Stress.

Stress is the first word that comes to mind when I think about being an adult. Having your own home, your own job, no one to take care of you or tell you how to live or when to do something. It's freeing, but it's stressful. Suddenly there's all this responsibility and the mistakes you make have a much larger impact on yourself and the way you live.

New York is amazing. After graduating from Columbia in the fall I decided to stay; my mother has a start-up company she wants me to head up from here, so it seemed like a smart decision. Really, it was the only decision. The woman I never before had a relationship with is suddenly everywhere; she's in New York all the time solely to visit me, without even once asking about work. Apparently that's not what her visits are for, though I don't think I"m the reason she's been coming so often.

The mess of dishes piled in my sink is enough to make me cower and run, but instead of leaving them I take the ten minutes of peace to try to clean up the disaster. My apartment is simple; the kitchen is a separate room, living room and dining area one open space with a short hallway that has three bedrooms. My room, the master, has an ensuite and the main bathroom on the opposite side of the hall is a good size. Everything has new finishes, as per my mother's doing. She made sure I had a place to live, since apparently she provides that sort of thing for all of the high-ups in her companies.

I don't need all of this, though. That is something I've come to realize over the last four years of being away from my family. All the wealth and the fancy lifestyle we lived wasn't something I chose or wanted, it was just normal. Now that I'm away from it I realize that I never needed any of it in the first place. People are more important.

When the front door of my place opens I know immediately who it is. He has a key, of course, to get into my apartment or the building any time he wants. It's a little strange, but it works for us.

"I'm in he kitchen," I call. A moment later the door swings open and Harry walks in.

"Hey." He walks around me and takes a cloth from the cupboard to start drying what I've washed. Why do they make things that can't go in the dishwasher? What is the point!

"How are you?" I ask, focusing on the suds below me.

"Good. How was your meeting yesterday?"

"Long," I groan. He laughs a little. "I'm exhausted."

"I'm sure.I meant to ask you the other day but I forgot. My mother is coming next weekend for about ten days."

"That's nice."

He nods, smiling fondly. "So I was hoping maybe we could spend some time with her?"

"Of course you can," I agree, not sure why he's asking in the first place.

"I mean all of us," he says lowly. I stop what I'm doing and finally meet his eyes. "She wants to see you, Savannah."

"Harry," I warn. "I don't know-"

"Just think about it," he interrupts. "You've refused every time and she doesn't get it. You two were so close."

"There's a reason we aren't anymore!" I argue, setting my rag down and wiping my hands dry. "I can't just hang out with her the way I used to, Harry."

"Why?" he asks, irritated with me. "What would be so wrong with that? She's not asking you for anything, she just wants to bloody see you!"

"I'm not comfortable with it!" I shout finally.

"Why are you making such a big deal about this?" he asks loudly. "You have to make this such a big thing every time!"

"Then why don't you just stop asking?"

"I'm not! You think I think it's normal? It's not, but she just wants to have a conversation with-"

The door to the kitchen creeps open, a tiny figure appearing in the crack with the door still a little too heavy for her. We stop arguing instantly, both of us taking deep breaths to calm down. Big green eyes find Harry through remnants of sleep.

"Daddy?"

Notes

SO EXCITED i was going to wait way longer to post the sequel, but i got way too excited and i had to start. so thats why this is super short, its my compromise with myself :P

please comment! what do you think is goin onnnnn
its a little obvious but whatever.

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