Blue
Twelve
Good morning, beautiful. Have a wonderful day, I’ll call you later—today was awful. Missing you hits me in waves and today I’m drowning. I love you, baby girl. x H
I tucked my hair behind my ear and reread his text. He’d made it one of my favorite parts of the day: waking up to his text and reading those three words—I love you—made all the other shit worth it.
And when it came to other shit, there was so much of it, I felt like I needed to wear boots to get through it.
Somehow—no doubt the bitch upstairs—the word got out about me and Harry. There seemed to be three points of view around campus: the people who didn’t care, the people who hated me, and the people who were legit happy that I’d finally hooked up with someone. The last camp numbered less than a baker’s dozen; I could probably count them on one hand and have fingers leftover.
But, whatever. Vi showed me the shit going down online. The bad was bad, but the awful was shit. What people—so called fans of his—were saying was downright cruel. I’d read two or three lines and handed the phone back to her. Fine. I’d never heard so much bullshit about myself in all of my twenty-one years, but fine. It was horrible, but I was in an amazing relationship. Fuck them.
Because I was fucking him.
I shook my hair loose from my ponytail and rolled out of bed, stretching my arms over my head and swooping down to touch my toes. Pulling on a pair of short, Flyers shorts, I tucked my phone into my waistband and padded out to the kitchen. Vi was sitting at our tiny, drop leaf table shoved into a nook next to the fridge. “One week to go.”
“Fuck yes.” I pulled a poptart pack out of the box and hopped up on the counter. “I’m debating asking if I can take my nutrition final virtually so I can get the hell off campus.”
“Judy Clemons isn’t that bad. She’s the kind of twat who would bring a knife to a gun fight.”
“Don’t talk in cliché’s, Vi, Jesus.” I jumped down from the counter and grabbed a carton of almond milk out of the fridge. “I need to go home and pack for my trip. Plus…I have to tell my mom I’m going. She’ll shit bricks.”
“Why? Because you’re fucking a pop star?”
“Eh, you make it sound so dirty.” I smirked. “Thank you. No, I have to tell her I’m flying to Asia to be with him and will be home….at some point.”
She pointed her spoon at me (I immediately thought of Liam and inwardly giggled). “I have a hard time believe you’re going to come home. You’ll stay there with him. Hell, I would.”
She was right, but I shrugged noncommittally. “I just miss him. I miss laughing with him.”
“It’s been a week.”
“He’s a hard habit to break.” She snorted and dipped her spoon back into her cereal bowl. “You and Harry Styles. Jesus Christ.”
I again shrugged. “He’s just Harry to me. I’m not a Directioner or whatever that shit is.”
“Bullshit. You’re, like, their queen.” She rolled her eyes dramatically. “You can’t tell me that his level of fame doesn’t impress you? Not even a little?”
“Nope.”
“You’re a god damned liar.”
“I was impressed his security team dropped everything and came to pick us up when we were wasted at The Nice Guy. That’s basically the extent of it. He’s a normal guy. Out of the ordinary job, sure, but because I didn’t care when I met him, I especially don’t care just because we’re together.”
“Is he good in bed?”
“I’m not answering that.”
“That’s a first. You usually have an entertaining critique of skill and dismount.” I shrugged. “It’s just different with him. Our time together is ours, our sexy time together is ours.”
She pursed her lips together. “I’m your best friend.”
While I agreed with this statement, there was something about the entire conversation that made me feel skittish. It didn’t feel right; in the back of my mind, I knew Vi was the entertainment queen. It was her life. It was her major.
And Harry was mine.
“Nope.” I gulped almond milk from the carton. “Not even to you. Sorry, chick, but I refuse to speak in more than vague generalities. His whole life is in the spotlight. I want this one part to be just ours.”
“You’ve known this guy three weeks. Harry Styles or not—and granted, I can see the attraction based on that alone—you’re acting like this has been some kind of long term romance. This kind of shit doesn’t happen in real life.”
I shrugged. “Sometimes, you just know.”
“I don’t want to see you get hurt. He’s got,” she paused dramatically, as if trying to figure out how to break this gently to me, “a reputation.”
“What the fuck does that mean?”
“With girls.”
“Okay, good talk.” I slid down from the counter, gathering up my poptarts, almond milk, and phone. I could see where this was headed and, I was in a perpetually foul mood since I needed to get laid, I was one snark away from turning into Super Bitch. “I have to study.”
“I’m just saying—“
“I know what you’re saying and I’m not trying to argue. My point is that three weeks ago, I met a guy and I fell in love. That’s it. I don’t care about anything else but how he feels about me. I’m not going to go running around blabbing about our relationship because it’s between him and me. It’s no one else’s business.”
“Laney, it’s me.”
“I know. And my mom’s going to say the same thing; but you wouldn’t if he was just Harry from down the street. He’s more than what everyone else sees him for.”
“You’ve been with him for three weeks and now you’re going to fight with me—someone who’s been your friend since we were eight?”
“You don’t get it, Vi.”
“Explain it to me, then. Explain what makes him different than all the other guys you’ve fucked.”
“I shouldn’t have to explain it.”
“Why are you so private all of a sudden? Did he put you up to this? He only lets you sleep with him if you promise to keep it a secret? Because, I have a problem with that.”
I whirled around, slamming my palm against the doorframe. “Stop interviewing me, Vi! This is my life, not an assignment or a magazine article. I love Harry, okay? He loves me. You shouldn’t need anything else from me other than that.”
Everyone had lost their damn minds. First the bitch upstairs flipping out and spreading rumors about how I spent two weeks in LA just spreading my legs for anyone remotely famous and now my best friend interrogating me like it was the Spanish Inquisition. It was bullshit. Harry had warned me.
And he was right.
####
My mother beat me to the punch.
Even her greeting on the other end of my cell phone was in that tone. “Delany.”
“Hello, Mom.” I tossed my pen down on my packing list and flopped onto my back. This phone call was supposed to be from Harry, not Ramona Lee, comma mother, comma matriarch, comma professional guilt inducer. “I mean to text you earlier. Mr. Capelli let me take my nutritional final early and he graded it an A.”
“Is there anything you want to tell me, Delany?” She paused. “Not that the A is a bad thing, but anything else?”
I knew where this was going. My parents were strict when we were growing up, to a point, but they’d always reinforced we all be open and honest. Somehow they always knew when we weren’t and then gave us the ‘we’re not mad, but soooo disappointed’ speech. Shit. Here we go. “I love you?”
“The girls showed me the pictures in a magazine, Delany. I know about him.”
“So, I met this guy, Mom.”
“Are you sleeping with him?”
“That escalated quickly.”
“Delany,” she signed, that all so familiar sound of disappointment and exasperation, “you were in Los Angeles for two days.”
“Not exactly.”
“Excuse me.”
I cleared my throat. “I stayed in LA with him for two weeks, actually, um…so, yeah. We’re sleeping together.”
She groaned. “You missed classes for sex, Delany? Do we really have to have this conversation?”
“No, we don’t. Actually, I’d prefer it if we didn’t.”
“What am I supposed to tell your sisters? Girls at their school are asking questions—not only that, their parents are asking questions.”
“Tell them it’s none of their damn business.”
“Laney, you and I have had this fight since you were fourteen.”
My skin prickled. She had to go there. “Are you calling me a slut?”
“You just met him.”
“Mom, I’m in love with him.” Silence. I kept my mouth shut. This bullshit was hypocritical: my parents got married because my mother was pregnant with Ben. They’d dated all through college and were planning a wedding after my dad got his law degree. And then came Ben (possibly my favorite refrain). My lips twitched up into a smile but I bit it back. I couldn’t believe this conversation was happening.
“So, how is this relationship supposed to work? Joy said he’s on tour.” Her voice was even and measured; the tone she used when presenting plans to the school board or rotary club. The slow tap dance before she pounced. “I don’t want to see you get hurt because an oversexed pop start can’t keep it in his pants.”
“It’s funny you mentioned that,” I took a deep breath, “because he’s flying me to Japan next week.” Ta-daaaaa, there it was.
Silence. Again.
“So we can be together.” I continued, as if she was just quiet to catch her breath. “Because he misses me. Because he loves me.”
“Laney….sweetheart.”
“Mother, don’t even start. I’m twenty-one years old. I can do what I want and who I want it with. I want to do it with Harry.”
Whoops, so that was actually verbalized. Way to go.
“I understand that and I know you’re going to do what you want to do despite what I think, but Laney. Everything I read makes it sound like you’re a…a groupie.”
“Oh, Jesus Christ.” I pounded my forehead with my clenched fist. So, it has come to this: my mother making my sex life her business. “Mom, I’m not a groupie. And, for starters, you need to stop reading about it right now. The media blows everything out of proportion. Second. Harry loves me. I’m in love with him; I’ve never felt this way about anyone before. We just have…this connection, I can’t explain it.”
“How long did it take for you to let him in your bed?”
“Okay, no, we’re not going there, Mom. That’s between me and him.”
“Delany, I really think you need to sit down and rethink this. You don’t know him. You feel like you do, and I understand that, but you jumped into a physical relationship with someone you just met. I’m sure he makes you feel good and I’m sure you think you love him, but honey, that kind of thing doesn’t happen overnight. You need time to get to know each other; you need to find out if you’re on the same wavelength and have the same system of beliefs.”
“The attraction was mutual. I didn’t just take my clothes off in front of him.” I snapped my mouth shut; actually, I did take my clothes off in front of him but in a drastically different circumstance. “It’s deeper than just sex, mother. I’m not just with him because he’s famous or because he makes me feel good—I’m in love.” “
You’re twenty-one.”
“I don’t give a shit—“
“Do not use that tone of voice with me, young lady. You may be an adult, but I am still your mother. If I were you, I’d think twice about going to Japan to be with him. This could change your life.”
“That’s fine by me.”
“Delany.”
“Mom, we’re not doing this. We’re not having this conversation because my life changed the moment I met him. Harry and I love each other and that’s all that matters. I’m going to Japan to be with him. I’ll be fine.” She started to speak, but I cut her off. “I have to go and focus on packing. Or planning on packing, at any rate, I’ll text you or call you when I get there. Good bye, mother.”
With that, I hung up the phone.
I stared at my bedspread for several moments, trying to process exactly what just happened. Most parents were excited when their children fell in love or, at least, I assumed that was the case. Ben had dated constantly in high school and college and not a single word—not a single damn time, no matter how many girls filtered through our house—was ever said to him. But me, Delany—the blue haired Little Girl Lost—starts dating a guy in a band and the whole world goes to shit. What was the big deal? Was she worried I was going to drag the name of the elite Lees of Virginia through the mud? Was she afraid I was going to make a fool of myself in front of an expectant nation? Because, really, she was freaking out over shit that was my damn business.
The phone vibrated again. I groaned and snatched it off the mattress. What, was she ready for round two?
It was Harry.
I jammed my finger across the face of the phone and the phone started connecting to FaceTime. It was choppy for a few seconds, but then his face filled the screen of my phone. He smiled his beautiful grin, his dimple burrowing deep into his cheek. “Baby! Hello, baby girl, God; I miss you so much.”
“Hi Hazza.” Just seeing his smile and his wide green eyes; his out of control thick, curly hair was enough to lift my mood a thousand percent. “You have no idea how much I miss being with you. These last few days are going to test the limits of my patience. What time is it there?”
“Close to midnight. We just finished a show.” He ran his fingers through his hair, smoothing his bangs off to one side. “The fans were are amazing. Louis told me that, apparently, #HarrycriesforDarlingClementine is trending on Twitter. I may have teared up a little during You and I…I just miss you so much.”
“My finals are officially over. I took my last test virtually because…ah, because, and I got an A. Four As and an A minutes this semester. Winning.”
“That’s my girl.” He chewed on the flesh of his knuckle for a moment. “Why’d you take it virtually?”
“Eh, just shit around campus. No big deal.” I took a deep breath. “My mother, though, has tried to have the birds and the bees chat with me—awkward—and Vi has lost her damn mind. So, yeah, things are weird. I’ll be glad to get out of here and back to you.”
He studied me intently, his eyes trailing over my face like he was memorizing my features. “Because of us?”
“My sisters showed my mom a magazine article and I honestly thinks she’s flipping out because now the neighbors will know I’m out having sex or something, I don’t know. She’s worried about what she’ll tell the PTA members.” I rolled my eyes dramatically. “Enough about me. So, the show was good?”
“It was another sold out set. This tour might be our best yet, even without Zayn. Our fans are just so incredible,” he stopped abruptly, “except for what they say about you. I hate it, Laney love, I really do.”
“Don’t worry about it. Be more focused on the fact we’ll be together soon.” I raised my eyebrow. “Sophia texted me and said that she can’t wait to have a concert buddy for the show in Tokyo. Are you going to be offended if I wear earplugs?”
“I’m gonna keep my eyes on you for the whole show, baby girl. That blue hair, that body.”
“The flask I’ll hide between my boobs.”
“Naughty girl.”
“Ten thousand screaming girls makes me want to preemptively take a valium.” “
Actually the arena in Tokyo holds one hundred twenty thousand.” He started laughing when my eyes widened.
“How do you manage to sing in front of one hundred twenty thousand people? I almost collapsed in sheer panic walking down the aisle at Susanna’s wedding and there was only, what, four hundred people there?”
“I’m not sure, lovely. I was only looking at you.”
I smiled at him again, staring at his droopy green eyes and sweet expression. I could see the love in his eyes; I could hear it in his voice. This is what my mother didn’t understand. “I won’t pack my ear plugs, just yet.”
“I’m going to buy you a One Direction t-shirt from the official merchandise table. You can wear it to the show.” “
Mmm…how about no?” He chuckled. “You’ll wear it and you’ll love it. It’ll look amazing crumpled up on the floor next to our bed after the show.”
“Hazza.” I nibbled on my bottom lip; I knew that small movement turned him on. “I miss that aspect of our relationship, too.”
“It’s hard to get out of bed when we’re laying there together.” His eyes were smoldering with lust; it was so damn hot. “It’s a good thing you’re getting in on a Thursday because I don’t plan on leaving our hotel room for at least two days.”
####
That night I laid in bed, still wide awake long past midnight, staring up at the ceiling above me. My nerves were on edge. First Vi. Now my mom. Why couldn’t they see that it was a normal relationship under…slightly abnormal circumstances? Vi was turning it into her moment in media glory and my mother thought I was a whore. Terrific. The only people who legitimately seemed to understand were the other boys in One Direction and Sophia. Everyone else had leapt off the deep end.
I leaned over the edge of my bed and picked up my iPad, carefully pressing my finger into the search box. I typed in #HarrycriesforDarlingClementine.
The search results were overwhelming. I blindingly clicked on the first one, a link to a tweet on Twitter. Harry deserves better than a blue haired skank. And the next one: I hate that whore that’s with Harry. She’s just using him for his fame and is an attention seeker. And she’s ugly. And still another: I can’t believe Harry cried over her. Bitch already broke his heart. DIE BITCH!
There were, however, a few that were actually sweet, if not just a wee bit on the creepy side: Aw, Harry cried during You and I because he misses his Darling Clementine! He loves her so much! Or Stop the hate: he obvs loves her. Watch 2:24! Omg, THE FEELS! Or, one posted with the picture of us leaving The Nice Guy: Look how happy she makes him! How can u hate on that?? Harry’s darling Clementine!
The nice ones were fine and all, but the cruel ones still hurt. Die? Because I was with Harry? Really? How was that even fair?
I scrolled past another mean tweet: Bitch is desperate for attention. Just look at the hair and face piercing. She’s just using him. #noloveforblue
My own mother—the woman who, at least, had raised me as one of her own—couldn’t accept our relationship. Everyone had an opinion on it, everyone seemed to think there was an angle to the story. There wasn’t; I didn’t want to be a headline. I just wanted to be with him.
The hashtag #HarrycriesforDarlingClementine was trending, but it seemed like #noloveforblue was just as popular. But then I stumbled on a tweet, one that only had one word, #loveforblue, and one picture. It was simple black writing on a pink background and read, “And suddenly, all these songs were about you.”
I set the iPad back on the floor and snuggled back down against the pillows. Certain people, even those closest to me, seemed bent on making our relationship hard. But as far as I was concerned, only one thing mattered.
And that was him.
I tucked my hair behind my ear and reread his text. He’d made it one of my favorite parts of the day: waking up to his text and reading those three words—I love you—made all the other shit worth it.
And when it came to other shit, there was so much of it, I felt like I needed to wear boots to get through it.
Somehow—no doubt the bitch upstairs—the word got out about me and Harry. There seemed to be three points of view around campus: the people who didn’t care, the people who hated me, and the people who were legit happy that I’d finally hooked up with someone. The last camp numbered less than a baker’s dozen; I could probably count them on one hand and have fingers leftover.
But, whatever. Vi showed me the shit going down online. The bad was bad, but the awful was shit. What people—so called fans of his—were saying was downright cruel. I’d read two or three lines and handed the phone back to her. Fine. I’d never heard so much bullshit about myself in all of my twenty-one years, but fine. It was horrible, but I was in an amazing relationship. Fuck them.
Because I was fucking him.
I shook my hair loose from my ponytail and rolled out of bed, stretching my arms over my head and swooping down to touch my toes. Pulling on a pair of short, Flyers shorts, I tucked my phone into my waistband and padded out to the kitchen. Vi was sitting at our tiny, drop leaf table shoved into a nook next to the fridge. “One week to go.”
“Fuck yes.” I pulled a poptart pack out of the box and hopped up on the counter. “I’m debating asking if I can take my nutrition final virtually so I can get the hell off campus.”
“Judy Clemons isn’t that bad. She’s the kind of twat who would bring a knife to a gun fight.”
“Don’t talk in cliché’s, Vi, Jesus.” I jumped down from the counter and grabbed a carton of almond milk out of the fridge. “I need to go home and pack for my trip. Plus…I have to tell my mom I’m going. She’ll shit bricks.”
“Why? Because you’re fucking a pop star?”
“Eh, you make it sound so dirty.” I smirked. “Thank you. No, I have to tell her I’m flying to Asia to be with him and will be home….at some point.”
She pointed her spoon at me (I immediately thought of Liam and inwardly giggled). “I have a hard time believe you’re going to come home. You’ll stay there with him. Hell, I would.”
She was right, but I shrugged noncommittally. “I just miss him. I miss laughing with him.”
“It’s been a week.”
“He’s a hard habit to break.” She snorted and dipped her spoon back into her cereal bowl. “You and Harry Styles. Jesus Christ.”
I again shrugged. “He’s just Harry to me. I’m not a Directioner or whatever that shit is.”
“Bullshit. You’re, like, their queen.” She rolled her eyes dramatically. “You can’t tell me that his level of fame doesn’t impress you? Not even a little?”
“Nope.”
“You’re a god damned liar.”
“I was impressed his security team dropped everything and came to pick us up when we were wasted at The Nice Guy. That’s basically the extent of it. He’s a normal guy. Out of the ordinary job, sure, but because I didn’t care when I met him, I especially don’t care just because we’re together.”
“Is he good in bed?”
“I’m not answering that.”
“That’s a first. You usually have an entertaining critique of skill and dismount.” I shrugged. “It’s just different with him. Our time together is ours, our sexy time together is ours.”
She pursed her lips together. “I’m your best friend.”
While I agreed with this statement, there was something about the entire conversation that made me feel skittish. It didn’t feel right; in the back of my mind, I knew Vi was the entertainment queen. It was her life. It was her major.
And Harry was mine.
“Nope.” I gulped almond milk from the carton. “Not even to you. Sorry, chick, but I refuse to speak in more than vague generalities. His whole life is in the spotlight. I want this one part to be just ours.”
“You’ve known this guy three weeks. Harry Styles or not—and granted, I can see the attraction based on that alone—you’re acting like this has been some kind of long term romance. This kind of shit doesn’t happen in real life.”
I shrugged. “Sometimes, you just know.”
“I don’t want to see you get hurt. He’s got,” she paused dramatically, as if trying to figure out how to break this gently to me, “a reputation.”
“What the fuck does that mean?”
“With girls.”
“Okay, good talk.” I slid down from the counter, gathering up my poptarts, almond milk, and phone. I could see where this was headed and, I was in a perpetually foul mood since I needed to get laid, I was one snark away from turning into Super Bitch. “I have to study.”
“I’m just saying—“
“I know what you’re saying and I’m not trying to argue. My point is that three weeks ago, I met a guy and I fell in love. That’s it. I don’t care about anything else but how he feels about me. I’m not going to go running around blabbing about our relationship because it’s between him and me. It’s no one else’s business.”
“Laney, it’s me.”
“I know. And my mom’s going to say the same thing; but you wouldn’t if he was just Harry from down the street. He’s more than what everyone else sees him for.”
“You’ve been with him for three weeks and now you’re going to fight with me—someone who’s been your friend since we were eight?”
“You don’t get it, Vi.”
“Explain it to me, then. Explain what makes him different than all the other guys you’ve fucked.”
“I shouldn’t have to explain it.”
“Why are you so private all of a sudden? Did he put you up to this? He only lets you sleep with him if you promise to keep it a secret? Because, I have a problem with that.”
I whirled around, slamming my palm against the doorframe. “Stop interviewing me, Vi! This is my life, not an assignment or a magazine article. I love Harry, okay? He loves me. You shouldn’t need anything else from me other than that.”
Everyone had lost their damn minds. First the bitch upstairs flipping out and spreading rumors about how I spent two weeks in LA just spreading my legs for anyone remotely famous and now my best friend interrogating me like it was the Spanish Inquisition. It was bullshit. Harry had warned me.
And he was right.
####
My mother beat me to the punch.
Even her greeting on the other end of my cell phone was in that tone. “Delany.”
“Hello, Mom.” I tossed my pen down on my packing list and flopped onto my back. This phone call was supposed to be from Harry, not Ramona Lee, comma mother, comma matriarch, comma professional guilt inducer. “I mean to text you earlier. Mr. Capelli let me take my nutritional final early and he graded it an A.”
“Is there anything you want to tell me, Delany?” She paused. “Not that the A is a bad thing, but anything else?”
I knew where this was going. My parents were strict when we were growing up, to a point, but they’d always reinforced we all be open and honest. Somehow they always knew when we weren’t and then gave us the ‘we’re not mad, but soooo disappointed’ speech. Shit. Here we go. “I love you?”
“The girls showed me the pictures in a magazine, Delany. I know about him.”
“So, I met this guy, Mom.”
“Are you sleeping with him?”
“That escalated quickly.”
“Delany,” she signed, that all so familiar sound of disappointment and exasperation, “you were in Los Angeles for two days.”
“Not exactly.”
“Excuse me.”
I cleared my throat. “I stayed in LA with him for two weeks, actually, um…so, yeah. We’re sleeping together.”
She groaned. “You missed classes for sex, Delany? Do we really have to have this conversation?”
“No, we don’t. Actually, I’d prefer it if we didn’t.”
“What am I supposed to tell your sisters? Girls at their school are asking questions—not only that, their parents are asking questions.”
“Tell them it’s none of their damn business.”
“Laney, you and I have had this fight since you were fourteen.”
My skin prickled. She had to go there. “Are you calling me a slut?”
“You just met him.”
“Mom, I’m in love with him.” Silence. I kept my mouth shut. This bullshit was hypocritical: my parents got married because my mother was pregnant with Ben. They’d dated all through college and were planning a wedding after my dad got his law degree. And then came Ben (possibly my favorite refrain). My lips twitched up into a smile but I bit it back. I couldn’t believe this conversation was happening.
“So, how is this relationship supposed to work? Joy said he’s on tour.” Her voice was even and measured; the tone she used when presenting plans to the school board or rotary club. The slow tap dance before she pounced. “I don’t want to see you get hurt because an oversexed pop start can’t keep it in his pants.”
“It’s funny you mentioned that,” I took a deep breath, “because he’s flying me to Japan next week.” Ta-daaaaa, there it was.
Silence. Again.
“So we can be together.” I continued, as if she was just quiet to catch her breath. “Because he misses me. Because he loves me.”
“Laney….sweetheart.”
“Mother, don’t even start. I’m twenty-one years old. I can do what I want and who I want it with. I want to do it with Harry.”
Whoops, so that was actually verbalized. Way to go.
“I understand that and I know you’re going to do what you want to do despite what I think, but Laney. Everything I read makes it sound like you’re a…a groupie.”
“Oh, Jesus Christ.” I pounded my forehead with my clenched fist. So, it has come to this: my mother making my sex life her business. “Mom, I’m not a groupie. And, for starters, you need to stop reading about it right now. The media blows everything out of proportion. Second. Harry loves me. I’m in love with him; I’ve never felt this way about anyone before. We just have…this connection, I can’t explain it.”
“How long did it take for you to let him in your bed?”
“Okay, no, we’re not going there, Mom. That’s between me and him.”
“Delany, I really think you need to sit down and rethink this. You don’t know him. You feel like you do, and I understand that, but you jumped into a physical relationship with someone you just met. I’m sure he makes you feel good and I’m sure you think you love him, but honey, that kind of thing doesn’t happen overnight. You need time to get to know each other; you need to find out if you’re on the same wavelength and have the same system of beliefs.”
“The attraction was mutual. I didn’t just take my clothes off in front of him.” I snapped my mouth shut; actually, I did take my clothes off in front of him but in a drastically different circumstance. “It’s deeper than just sex, mother. I’m not just with him because he’s famous or because he makes me feel good—I’m in love.” “
You’re twenty-one.”
“I don’t give a shit—“
“Do not use that tone of voice with me, young lady. You may be an adult, but I am still your mother. If I were you, I’d think twice about going to Japan to be with him. This could change your life.”
“That’s fine by me.”
“Delany.”
“Mom, we’re not doing this. We’re not having this conversation because my life changed the moment I met him. Harry and I love each other and that’s all that matters. I’m going to Japan to be with him. I’ll be fine.” She started to speak, but I cut her off. “I have to go and focus on packing. Or planning on packing, at any rate, I’ll text you or call you when I get there. Good bye, mother.”
With that, I hung up the phone.
I stared at my bedspread for several moments, trying to process exactly what just happened. Most parents were excited when their children fell in love or, at least, I assumed that was the case. Ben had dated constantly in high school and college and not a single word—not a single damn time, no matter how many girls filtered through our house—was ever said to him. But me, Delany—the blue haired Little Girl Lost—starts dating a guy in a band and the whole world goes to shit. What was the big deal? Was she worried I was going to drag the name of the elite Lees of Virginia through the mud? Was she afraid I was going to make a fool of myself in front of an expectant nation? Because, really, she was freaking out over shit that was my damn business.
The phone vibrated again. I groaned and snatched it off the mattress. What, was she ready for round two?
It was Harry.
I jammed my finger across the face of the phone and the phone started connecting to FaceTime. It was choppy for a few seconds, but then his face filled the screen of my phone. He smiled his beautiful grin, his dimple burrowing deep into his cheek. “Baby! Hello, baby girl, God; I miss you so much.”
“Hi Hazza.” Just seeing his smile and his wide green eyes; his out of control thick, curly hair was enough to lift my mood a thousand percent. “You have no idea how much I miss being with you. These last few days are going to test the limits of my patience. What time is it there?”
“Close to midnight. We just finished a show.” He ran his fingers through his hair, smoothing his bangs off to one side. “The fans were are amazing. Louis told me that, apparently, #HarrycriesforDarlingClementine is trending on Twitter. I may have teared up a little during You and I…I just miss you so much.”
“My finals are officially over. I took my last test virtually because…ah, because, and I got an A. Four As and an A minutes this semester. Winning.”
“That’s my girl.” He chewed on the flesh of his knuckle for a moment. “Why’d you take it virtually?”
“Eh, just shit around campus. No big deal.” I took a deep breath. “My mother, though, has tried to have the birds and the bees chat with me—awkward—and Vi has lost her damn mind. So, yeah, things are weird. I’ll be glad to get out of here and back to you.”
He studied me intently, his eyes trailing over my face like he was memorizing my features. “Because of us?”
“My sisters showed my mom a magazine article and I honestly thinks she’s flipping out because now the neighbors will know I’m out having sex or something, I don’t know. She’s worried about what she’ll tell the PTA members.” I rolled my eyes dramatically. “Enough about me. So, the show was good?”
“It was another sold out set. This tour might be our best yet, even without Zayn. Our fans are just so incredible,” he stopped abruptly, “except for what they say about you. I hate it, Laney love, I really do.”
“Don’t worry about it. Be more focused on the fact we’ll be together soon.” I raised my eyebrow. “Sophia texted me and said that she can’t wait to have a concert buddy for the show in Tokyo. Are you going to be offended if I wear earplugs?”
“I’m gonna keep my eyes on you for the whole show, baby girl. That blue hair, that body.”
“The flask I’ll hide between my boobs.”
“Naughty girl.”
“Ten thousand screaming girls makes me want to preemptively take a valium.” “
Actually the arena in Tokyo holds one hundred twenty thousand.” He started laughing when my eyes widened.
“How do you manage to sing in front of one hundred twenty thousand people? I almost collapsed in sheer panic walking down the aisle at Susanna’s wedding and there was only, what, four hundred people there?”
“I’m not sure, lovely. I was only looking at you.”
I smiled at him again, staring at his droopy green eyes and sweet expression. I could see the love in his eyes; I could hear it in his voice. This is what my mother didn’t understand. “I won’t pack my ear plugs, just yet.”
“I’m going to buy you a One Direction t-shirt from the official merchandise table. You can wear it to the show.” “
Mmm…how about no?” He chuckled. “You’ll wear it and you’ll love it. It’ll look amazing crumpled up on the floor next to our bed after the show.”
“Hazza.” I nibbled on my bottom lip; I knew that small movement turned him on. “I miss that aspect of our relationship, too.”
“It’s hard to get out of bed when we’re laying there together.” His eyes were smoldering with lust; it was so damn hot. “It’s a good thing you’re getting in on a Thursday because I don’t plan on leaving our hotel room for at least two days.”
####
That night I laid in bed, still wide awake long past midnight, staring up at the ceiling above me. My nerves were on edge. First Vi. Now my mom. Why couldn’t they see that it was a normal relationship under…slightly abnormal circumstances? Vi was turning it into her moment in media glory and my mother thought I was a whore. Terrific. The only people who legitimately seemed to understand were the other boys in One Direction and Sophia. Everyone else had leapt off the deep end.
I leaned over the edge of my bed and picked up my iPad, carefully pressing my finger into the search box. I typed in #HarrycriesforDarlingClementine.
The search results were overwhelming. I blindingly clicked on the first one, a link to a tweet on Twitter. Harry deserves better than a blue haired skank. And the next one: I hate that whore that’s with Harry. She’s just using him for his fame and is an attention seeker. And she’s ugly. And still another: I can’t believe Harry cried over her. Bitch already broke his heart. DIE BITCH!
There were, however, a few that were actually sweet, if not just a wee bit on the creepy side: Aw, Harry cried during You and I because he misses his Darling Clementine! He loves her so much! Or Stop the hate: he obvs loves her. Watch 2:24! Omg, THE FEELS! Or, one posted with the picture of us leaving The Nice Guy: Look how happy she makes him! How can u hate on that?? Harry’s darling Clementine!
The nice ones were fine and all, but the cruel ones still hurt. Die? Because I was with Harry? Really? How was that even fair?
I scrolled past another mean tweet: Bitch is desperate for attention. Just look at the hair and face piercing. She’s just using him. #noloveforblue
My own mother—the woman who, at least, had raised me as one of her own—couldn’t accept our relationship. Everyone had an opinion on it, everyone seemed to think there was an angle to the story. There wasn’t; I didn’t want to be a headline. I just wanted to be with him.
The hashtag #HarrycriesforDarlingClementine was trending, but it seemed like #noloveforblue was just as popular. But then I stumbled on a tweet, one that only had one word, #loveforblue, and one picture. It was simple black writing on a pink background and read, “And suddenly, all these songs were about you.”
I set the iPad back on the floor and snuggled back down against the pillows. Certain people, even those closest to me, seemed bent on making our relationship hard. But as far as I was concerned, only one thing mattered.
And that was him.
Notes
Love the comments! Keep them coming!!
Have loved this story from the beginning! Miss the updates! Hard to be "into" the story when it is so long between updates....
3/14/16