Page 84 of The Unlikely Pair
What are Harry and I now? Enemies that mess around. Instead of fuck buddies, do fuck enemies exist?
I push myself up and extract myself from the blankets, trying to avoid Harry’s gaze.
How will we relate to each other in this new regime of honest feelings we agreed to last night?
As we pack up, it seems like silence and exchanging perfunctory comments with each other is the answer.
We set off downstream because we’re still following the notion that all rivers must lead somewhere.
It’s sunny today, and my mood lifts. As we round a river bend, a chirping sound fills the air. A jay hops along the riverbank, its vibrant blue feathers a stark contrast to the muted greens and browns of the surrounding foliage. Without thinking, I whistle back, trying to mimic its song.
“What are you doing?” Harry’s giving me a weird look.
“Didn’t you know? I’m a fairytale princess who attracts woodland creatures with my kind and gentle personality.”
Harry raises his eyebrows. “And what am I in this scenario? The handsome prince?”
“You’re my annoying talking animal sidekick,” I reply.
Harry’s lips quirk up. “I’ve been called a lot of things, but that is definitely the first time I’ve been called that.”
I throw him a grin before whistling again. The jay comes slightly closer.
Suddenly, I hear a sound that falls somewhere between a drowning cat’s last meow and a rusty gate hinge in desperate need of oil.
I spin around to stare at Harry. “What are you doing?”
“I’m whistling.”
“That doesn’t sound anything like a bird,” I say.
Harry looks affronted.
“I’m sorry. Does me insulting your bird-calling ability offend you?” I ask.
Harry’s about to instantly deny it, but then he pauses.
“Slightly,” he says finally. “Although admittedly, not much of my ego is tied up with my bird-calling ability.”
“That’s probably a good thing,” I say.
Harry’s lips give another upward twitch.
“Do you find me funny?” I ask curiously. I want to take advantage of this honesty thing we’ve got going on, and I’m fascinated to know what Harry actually thinks about my sense of humor.
He rubs his jawline, his fingers rasping against the stubble like he’s contemplating how to answer me. “You can occasionally be amusing. When you’re not using humor as a defense mechanism,” he says finally.
“Why don’t you like me using humor as a defense mechanism?” I ask.
Harry shrugs. “I suppose I find it somewhat unsatisfactory that I’m not being presented with your authentic self. It leaves me feeling rather…cheated, in a sense.”
His words stop me in my tracks. The idea that Harry wants to see the real me flabbergasts me. The sincerity in his voice, the raw honesty of his admission, make me feel exposed.
“I can teach you to whistle if you want,” I say, trying to cover my confusion.
“Really?”
“Yes. I’m sure you’re not beyond hope.”
