when i’m sixty four [edith]

saturday 17th july

Fergie lay on his back staring up at the ceiling, breathing heavily, with the flat sheet pulled just up over his hips in the heat. The curtains were drawn most of the way to block out the last of the daylight, unmoving despite the windows being fully open in the vain hope of a breeze; the noise from the city seeming louder in contrast with the quietness in the bedroom.

They had signed the sales agreement today. For a house in Keswick. A four bedroom house. (The fourth bedroom was on the smaller side, and they’d referred to it as Edith’s ‘office’, but they both knew it was another bedroom — for one day). They had submitted the offer on Monday, and Fergie had expected it to take longer, for some reason, but he only had his parents’ villa purchase to compare with. He came home from work on Thursday and Edith had received a telephone call that afternoon with the good news. They’d left Bonnie here and apparated up this morning to complete the paperwork.

And it was good news. He felt less anxious about it than he had expected. Still, something was niggling at him.

Fergie wet his lips and took a deep breath in and out. “I love you.” His voice was a little thick—from exertion—and a little quiet—nervousness—but he didn’t want to hold it in any longer. They had been together seven months, they were buying a house together — it felt real.

Naturally, the moment the confession left his lips he was overwhelmed with the worry of what if — what if she didn’t love him (yet, or ever)? What if he was rushing her? What if she’d only said yes to the house because they needed to live somewhere and— He reached across the mattress for her hand, taking it in his and hoping that if he was—rushing things—she’d be more distracted by how clammy his skin was than the fact he’d just told her he loved her.


@Edith Holthouse

It was hot out (and in)— too hot to have a conversation, to really want to have one, too hot to do anything but lay there, not talking. (It was too hot for other things, too, but they pushed through). Edith rolled onto her stomach, pushing herself onto her elbows long enough to flip her pillow over to the cool side, not fussing with the sheet as it slipped over her hips. She turned her head to look at Fergie, her lips pulling up into a small smile because his breaths were coming as quickly as hers.

They carried on not saying anything for a few minutes, but she figured his mind was drifting in the same direction hers was: the house. The house they had officially purchased earlier that day, the one that had been on her mind all day since, even during— or maybe they weren’t thinking the same thing. She would have thought she had misheard him if she hadn’t watched his lips move, but she had definitely seen—and heard—him say he loved her.

Edith’s eyes went a little wide and her smile stretched as he grabbed her hand. “Are you sure?” It was mostly a joke, though there was still the smallest fraction of her that expected him to realize the mistake he was making with her (but the fraction was getting smaller by the day). And she hadn’t realized it yet, but she had stopped making comparisons between them and Edith and Elias, sometime between when they had started talking about The Future and when they had bought a house for ‘the bedrooms’— so she also didn’t realize that she was more sure about what she was about to say than she had been before, especially when she decided now probably wasn’t the time to joke about it.

“I love you, too.” She was sure of it, hadn’t wanted to say it first. Even after buying a house together, it still seemed soon, though maybe it was only ‘soon’ on paper. Either way, she had used up all her emotional capital on the book. She squeezed his hand before she moved to lace her fingers with his.