sculpted | l.s. DISCONTINUED

five

Harry Styles  •  Now

    The plates were brought out one by one, and placed in front of everyone at the table. The plate being set in front of me pulled me out of my own world, where I often would go to escape. I zoned back into reality and glanced down at the plate, grabbed my utensils, and began cutting up the meal into small pieces.

    "So Harry," I heard my father say. "Nice to see you in a shirt, yeah?" I kept my eyes on my food, as I placed a vegetable onto my tongue. "Wise guy over here thought it would be logical to go shirtless halfway through the exhibit," he explained to the rest of the table.

    I decided to meet his eyes, so I tilted my head up to see him at the opposite end of the long table. Lining the sides were my mother, my sister and her fiance, and an empty seat. My mother kept her eyes on the seat beside me, being occupied by the weight of nothingness. I knew she wouldn't rest until the topic of the seat's emptiness was brought up.

    "So," she began, as if she had read my mind. "Where's Ivory tonight?" I sighed, dropping the utensils on the plate and looking over at her.

    "I don't know, mother."

    "Harry... She's your fiance. You should show interest in her whereabouts."

    "Son, you really need to start putting effort into your image. You can't keep being so careless with yourself," lectured my father. "Especially with the gala so soon. Your choices affect the whole family."

    "Tell me this," I cut in. "Why are you so concerned about what I do, if you already control everything else in my life? Can't I decide something for myself?"

    "I just want you to have it easy when you take over the business one day. Being reckless in your youth will make others think poorly of you when–"

    "I don't want to take over the fucking business! I never have and you know that," I interrupted. All eyes shot at me, as a silence fell over the dining room.

    "Oh right, I must've forgotten about your meaningless little side project. I will not have a son who paints for a living. Painting is far too feminine for a man. Especially in this family."

    "Well, if he's successful, which I'm sure he would be, it could provide a great income," my mother mumbled to my father.

    "Anne, what did I just say? He's never going to be an artist, alright? Fucking drop it already," he barked.

    "Yeah, alright. Sorry," she mumbled, her face falling, as well as her volume. She returned back to cutting up her food.

    "So Harry," said a voice on my right. I glanced over to face my sister's fiance, Niall. "Any news on the wedding date?"

    "No," I muttered, shortly.

    "Hah, someone's not in a hurry," he laughed, placing his right hand on Gemma's. "Us on the other hand, we can't wait." Gemma nodded and flashed a quick smile before concentrating on her lap. "I want this one to be mine as soon as possible."

    "Ay, now that's the spirit!" My father chuckled, raising his glass of bourbon.

    "Mhm, gonna get married, then have plenty of little ones, yeah?" My sister nodded, keeping her gaze down.

    "Not in the biggest rush for the whole kids chapter," she mumbled.

    "Oh hush," Niall scoffed. "Once we have one, you'll see what I mean. Just you wait."

    "He's right Gemma," added our father. "Your mother was the same way. Scared of having kids til we had you. Isn't that right Anne?" She nodded.

    I shook my head and looked at everyone at the table. My mother, poking at her food and nodding along to everything being said. My father, laughing about something stupid. My sister, fidgeting with the sleeves of her cardigan. And Niall, laughing along with my father and sipping a glass of whiskey, which he always seemed to have.