Blue

It rained the next day. Nonstop. I was perfectly content to stay in Harry’s charming three story white house in some random, elite part of London rather than meet his mother. It was delightful being at his place with him. Sex, nudity, laughing, kissing, touching, cuddling—all my favorite things. It wasn’t that I had anything against his mother; she was most likely charming and awesome. Harry was charming and awesome and he had to learn it from someone. The bigger issue, despite what Harry insisted, was that I was still mortified she was going to hate me. And maybe not because of the way that I looked or my overwhelming American-ness, but….Harry and I were infatuated with each other. Everyone I’d told this to (well, all two of them) flipped out and told me how wrong we were. Maybe she wasn’t going to understand either. Just wanted needed. More nay-sayers naying us.

Harry had buttered me up all day. He’d presented me with breakfast in bed, followed by a backrub. Then sex. Then a bubble bath. And then we lounged in his surprisingly elegant living room and started watching Game of Thrones from the beginning—because why not—and then ordered in Thai for lunch and took a nap. By the time we started getting ready to head to his mother’s house, I knew that he knew I was totally onto his game.

He just didn’t care.

It took him all of five minutes to get dressed (black skinny jeans and a black t-shirt) but I’d sat on the floor in his bedroom, staring at my suitcase as if some magically awesome outfit was going to leap out and punch me in the throat.

Harry sat next to me, pressing his lips to my bare shoulder. “Do you want to hear a joke?”

“Nope.”

“Come on, it’s a really funny joke.”

I pulled a black dress out of my suitcase and then, thinking again, put it back. He was wearing jeans and if I wore a dress, she might think I was trying too hard. Wait, was I trying too hard? Son of a bitch. “Hazza, I love you, I really do, but your jokes are never really funny.”

He ignored me. “What do you call a tree without a name?”

I sighed. “Seriously?”

“Come on, play along. There’s prizes.”

I sighed again and pulled a pair of skinny jeans and a red, off the shoulder fitted shirt out of my bag. “I give up.”

“A tree.”

“What?”

“A tree. You’d call a tree with no name, a tree. Get it?” He laughed, playfully nudging me in the side. “Come on, that’s a good joke.”

I pulled the shirt over my head and slid it down my torso. “Hazza, my love….don’t quit your singing job.”

He leaned over and cupped his hands at my waist, pulling me closer to him. “How about a consolation prize for my beautiful girlfriend?”

“It’s not another joke, is it?”

He chuckled, pulling a flat, brown leather jewelry box out from behind him. On the top, lettered in gold was the name Bulgari. Holding it in his hands, he took a deep breath. “I searched three countries to find something as beautiful as you….and I know the moment you put it on, it’ll look like a glass bauble.”

He handed it to me. “I just….ehm….I just wanted to get you something. I hope you like it.”

This was a lot of buildup, even for him. I swallowed hard, suddenly terrified of what was going to be in the box. Which, yes, was ridiculous. But this was Harry. He could hand me an enormous box and it could still have a diamond ring inside.

Jesus Christ.

I choked back a gasp and carefully opened the box. Inside was a white gold, chained necklace, at the end of which was a drop pendant of blue and white diamonds. It was gorgeous; delicate and simple but insanely elegant at the same time.

He took the box back from me and pulled out the necklace, carefully fastening it around my neck. The pendant hung just below the hollow of my throat. “Oh my god, Hazza. It’s beautiful!”

He beamed. “Do’you like it?”

I nodded and threw my arms around him, kissing him softly. Well. Softly at first, but the passion bubbled up and after a beat, the kiss deepened. His tongue slid against mine, tantalizing and teasing the bolt in mine. He then laid backwards and pulled me down on top of him; trailing his fingertips down to the small of my back. “It looks beautiful on you.”

“You spoil me, Hazza.”

“I try, but you usually don’t let me.” He kissed me again, soft quick kisses grazing his lips against mine. It turned me on, maybe more so than a deep kiss, if only because his lips were so soft and tantalizing. His grip tightened around my waist. “You know I’d buy you anything.”

My cheeks heated up. The few times we’d been out shopping together, especially when we were back in Los Angeles, he’d taken me to fancy designer stores and places that had like, one shirt on display and lots of buzzy, helpful people to bring him clothing samples. I’d casually looked a pair of ripped white capris with Army patches sewn on it; it was on the sale rack—for three hundred bucks. $300 on sale. No. No fucking way. I took him to Old Navy and second hand/vintage shops and bought clothes that he adored—for half as much. I’m cheap, what can I say. “I don’t want to look like I’m using you for your money.”

“I certainly don’t think you are.”

“Well, I mean, other people might. They already think I’m using you for your body.” I nibbled on my lower lip, a move which I knew turned him on. “Of course, that one’s actually true.”

He chuckled and then hugged me tightly. “I adore you, Laney love. I absolutely cannot tell you enough.”

“I love you, Hazza.”

“I love you more.”

“I love you most.”

While I finished (rather, started) getting dressed, he laid on his stomach on the bed, watching me pull on skinny jeans and red shirt. The off the shoulder cut of the shirt was perfect to show off the necklace he’d given me (and my boobs, but that was completely a side benefit). I once again took longer applying eyeliner and mascara than doing my hair, but twenty minutes and one 60s style ponytail later, Harry and I were in his sport little gray Audi, cruising to his mother’s house.

His mother’s house. His mother.

Jesus Christ.

The weather had gone from being just raining to now cold and rainy. Harry had wrapped up in a fab tan coat that matched his suede boots (I gave him the side eye on this and admitted I wasn’t sure how I felt about him being matchy-matchy. He just laughed). I wore the only jacket I had with me: a black, twill, mod jacket; a vintage piece from the 60s I’d picked up at a flea market in NOVA. Harry took the long way to his mother’s house, pointing out houses and landmarks from his childhood.

I shakily applied pink gloss. Keep it together, Delaney.

Harry chuckled. “Baby girl, it’s fine. It’s my mummy. She’s so excited to meet you, love, you have no idea. She thinks you’re amazing.”

“I’m shy.”

“You are not.” He squeezed my thigh. “I’ve seen girls turn shy the moment I speak to them. Girls cry, scream, flail, faint, turn red, say absolutely nothing. You, Laney Lee, are not shy. Remember, you took your clothes off for me less than an hour after we met.”

“Well. You were pretty convincing, Hazza.” I giggled. “You said something like, hi, and I said something like, get in my bed.”

“I think it was rather mutual, actually.” He guided the car up a quiet lane and into a wide drive, bordered by an iron fence. The house was two stories, white with neat black trim and shutters. Access to the house itself was limited by an extension of the iron gate and a double entryway. On the other side of the gate, I could see a neat herringbone path leading up to a set of French doors and, further up, a wooden front door.

Harry smiled broadly. “We’re here. Beautiful Cheshire, beautiful girl, and my mum’s house.”

“I think I’m going to throw up.”

He giggled—giggled!—and raced around the car, throwing my door open and grabbing my hand to pull me out. Dipping me backwards, he crushed his mouth to mine. “Ready?”

“No.”

He reached down and laced his fingers around mine, pulling me up the drive and through the iron gate. We weren’t even all the way up to the house when the front door burst open and a gorgeous brunette stepped outside. “You’re early, Haz! I remember a little boy who was late for everything.”

It was his mother. He didn’t even have to tell me, I could tell just by looking at her. She had the same smile, the same wide, inquisitive eyes. She was young and stunning; dressed in black slacks and a black silk and lace shirt. I was not, however, prepared for this. Where was the time to be terrified on the front stoop? The awkward seconds while we waited for her to come to the door, wondering if maybe she forgot we were coming and went on a four week trip to Borneo or something. Where was my last minute time to panic?

“Hello, Mummy.” Harry let go of my hand only long enough to pull her into a hug. She rubbed his back with her hands and, for a split second, I forgot how to breathe. They shared a love like I’d never understand, since I lost my real mom when I was so young. I honestly didn’t even remember her at this point. What was it like looking into eyes that were the same as yours?

He let her go and put his hand on my lower back, pulling me forward. “Mummy, this is my girlfriend, Laney Lee. Laney, my love, this is my mum, Anne.”

I had absolutely no idea what to do.

Without missing a beat, Anne pulled me into a tight hug. “It’s so nice to meet you, Laney! Harry has told me a lot about you. You two are adorable together!”

“Thank you.” I smiled at her, painfully self-conscious of my pierced cheeks and blue hair.

But Anne didn’t seem fazed. “You two met at a wedding, yes?”

“Yes, ma’am.” I nodded, trying to force myself to be calm. Charming. Energy, smile, personality! It’s fine, it’s fine, it’s fine. Keep it together. “I was a reluctant bridesmaid.”

“Didn’t you get thrown out of your sorority because of me?” Harry unzipped his coat and shrugged it off his shoulders, then reached out and tugged on mine. “I feel as if I corrupted you already.”

“They actually couldn’t throw me out because I’m a legacy.” I turned back to Anne, feeling as if I had to fill her in on the whole salacious timeline. I’d leave out the more interesting parts, most of which consisted of ‘and then Harry and I had sex.’ “My adoptive mother was in the sorority when she went to college so, possibly against their better judgment and definitely against mine, they dragged me in. I…um…left during the reception and apparently that was offensive to them. Whatever. I told them were they could put their opinions.”

“My favorite part of the whole thing was how much they hate me.” Harry slid my coat off my shoulders and draped it over his arm. “I don’t get that a lot from girls. It’s quite refreshing.”

“You should have heard my ‘quit this bitch’ speech. I felt like a needed a mic simply so I could throw it on the ground when I finished.” I tried to restrain laughter but it bubbled out in an awkward giggle. “Instead I was just awkwardly silent and said, well, I’m gonna go now. Peace out.”

Harry’s eyes widened considerably. “Did you cite me in your speech?”

“Not by name.”

“Did you describe me?”

“I used interpretive dance.” I nudged him with my hip. He nudged me back, his smile huge and dimple dotted. “Dork. No, I said something along the lines of ‘It has come to my attention that you felt slighted by my decision to spend time with a man instead of with you following the reception. I don’t regret it…I enjoyed every minute….and honestly I’d rather spend time with him than you, so suck it.”

He cocked up one of his eyebrows. “What would a Harry Styles interpretive dance look like?”

“Uhhh…” I stood with my feet together and tilted to the side just a bit, clasping my hands behind my back. “Then I’d wildly gyrate my hips.”

“Why aren’t you doing that part?”

“Doing what?”

“Wildly gyrating your hips.”

“Omg, Harry, seriously.”

Anne was laughing. She leaned over and hugged me again, then took the coats from Harry. “It’s good to see you smile, Haz.”

“She makes me smile.” He winked at me and then flushed slightly; this adorable, bashful smile I’d never seen before. I could see that look in his eyes—that smolder, that intensity. He could make me melt without saying a word to me. Without touching me.

I was literally a walking 1980s song. I was addicted to love. Hey, Harry, you’re so fine. You’re so fine you blow my mind. Hey Harry.

I almost giggled out loud.

Luckily, before anyone noticed, a skinny, gorgeous girl strode into the room and put her hands on her hips. She regarded Harry with exaggerated disinterest. “Hey loser.”

“Hey bogey-face.” He opened up his arms to her and she ran to him, hugging him tightly. “Are you staying out of trouble, Gemma?”

“Better than you.” She laughed and then wiggled out of his hug, turning to me. She was a softer, prettier, blonder version of Harry: large, expressive eyes, dimples, and soft lips pursed into a cheerful grin. “So, you’re his blue haired mystery girl.”

“Yes I am.”

She studied me again. After a beat, her serious expression melted into a smile and she hugged me. “You’re adorable, Laney.”

“So are you, Gemma.”

“So, everyone has gotten to know each other and you leave me out?” A mustachioed, gray haired man walked into the entryway, a newspaper tucked under his arm. “Welcome home, Harry!”

Harry hugged him quickly and then stepped to my side, sliding his hand around my waist. “This is my girlfriend—“

“Laney.” He shook my hand, squeezing it gently. “I’m who the media refers to as ‘the man who’s married to Harry Styles’ mum’. Prior to that, I was Robin Twist.”

I laughed. “And I’m the blue haired mystery girl. Actually, I’m so fond of it that I’m thinking about getting it put on a t-shirt. It makes me sound edgy.”

He motioned to his cheeks, obviously referencing the gigantic white elephant room: my pierced cheeks. “Did these hurt?”

“Not as bad as getting my hips pierced.”

“Fair enough.” He took the coats from Anne and motioned towards the main wing of the house. “Let’s eat! Harry, I’m telling you, she’s been cooking for three days straight and made approximately one pot pie.”

“Oh, I did not.” She swatted at Robin and then dissolved into laughter. “I was cooking for a fundraiser and I made one of those little microwave pot pies for a quick lung so I could run everything down to the center.”

“No, no, no, she’s leaving out all the best parts.” He held his hand up as to motion for silence. “I come home, after a long day’s work, and sitting on the kitchen floor is a pot pie. Half of it was blackened.”

“Well, of course it was blackened. It was quite possibly on fire.”

Harry was laughing so hard that I couldn’t even hear Robin’s retort. We walked to the dining room, an oddly oval shaped room with massive, exposed wooden beams crossing the ceiling above. There were windows only on one wall, but they reached nearly from floor to ceiling. It was beautiful without being ostentatious, glamorous but still charming.

Anne motioned to the table. “Harry, you and Laney sit over there and Gems can sit across from you.”

Robin must have seen me mentally surveying the room. He said, “You should have seen us trying to fit a rectangle table into an oval shaped room. The first table she bought, she made me take back to the store because it didn’t fit.”

“Then you ended up just bringing it home again.” Anne slid into the seat near Harry and dramatically rolled her eyes. “And don’t give me that excuse of the leaf in the table because I told you before you left, I’d tried the table without it and it didn’t work.”

“I just do as I’m told, Laney. Take the table back to the store, Robin. Get the boy a cat, Robin. Sometimes it’s better just not to argue.”

Anne had made sweet chili chicken, garlic mashed potatoes, and corn bread. The conversation while we ate was relaxed and comfortable; though between everyone seated at the table, we did far more laughing than actual eating. They were all a legit delight to be around. Painfully, I felt almost more at home with them than I did with my own family. Sometimes it was hard being the only one who didn’t belong.

And here, with them, I felt like I did. Nobody care that my hair was blue or my face was pierced; they didn’t care I was an American or dropped the F bomb three times in one sentence. They liked me, simply because I loved Harry.

After we’d eaten and had a rousing, Gemma-led game called ‘hilariously awkward pictures of Harry,’ Anne made a pot of tea and we moved into a comfortable living room. She and Robin sat together on a plush loveseat, Gemma in an oversized chair, and Harry and I sat together on a couch. He pulled my legs over his lap, comfortably resting one hand on my upper thigh.

I ran my fingers through his curls, apparently oblivious to his family around us. “You were adorbs with short curly hair, just so you know.”

He caught my hand and pressed my open palm to his lips. “Now that you’ve seen goofy pictures of sixteen year old me in jumpers, I think it’s only fair you show me a picture of you with your real hair color.”

“Nooooooo.” I shook my head stubbornly. “I stole them all from my mother and buried them in a box somewhere….in the Midwest.”

He leaned over and kissed the tip of my nose. “You’re a terrible liar.”

There was an awkward beat of silence and Harry slid his eyes to his family. He made a face, shrugging his shoulders upward. “What?”

Anne shook her head, a smile playing on the corners of her mouth. “Nothing.”

“Mummy.”

“Harry.”

He pulled his cell phone out of his impossibly tight jeans and pulled me to him, snapping a selfie of us. “Are you all coming to the show at the O2?”

“Absolutely.” Robin draped his arm over Anne’s shoulder, gently squeezing her. “You know I never turn down tickets to a free concert.”

“You and Laney will get along smashing.” Harry brushed loose strands of hair out of my eyes, his lips curled up in a smile. “She’s quite fond of free shampoo in hotel baths.”

“That maid offered us extra, I didn’t just fill my pockets.” I giggled as his eyes widened. “Okay, the second time I did take an obscene amount of shampoo and lotion. But the first time, I was encouraged.”

He started laughing, that beautiful ha-ha-ha that made his dimples look even deeper than normal. There was something about him at that moment, something so relaxed and happy. He’d never looked more handsome to me than he did as he laughed.

****

The sound of Harry’s voice woke me out of a deep sleep.

After the brief “holy shit, where am I and how did I get here?” panic, I remembered I was in Harry’s flat. In Harry’s bed. I lifted my head up from the pillow, squinting against the sunlight, and rubbed my palms against my eyes. My contacts were still in, my hair was….mostly still pulled back, and I was naked which, no doubt, meant we’d had an excellent time when we got back to his place.

I didn’t actually remember getting back to his place. The last thing I could clearly recall was heading out to a wine bar in Cheshire with Gemma, his cousin Mike, and a couple guys he’d gone to school with before he shot to fame. We’d had too much wine, sang team karaoke (Gemma and I declared ourselves winners), and…and…

Nope, no idea.

I snuggled down against Harry’s pillow and inhaled the scent of his cologne and shampoo. He’d been so happy and excited in the car, rattling on about how much his parents liked me and how his mom called me ‘a darling girl’ when Gemma and I had gone into the other room to look at more pictures of young Harry. Once inside the wine bar and out of the blinding flashes of paparazzi cameras, he was just Haz: laughing, singing, and joking.

Which made the angry tone in his voice all the more concerning.

I held my breath as if it could somehow help me hear him better. I could only catch chunks of what he was saying, disjointed fragments that together didn’t make sense. And just when I thought it was no big deal, he got even louder. “No, I absolutely will not break up with her. She’s my girlfriend. I love her. No. No, you can say that all you want, but it’s my life and my decision. I love her.”

My heart skipped out of beat.

That….that just was not good.

Not at all.

Notes