Chapter 15: The morning after

                                    

                                          


                          
I remember asking him to marry me when I was a child, but I always thought France said yes because he didn't want to hurt my feelings. Did he remember that day? Does he still think we are married?
                          
Suddenly, a sharp pain runs through my temples. I try rubbing them with my hands, but it does help. I sit up on the couch and place my feet on the ground. 
                          
..wait...
                          
HANDS! I have hands again! And two feet! I'm human! The antidote worked! I'm sure glad I don't have to live another day as a cat! I feel every part of my body, feeling relieved that I don't have to shed fur anymore. I soon look down and see that the potion didn't transform my clothes with me. I reach for a blanket on the other couch and tie it around my waist.
                          
The room looks different from this angle. Even though the same objects stood in formation, something about the refreshing early morning glow on the walls and the cool air on my skin that created a gentle feel of the house.
                          
I look around the house I have spent the past few days in when I notice picture frames in the hallway leading to the bedroom. I don't think I've recognized them before, but my curiosity compelled me forward.
                          
Only 3 metallic frames with whorling designs hang on the wall. The oil painting on the left depicts me in a rose garden with an amused face. I sit in a chair with my hands the armrests. I gave this to him after the French and Indian war to rub it in his face that he couldn't defeat me. I smile that he kept the painting I used as an insult.
                          
The picture on the far right presented me in my teenage years. I held a bow and arrow in my hands getting ready to aim as I looked up to the left corner of the painting. This was another painting I sent out of spite during the middle ages.
                          
The domestic picture in the center depicted France and me when we first found America. We promised to raise the boy together and got our portrait painted like a happy family. 
                          
A gasp rises from the other side of the hallway. France stands there in his pajamas stunned by the sight of me. I try to act normal as if I didn't see him cry over me. "Good morning."
                          
Without a word, he runs to embrace me. I feel his tears on my shoulders. I don't say anything for fear of saying the wrong thing. I just hug him back and enjoy the moment for a few seconds. Between the tears, he managed to say,"Please don't leave again." 
                          
"I won't, it's ok. I will never let go of you no matter what." I opened the floodgates with that one. His tears flowed out and his hug became tighter. Serenity washed over me as I kissed his head.
                          
We stood in the hallway embracing each other for a few more minutes before I broke the silence.
                          
"Do you think you have any clothes for me to borrow?"
                          
~~
                          
"Wait.. so you were, like, the cat France brought with him?" America spewing the food in his mouth every time he talked.
                          
"And you were the cat that I played with! Did you like the movies we watched?! I liked the one with..."
                          
"Sealand, please lower your voice," Finland said as he wiped food from the boy's mouth.
                          
I decided to through a dinner party with the American brothers and the Nordic family that helped me. Norway declined the offer with his excuse of,"a lot of work to get done." Despite the absence, it was a ruckus. Everybody talking at once and asking questions about being a cat.
                          
The only person that remained quiet the entire party was France. He sat in the chair next to mine at the roundtable. He rested his chin on his hand and stared directly at me with a warm smile. Every time I looked at him, my eyes quickly jolted away and I could feel my face beet red. I tried to avoid eye contact at all possible measures, but he continued to admire me even if I didn't return the gaze. 
                          
"You know, mon cher. You are really bad at hiding emotion and expressing them." My defensive attitude stopped me from looking at him. "I love you, England."
                          
"..i love you too.," I whispered under my breath, still not facing him. He grabbed my hand under the table and I could feel fire on my face.
                          
"Wow, looks like Papa England is a tomato," Canada spoke out with a smile.