Homing Bird

“I’m sorry, for a second I thought you said that Harry Styles is your son”.

I must have looked like a complete fool with my jaw hanging to the ground. Obviously I was a fan of One Direction. They got big right when I started high school, and I had been following them from the beginning. Admittedly, I was not as researched as most of their devoted fan base, but I should have noticed the resemblance right away. Anne had the same hair, same eyes, same nose, and same everything as Harry. She threw her head back and laughed at the reaction that I assume she’s gotten several times before.

“He really is, sweetie, I promise,” Anne replied as she patted my hand with hers. She withdrew her hand and relaxed back into her seat as I shook myself out of my dazed stupor.

“Wow, do a lot of people recognize you?” I questioned.

Anne thought for a second before answering, “Around here they do, but that’s mostly because I’ve lived here my entire life. I think I became more recognizable as One Direction got more popular. I think the weirdest I’ve ever felt was when girls started showing up to my house in hopes of taking a picture with me. That was odd.”

Anne looked back down at her phone case. A smile tugged at the corners of her mouth as she admired the boy with eyes like hers. The bakery had cleared out around us and Anne, myself, and Mary were the only ones left. It became quieter, and in that quiet moment I watched a mother miss her child. She directed her gaze out the window, clutching the phone tighter in her hand until her knuckles turned white. She clung to her phone case in a means of embracing her son. Mary walked over to a table next to us and started clearing away trays that had been left behind, knocking Anne back to our present conversation. “I just got off the phone with Harry, actually. He was supposed to come home this week, but he’s got some show in London so he can’t make it back,” Anne lamented. I stared back at her with growing sadness.
“Does it get hard having him gone all the time? And your daughter?” Maybe that’s too personal a question to ask someone I’ve just met.

“There are good days and bad days, just like anything else, but I keep myself busy. I’ve got some girlfriends that I meet with every now and then, and I’ve just begun to teach myself how to cook!”

“Oh, that sounds nice”.

“It is. I suppose you miss your family, too, then?”

I thought back to when I left my family three weeks ago. They’re used to me being an ocean away during the academic year, but we always spent a lot of time together in the summer. Knowing that I wouldn’t see them for long this summer was hard, especially on my mom. My dad helped me load my life into the trunk of my car, and my mother carefully instructed me to call every week and keep an eye on my surroundings. Even my younger brother was sad to see me go, venturing as far as giving me a hug before I left. Since then I’ve found myself feeling very lonely. I’ve spent all my time studying, thus I’ve had little time to make new friends or see much of Holmes Chapel. It’s exactly the kind of town my dad would have loved, with small shops and a quaint pub with craft beers. My mum would probably just be delighted to see me.

“Yes, I miss them quite a lot. My only friend at this point is Mary, but she can’t cook the way my mother does”, I jested, nodding my head at Mary.

Mary let the trays she was holding fall to counter with a clatter and threw her hands on her hips. “I heard that, and I’m charging you extra for your next sandwich!” she yelled, wagging her finger at me. I offered a smug smile in return.

Anne laughed as we watched Mary waddle back behind the counter, muttering under her breath about her cooking skills. She turned back to me. “Well, if you’re looking for a good home-cooked meal, you might consider coming home with me. I’m making steak tonight!” Anne eagerly offered.

“I’d love to, but I wouldn’t want to impose upon you.”
“You wouldn’t be imposing upon me!” she exclaimed, shaking her head. “Just two seconds ago we were talking about how we were lonely ladies”. She had a point there.

I thought for a moment before finally conceding. “Oh, alright. That would be lovely, thank you”.

Anne clapped her hands in excitement. It would be nice to finally eat dinner with some company. She left me with her phone number and address before hastily running out the door to start cooking. She graciously let me keep the jacket wrapped around my shirt for the walk home. I could return it to her later at dinner when I had put on a tea-free shirt. Gathering my textbooks and laptop, I waved goodbye to Mary and headed out the door.

On my way home, it hit me. I had just been invited to eat dinner with Harry Styles’ mother in Harry Styles’ childhood home. I immediately thought back to my conversation with Anne. Harry was supposed to come home this week, but he had to do a concert in London. London was only a few hours away, and a show only lasted for one night. The only logical explanation for Harry’s phone call to his mother is that Harry is a complete sweetheart and is going to surprise Anne with a visit home, and that surprise is going to come tonight. The stars have finally aligned, and the universe is going to reveal none other than myself to be Harry’s soul mate. He would waltz through the door, embrace his mother, and stop dead in his tracks as he eyes the most beautiful girl he has ever seen. It’s me, in my tea-soaked tank top, and my-

Tea soaked tank top. I’m removed from my fantasy land as I walk through the door to my temporary home and give myself a once-over in the mirror. My brown hair had been carelessly piled on top of my head, and the tea stain on my shirt made it look like my dog had peed on me. I needed to change. Walking down the front corridor, I make a sharp turn into my bedroom. Butters is sprawled across my bed with his paws in the air, and he lazily lifts his head to greet me as I move past him to get to my closet. I rifle through a jungle of sweaters and old tee shirts before coming to the back of my closet. It is there that a little black dress waits for me. Peeling off my dirty clothes from earlier, I tug the body-hugging number over my head. Smoothing out the wrinkles at the waist, I step out of the closet to admire my reflection in the floor-length mirror next to my bed. This dress always made me look like I had more boob to work with than I actually do, and I felt confident in the way I looked. I’m about to reach for my dark eyeshadow palette when I stop myself. Looking back at the girl before me, I shuffle back into my closet.

I was going to dinner with somebody’s mother, not out to a club. My chances of meeting Harry Styles, tonight or ever, were slim, and I needed to come to grips with reality. Anne was a very nice woman, and the last thing I wanted to do was give her the impression that I agreed to have dinner with her because of who her son is. She went out of her way to be kind to me, so I was going to try and be a friend to her. Shuffling again through hanging shirts, I opt for a casual blue v-neck and the denim shorts i had on from earlier. I wiggle out of the black dress and throw together my new outfit, taking care to retrieve Anne’s jacket from off the floor. With the jacket in one hand, I pat Butters on the head before leaving through the front entrance for the last time today.

When I get to Anne’s house, she greets me in a patterned apron with a spatula in hand. Her front door opens up into the kitchen, where there’s jazz humming through a speaker and something sizzling on the stove. She ushers me into her home, and I take a seat at an island in the middle of her kitchen. Her house is almost the same size as my uncle’s, but it feels more open with natural light shining through the many windows above the countertops. There are pots and pans scattered over Anne’s workstation, and I can see that the grill is smoking on her back patio. To the left is what appears to be a living room. There’s an L-shaped couch pressed against a wall with white shelves overhead. Opposite of the couch is a loveseat facing a flat screen television that’s mounted above a small fireplace. On the wall behind the loveseat is a large, framed picture of Anne’s family. It looks like it was from a while back, as Harry’s hair was still in a mop of curls. What I presume to be his sister is sat next to him, her long hair spilling over onto Harry’s shoulder. Anne and her husband are sat behind the two children with their arms wrapped around each other. Anne looks happy in the photo.

I turn to face the woman that’s working hard at the stove in front of me. “You’ve got a lovely home.” Anne turns from the pan she’s working on and smiles warmly at me. “Thank you, love,” she says quietly, turning back to the task at hand.
My gaze wanders to the patio in the back of the house where smoke continues to escape from the grill. The small concrete patio is lined with several pots of bright flowers. There’s a round glass table with a striped umbrella protruding from the center. Arranged in a circle are three plates, three sets of silverware, and three wine glasses. Yet, there are only two of us here now.

“Anne, why are there three places set at the table? I thought it was just you and I tonight,” I call out over the sound of the oven timer going off.

Removing a tray of asparagus from the oven, Anne says with a wink, “We’ll be having some company tonight, but I don’t think you’ll mind”.

Just then, the sound of a car door slamming and heavy footsteps up the front drive carries through the open windows. The sound of cars passing outside crescendos and quickly dies down again as the door is swiftly open and closed tight.

“Hi, Mum!!”

Notes