About (Harry Styles)

8

"Mom!"

I wave my arms crazily in the air to the stout woman behind the gate. She's holding a white sign that reads my name as she stands next to her husband. They don't look any different from the last time I saw them.

He is always wearing suits since he's a successful lawyer in the area and my mother's taste in clothes has revolutionized dramatically since her divorce. She used to shop at Goodwill, but now that she has him, it's all designer for her.

Rushing through the small crowd to them, I only manage to bump into a few people.

"Welcome home!" She says as she opens her arms wide. I wrap my arms around her shoulders and sway us back and forth. I adore the fact that my mom is not so thin. She has never really lost the weight from when she was pregnant with me.

Her never ending changes in expensive perfume fills my nostrils and I wonder how long it took for her to pick which one to wear this morning.

I missed her, in some sense. I mean, she is my mother. I'd be completely heartless if I didn't miss her.

We called each other every night in the very beginning of the semester but naturally over time, every night became every week, then every week became every two.

I didn't mind. I was used to it. It was always like this. We pretend to be close and overly affectionate in public but behind closed doors, there's a distance neither one of us will acknowledge.

"You look thinner," she says as she pulls away. "Did you get sick?" Her hand rests on my forehead and I chuckle, gently pulling her hand away.

"No, I took care of myself very well."

"You mean, Marco took care of you," my best friend appears from beside me and I completely forgot that he was with me. "I paid for most of your meals."

"Thank you so much for looking over her, Marco," my mother's husband says as he walks around my mother to give Marco a handshake. "I hope she wasn't too much trouble."

"Elaine is never any trouble," Marco responds.

I ignore the growing irritation at their words. It's as if my mother's husband thinks Marco and I were a married couple. Maybe I'm thinking about it too much but it still bothers me. I'm just glad they accept Marco as my friend. Mother was so overly elated when she found out that I finally had a friend. And the fact that my friend is a boy, excites her even more.

My best friend and the lawyer share a few words and I am forced to listen to my mother sputter on about her new steal at Saint Laurent. She says she refuses to wear the purse because she's afraid it might get ruined. She never used to care for brand names but ever since she remarried, she gradually became the stay at home mom who watches soap operas and obsesses over New York Fashion Week.

We continue on to baggage claim after Marco explains that his foster parents are busy with their lodge. That's why they couldn't pick up their son.

I think it's ridiculous.

Marco is their only son, only child for that matter, and for them not to show up at the airport and pick him up personally after a few months of his absence is intolerable. Just because you have a little villa to run is no excuse.

But it's just my opinion.

I've told Marco that many times. That I don't like the way he's neglected by his foster parents, but he always brushes it off with a laugh, saying that he turned out completely normal.

I can't really argue with that. Other than he's an over generous genius slash robot.

...

We drop Marco off first. He lives on the east side of this dead, little town as well as we do. This side of the river is considered the wealthy side while the west side is labeled as the 'ghetto' side. There are parts of the city that doesn't fit that stereotype but that's what I grew up knowing.