just..just another thirty minutes and I think I’ll have it.”
Harry knows that technically she can’t hear her wife rolling her eyes but she knows that sigh, and it always, without fail comes with eye rolling attached.
Lou just doesn’t get it - she doesn’t comprehend how important this is to her, and probably never will. It’s not that she’s not understanding, because she is, she’s infinitely understanding and supportive and lovely. Harry pauses from her writing as her thoughts are flooded with the memory of the time Louis punched a random women in some lesbian bar in the middle of assfuck nowhere after she’d spat at Harry and told her she wasn’t welcome because the place was “women only”. So yeah, it’s not that Louis doesn’t support her, it’s just that she doesn’t feel it in the same way as Harry does.
She opens up her journal again and chews the end of her pen as she contemplates what to write - she’d given up on writing directly in the card after her fifth attempt, mainly because Louis had hidden all of her nicest rejection cards and wouldn’t tell her where they were. Now, her journal is a mess of ripped out pages and crossed our lines and big inky smudges where her sleep deprived tears have stained the page. She places her pen against the page and starts to write.
Dear Susan
Louis and I would like to thank you for your kind invitation to celebrate the forthcoming birth of your child. As you know, we both adore children and parties, which is why it breaks our hearts to have to reject your kind invitation to this gender reveal bonanza.
Unfortunately Susan, we are unable to uphold the notion that gender is decided before the child is born because
Harry pauses, mindlessly moving the pen back to her mouth. Because what? Because it’s a cis act of violence that enforces a binary idea of gender that literally oppresses and kills people? Because gender reveal parties make Harry’s skin crawl and she knows she’ll spend the whole week after it dysphoric and upset? Because actually, Susan, you’re a bit of a tedious fucking bore and your gender reveal party will be as dry and tasteless as the shitty cupcakes I’ve had to pretend to like for the last three years of bookclub?
Harry closes her journal with an exhale of air and gently rests her forehead down on its soft leather cover. She’s not going to sleep, she’s not...shes just going to rest for a moment, meditate maybe, let the words come to her with a little more ease.
~~~~
Harry awakes to the smell of coffee and the feeling of nimble fingers massaging the space between her shoulder blades. Her neck aches something chronic and her mouth is desert dry and she’s bloody cold. Blearily, she blinks her eyes open and lifts her head. Fuck. Third night in a row falling asleep at the table.
“Morning beautiful. Let’s get you over to the sofa shall we? I’ve got pastries and I’ve brewed that good Colombian blend you like and we learnt a new technique at my massage class last week so you’re going to let me take a look at that neck. I don’t know why you insist on undoing all my good work by sleeping at the table; anyone would think you’ve got a pain kink or something.” Harry hears the smirk in Louis’ voice and bats her hand in her wife’s vague direction. She does have a pain kink but it’s bloody embarrassing to talk about and Lou knows it. Louis dodges her attack easily and cackles as she gently pulls Harry to standing.
If Harry had had more sleep, she’d be suspicious - Louis is notoriously grumpy in the mornings and only brews the good Columbian when she wants to butter Harry up or apologise for something. She’s also laid out the vaporiser on the table next to the danish swirls, already loaded up and ready to go with some lemon haze, which is normally a sure sign she’s trying to placate Harry. But three nights of trying to write Susan’s rejection letter have her sleep deprived and fuzzy brained and all she can do is relax into Louis firm strokes up and down her neck. The massage course she’d bought her for Christmas was honestly the best fucking thing.
Harry is just starting to doze off when she feels Louis plant a soft kiss behind her ear
“Now darling, don’t be mad-“ Harry tenses up at Louis’ words because of course she does . No one ever says ‘don’t be mad’ unless they’ve fucked up and honestly, she doesn’t have the time to deal with whatever this is on top of Susan’s party invite, “-shhhh baby, relax. Fucking vape would you, it’s been sitting there long enough.” Harry complies, picking up the vaporiser and taking a quick hit. God bless LA and it’s many medical marijuana stores.
“Good girl. Ok, so. Don’t be mad, but you don’t need to finish the letter. I’ve taken care of it. We aren’t going to the party, Susan already knows, end of.”
Harry stills for a moment, tears prickling in her eyes. She knows Louis isn’t really friends with Susan, doesn’t even have her number so the only way she could possibly have taken care of it is to reject the event invite on Facebook. She feels like she should fight, tell Louis all the reasons why it was so important to explain, to educate but she’s tired. She’s tired of fighting, tired of justifying her existence, tired of fucking Susan, bane of her life, and so instead she lets herself lean back into the loving arms of her wife, closes her eyes and, for the first time in days, relaxes into the warm pull of a peaceful sleep with a soft smile spread across her lips