Adore [H.S.]

43

Samantha looks over at me, her eyes downcast. She takes a seat at the counter, her fingers running through her chestnut brown curls. "Harry's father left us when the boys were young. He was a musician; singer-songwriter type." 

"Really?" I ask, my eyes widening. "Harry is awful at singing." 

Samantha chuckles, "Unfortunately, Harry inherited my genes. He used to be wonderful but puberty hit him. Ben is the musical one of the two."

I smile and nod, laughing at the memory of Harry trying to sing in the car. It wasn't that he was terrible, he just could use a bit of work is all. "Have you and Harry's dad spoken since? I'm sorry if this crossing a boundary or-"

"Oh no, it's alright. Harry's dad and I hadn't spoken since he left through our front door. Even when we were finalizing our divorce it was through lawyers. His mother and I still keep in contact. We used to meet for coffee every once in a while but not as frequent as of late. Dylan is a great man, he really is. He just -" she pauses. Her eyes searching for the right words. "A bit selfish is all." 

I place my hand on hers. Our eyes meet, a soft smile on my lips. "You're an amazing mother, Samantha. Harry is lucky to have you." 

She sniffles for a few moments. Her eyes glistening red with a few unshed tears. She wipes them away quickly. Sitting up, she straightens her posture. "I don't even know why I'm crying," she chuckles to herself. "Alright then. Let's finish up this dinner, shall we!" 

-

The Beck residence was covered in the finest and most elegant decorations. Candles lined the grand dining table and was paired with flowers of all sorts of types and size. Colours of whites, pinks, yellows and baby blues filled the table. Spring had sprung throughout the house. 

I sat beside Harry at the table. Samantha in front of us and Mark at the head. It was an awfully large table for such a small party. From the moment that Harry had sat down he was tense. His hand was fitted in mine, but his mind was somewhere else. I looked over at him from time to time, but was met with his side profile. 

We ate our soup in silence. The clanking of spoon on bowl being the only sounds heard.  The soup was delicious. Harry's mother had done a wonderful job with it. Even though the soup was unfamiliar, the taste was. It brought nostalgic memories of holidays at home and dinners with family. 

"This is wonderful, Samantha." I compliment her on her soup. She smiles at me gratefully.

"Thank you dear." 

Harry puts his spoon down on the plate, his hand moving the now empty bowl to the side. He looks at his mother, who nods quickly. I scrunch my eyebrows in quick confusion over their exchange. It isn't until Harry grabs his plate and begins to take a piece of freshly cut roast that I understand what they were saying. 

"Isabella, tell me. What do you do with your life?" Mark's booming voice frightens me. I jump slightly in my seat, my eyes shooting up to him. 

"I am a Business graduate-" 

"From where?" He asks me, his eyebrow quirked in curiosity. His voice almost mocks me, as if it's unbelievable that a girl like me could be done university. With a Business major at that. 

"New York University, sir." He gives me an almost approving nod. 

"No Ivy league?" He smirks. 

"I was accepted to both Harvard, Yale, and Brown but decided to go to NYU instead. It seemed to fit." 

"Interesting," he takes a sip from his wine. His eyes watching me intently. "What do you plan on doing with your life?" 

I can feel Harry tense up in his seat. He puts his fork down slowly, his eyes turning to look at Mark. "Why the fucking twenty-questions?"