I let my head fall onto Harry's shoulder, burying the side of my face into his neck and closing my eyes. My hands wrap around the side of his stomach, easily being able to feel all the muscle that moves with each heavy breath underneath.
We stay like that, in silence, for what feels like a long time, until Harry decides to speak.
'You, my darling, you're..what do they call it?' He breathily laughs, purposely drawing out his sentence to tease me. I guess I deserve it after jumping his bones in a car. 'You're..horny.'
'Me? No, I don't think so.' I reply, keeping my tone neutral, nestling closer into his neck to find a place that's comfortable.
'Well, you know, I did just get railed to death in my car.' He states, moving his hands to my cheeks and lifting my head so I'm forced to look into his eyes. 'So yes, you're horny.'
'And you're quoting your own SNL skit.' I argue, looking at him with squinted eyes while his hands move to rest on my hips. I won't be addressing that observation from him. He's squishing my cheeks with his hands, and he's certainly not taking my retaliation seriously.
'I'm also putting your dress back on, so you can return to your seat with intact modesty.' He replies, squinting his eyes to match mine as though we're in some sort of showdown. He continues with his squinted look, moving his hands to fumble in the dark, finding the arms of my dress that lays around us.
While I feel him trying to figure out where the arms are, his eyes look up at his hat on my head, and then flick back down to looking into my eyes. It takes me a few seconds to realise that he's making no arguments towards me taking his hat off, and he just made a conscious decision to not take it back, despite putting my dress back on.
'You think that me wearing your hat is hot, don't you?' I question, a smile playing on my lips and head cocking to the side in curiosity, while my arms slip into the ruffled sleeves. 'What do they call it..a turn on, I think?'
A smile slowly spreads on his face that I can only just see in the dark of the car, and the green in his eyes start dancing with something like humour. He smiles a tight lipped smile, knowing he's just been caught, with his eyes moving only once more to look at the hat sitting backwards on my head.
'Mm, very interesting.' I hum, wrapping my arms around his neck, bringing myself close enough so our faces are inches apart. 'That would be..Sophie, one, and Harry, zero, would it not?'
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Whilst the idea sounded like a good thing to do in the moment, sitting with my legs wired shut in a car for 15 minutes was a real downside to my impulsive behaviour.
So, upon return to our humble abode, I frantically scurry to the bathroom to shower, but just as I get the water to the perfect temperature and step in, the bathroom door opens. It reveals a wild Harry Styles, in his natural habitat, watching me in the shower.
'Get out of here, peeping tom.' I order, not making any effort to look at him, busy getting my hair soaked under the water. I can guess that he's standing there and smirking, and that stupidly perfect smirk was the thing that set me off, and is also what landed me in the shower right now.
'We just had sex in a car, and now you're calling me a peeping tom for seeing you naked in a shower?' He asks, moving forward to sit down on the edge of the bath and resting his hands there. 'Are you using me for sex, Miss Lawson?' He queries. I laugh at that, and opt to take inspiration from him, sticking my middle finger up in his direction.
'It's not like you're complaining.' I defend, turning around to find my shampoo bottle. I hear his laughter coming from behind me and feel his eyes on my back, and that's always intimidating, because he's him.
'That's true.' He laughs, still watching me when I turn around. Slowly the laughter dies, and the room becomes filled with only the sounds of the pouring water.
After I've washed the shampoo from my hair and wiped the water away from my eyes to look back at him, his head is turned down and his brow is furrowed.
'Well, I just came to say hello.' He smiles gently, cutting through the silence and then abruptly stands up and runs his hand through his hair. It's not uncommon for him to stay near me throughout the day, and I think it's just because he likes to be close. But right now, after that silence and despite the teasing that just took place, I feel like he might not be in here just to be close.
'Harry,' I say, poking my head outside the shower as he starts walking out of the bathroom. 'Are you okay?'
'Yeah.' He answers, turning around to look at me. 'Just wanted to talk to you about something, but the shower might not be the time.' He laughs lightly to himself, and gives me one last small smile before turning around and disappearing.
Of course, his statement has me wondering for the rest of my shower. We're learning to communicate better after what happened when we didn't, and I love him for being able to tell me he wants to talk, but I have a tendency to panic spiral, and while I'm not doing that right now, I have no idea what he might want to talk about and part of me is rather nervous.
Once my shower is done, I leave my hair to air dry, changing into a white pair of lululemon leggings and his Columbia hoodie, which I conveniently washed and dried this morning after his run, in an attempt to distract myself from feeling like I was going to throw up.
He isn't in the bedroom and I know we need to talk, so I traipse downstairs to find him in the kitchen, cooking dinner. There's a tray of pumpkin sitting on the counter and he's washing spinach, like the good vegetarian, or specifically, pescatarian, he is. He hears me walk in and puts the bowl of spinach down before turning to me, his eyes landing on the white of my leggings and his hoodie. He freezes for a few seconds, and then walks over to me and wraps his arms around me, his cheek resting on top of my head.
'You're beautiful.' He sighs contentedly, kissing the top of my head, my heart stirring at the simple words. I look up at him, and he looks down at me, with those pretty green eyes. I take in the way his unstyled curls fall around his face, and the way his eyelashes ghost over his cheeks. The tiny smile playing on his perfectly shaped lips, and the nose that I know he loves to be kissed. He looks so..pretty, I think is the word, but nervous too, and I know it's about what he wants to talk to me about.
'Just like you.' I reply, wrapping my arms around his torso. He smiles shyly, like he isn't used to being called beautiful, and then presses his lips to my forehead and kisses the bridge of my nose.
'I want to talk to you about something.' He says against my skin, taking a deep breath. I knew this was coming, and that's the whole reason I'm down here, but it doesn't make me wonder any less. 'But I'm not sure if it's going to..hurt you.' He mutters, trailing off on the last part.
'That's okay.' I reassure him with a small smile. 'We're learning to talk openly, and I'd rather be upset now, than never know what you want to say. I'm not always going to be happy about everything you say.'
'Yeah, okay.' He nods against me, laughing lightly at my last comment. His laughter diminishes some of the concern I had about this conversation, and I let myself smile as he scoops his hands behind my thighs and lifts me up, carrying me bridal style towards the living room.
'This must be serious if you think I can't walk to the couch myself.' I smile, partially using it as a coping mechanism, as he places me down on the couch and sits me in his lap. I'm small enough to fit perfectly into his lap, with my elbow resting on his shoulder and my hand in his hair, his arms around my side.
'I've been thinking about getting a new assistant.' He blurts out, almost as though he decided it would be best to just get it out than lead into the conversation. 'I'm not firing you.' He quickly adds in, obviously trying to cover for the fact he thinks he's upset me. Considering the breakdown I had in Sydney at the prospect of him wanting a new assistant, I'm taking this surprisingly well. If anything, I'm just interested to hear why.
'Well, I'll tell you first that I'm not upset.' I reply with a smile, and my hands running through his hair. He looks shocked that I'm not upset, which might be the biggest insult out of all of this, but I can't blame him after my reaction in Sydney. 'But, can I ask why?'
'I..I've been thinking about it, and I know that you haven't told me anything like this, but your blog is big. I know it's much bigger than you..make it seem, so I can guess that you're getting much more attention for it than you're letting on. I know how some of this stuff works, and I can guess that there are a lot of people wanting to speak with you or work with you, because of it.' He explains, trailing off in thought.
I give him time to collect his thoughts, wanting him to continue. I think he's got more to say, but he's hesitant on continuing, probably in fear of hurting me.
'Most importantly, you love the blog, and you love writing it. I want you to be fulfilled in what you're doing, and I'm not sure if being my assistant does that for you. I want you to have time to work on the blog..or do whatever you want to do, and being my assistant and being at the studio takes up a lot of your time.' He says, and as I watch his lips move as he speaks, I smile at the words coming from them.
I lean forward and kiss the side of his head, out of appreciation for what he's saying. He's been thinking about this with me in mind, and about the future that he knows I want.
'I can find another assistant, but I can't find another you, and I want you to be happy, in the way that you make me happy.' He adds in. 'And I could be wrong.' He says, tracing a pattern on my knee with his fingers. 'But I just think you've outgrown being my assistant.'
I never planned to be an assistant, or to be an assistant for as long as I have been, but it happened and I wouldn't change it for the world. From the very first second he appeared in my life, the night I drunkenly applied to be his assistant, he changed everything. He gave me a life filled with music and spontaneity and screaming fans and constant travel, and 16 year old me would have been certain she'd hate it, but I've grown to love his world, because of him.
I grew up living on lists and plans and schedules, and a huge portion of my time in highschool and college was spent reading, and studying and memorising, doing everything I could to get into Columbia, my dream school, and then graduate with honours and do my PhD, like I had always dreamed of doing.
But, one day, as fate would have it, I applied to be a 'prominent young male musician's' assistant before I got to do my PhD. It was a drunkenly spontaneous dare, which was very unlike me to get involved in, but maybe that was his influence already seeping into me before I even met him.
And just like that, he hired me for reasons I'll never understand, and flipped my every plan on its head without even trying. I didn't realise it until I found myself in Jamaica, staring up at the stars with him laying beside me, telling him about how I was nearly named Anna and how I don't like turbulence because it makes me feel like I'm out of control. He listened, like he always has, and as the stars became brighter in the sky, he told me that the Hebrew tattooed on his arm spelt Gemma, and I told him I'd never get a tattoo because it would be on my body forever, but then I did get a tattoo, for him.
And so, as our nights staring at the stars in Jamaica became an album, I explored the world with him and watched him sing to arenas, all while simultaneously making sure his schedule was perfect, sourcing his dry cleaning and whatever else he wanted or needed. Slowly he gave me some of his unfaltering boyish youth mixed with the wisdom he holds far beyond his years, teaching me to pay more attention to the present, instead of always thinking of what that meant for the future.
And as touring the first album became touring the second, I found myself in a hotel room in Australia, arguing with one of the biggest musicians in the world over who would sleep on the bed and who would sleep on the couch, only to both sleep on the bed and for me to wake up the next morning with my body pressed against his.
And because of that one morning and the feelings it stirred, I tried to push him away. And because of that, I listened to him yell at me, and saw him get drunk, and thought he didn't want me as an assistant, and watched him cry on stage about a song that was for me, and then watched him go on a date with a girl I'd never even met.
And as I pushed him away, I fell back into the old Sophie. Irrational, uptight, permanently stressed and overly emotional. The wool had been pulled from my eyes and the floor fell from beneath my feet, because I was in love with him, and that feeling had crept from hidden deep within my heart to constricting my throat during every second of every day.
But like he's always able to do, he took the hands off my throat and took my heart in his hands instead, when he came to the door of my hotel room. Everything changed when I kissed him in that dark hotel room with tears on my face. The adjacent rooms became the same room, his bed became our bed, and one day, I willingly let my heart become his.
I grew up watching my parents, who were always so in love, and for the first time I had the love I'd always admired. I found Harry, or more, he found me, and every love I ever wanted suddenly became mine.
And with that, came a stronger version of myself. Him and his endless love changed the simplest things, like my uptight obsession with always having to dress formally, to the more important things, like the insecurity that festered while I convinced myself it was Camille that he still loved.
So along with his love, he took me from panicking about a Hollywood Fix interview to having the confidence to go to Paris Fashion Week and be photographed by hundreds of people and the youthfulness to see the humour in a leaked video of Louis and I being the gust of wind to blow down Leslie's house of cards.
But despite all that, the beginning of the end started when he decided to go back to where it all began with Louis, Liam, Niall and all the enthusiasm in the world, and that dream quickly became a nightmare. My world started slipping through my fingers while I watched it happen, and all of his dreams with his best friends started falling apart. I stood in the doorway of my apartment and watched his tired body crumble to a heap on my couch, and I felt my heart shatter inside my chest.
And it sat broken in my chest while I read the most beautiful letter I'll ever receive, and it stayed broken when his cries ripped through every part of me on his hospital bed.
But as he's always going to do, he healed, and the shattered pieces in the cavity of my chest healed too. We're better now for it, I think.
And so his house became our house, and I gave him the love I didn't when I thought he didn't want it, and he vulnerably gave me every part of him I'd craved to see. We went on to write more music and more blog posts and make donations to children's hospitals and send sunflowers to Zayn and Gigi for the birth of their daughter, and like Harry always says, to give and choose love.
And now we're here, and I'm sitting on his lap in the middle of the couch, in the house he let me call ours, and I'm realising that maybe it is time for me to move on from being his assistant. After all of that, maybe we're ready for the next chapter.
He's right that the blog gets more attention than I give it credit for. Because I work for him and don't have all my free time to devote to it, there are a lot of partnerships and opportunities I haven't given enough attention to. That's not his fault, but he's correct in his assumption. So, he's right to bring this up, and that's not only because of the blog, but also because maybe an assistant shouldn't be a girlfriend too.
'Sophie?' He asks curiously, pulling me out of my reminiscent daze. 'Come back to me.' He says, pressing his lips to my cheek.
'Sorry.' I laugh, still in a daze. 'I think maybe you're right. If I'm honest, I haven't really thought about it, but I know that my priority isn't working for you, and yours probably isn't on me being your assistant. I think..I think you should have someone who is solely focused on working for you and your career, and someone who can give it all their attention.' I decide. I feel bad, like I've taken advantage of my position as his girlfriend and been a terrible assistant. But, I know that in reality, I've done everything he's ever asked, and I've been happy to, but maybe it's time to start pursuing my own passions. While I don't have any objections to being his assistant, it's true that it has prevented me from pursuing the blog fully, but the blog and being his girlfriend has also prevented me from being the best assistant. And because of that, maybe he's right to start this conversation. My attention isn't on being his assistant, and his isn't on me being his assistant, and he should have someone working for him who is completely focused on their job. I'm fortunate to make enough money from the blog, even with half going to the charity, that it would be fine for the blog to become my only job. 'This means I'm becoming a full time blogger, doesn't it?'
'If that's what you want, yes.' He says, smiling. 'I want you to know that this isn't because I think I should have, or think I deserve someone better. I want this for you.'
'I know that, and I appreciate that you're thinking of me. More than you realise.' I reply, pressing my forehead to the side of his head. 'As long as I get to pick your new assistant, I think it's a good idea.'
'That's a deal.' He laughs. 'I will say, I'll miss having an excuse to bring you with me everywhere, but I want you to grow and experience every opportunity that the blog gives you, without worrying about my..shit.' He says, before going to speak again with curiosity in his voice. 'Where did you go for those 3 minutes when you didn't say a word?'
'I was just reminiscing on how we got here.' I admit. 'Our story, if you will.' I laugh, feeling his eyes on me as I look down at the rings on my fingers. 'Do you think anyone would read it if we were an actual story?'
'Well..uh, I think that because I would star as the..knight in shining armour type character, lots of people would read it.' He comments, pressing his nose into my cheek while I laugh. 'I think we could fit it into about 50..or maybe 55, chapters.'
'It's cliche, though. An assistant falling in love with her boss is basic.' I say. 'Who would want to write such a cliche story, even if it's about pop star Harry Styles?'
'Mm..someone pretty cool, I'm sure.' He answers simply, with a smile on his face.
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I wake up, for the second time the next morning, to the sun peaking through the curtains and an empty bed. I would have liked to have woken up with my head resting on a black inked swallow, but he's on a run that I declined to join in on an hour ago. Despite that, it doesn't take long for me to realise that him on a run is the least of my problems, because there's a very sick feeling in my stomach and a serious need to throw up in my throat.
This is exactly how I felt yesterday after I smelt that milk, but it's worse this morning and before I can think about it for much longer, I make the decision to rush to the bathroom because I'm not going to throw up in a bed.
I lean over the sink with my two hands on either side, trying to gulp away the feeling once I'm in the bathroom. I'm doing everything I can to avoid throwing up in the sink, but I refuse to sit with my head over the toilet.
This feels just like a hangover, minus any of the drinking or partying that is supposed to accompany a hangover. I continue to take deep breaths and focus on the cold counter under my hands instead of the queasiness swirling in my stomach.
When I'm hungover, I always find that brushing my teeth makes me feel a bit fresher, and less like I'm going to throw up, so that's what I do. But unlike what I was praying for, I don't feel any better after brushing my teeth.
So I return to my position, clutching the bathroom counter and shutting my eyes and trying to stop this nausea.
Before long, the angelic voice of a slightly out of breath Harry Styles appears in the door.
'Sophie, I was wonderi-' He starts, before stopping. 'Oh darling, are you alright?' He comes up to me, tilting my cheek so I have to open my eyes and look into his.
'I've been better.' I answer, attempting a joke, focusing on taking deep breaths and returning my head to its hanging position. His hand meets the small of my back, comfortingly rubbing circles. 'I'm nauseous..again. Like yesterday.'
With my closed eyes, I can't see anything, but I feel his body go rigid beside me after a few seconds, and the hand freeze on my back. I can feel the air in the room changing.
'Are you okay?' I ask as gently as I can, given my state, keeping my head down because I think it feels better like this. He doesn't respond to the question, just starts speaking at a frantic pace.
'Sophie, are you..do you think you're pregnant?' He asks, which causes me to snap my eyes open and look at him.
'No. No, of course not.' I quickly reply, already annoyed thqt he's even bringing this up when I'm not in any state to be having this conversation. I'm not ready to be a mother yet, and there's no way I'm pregnant. I'd let him and our baby down. 'I'm on the pill, so no, I'm not pregnant.'
'The pill doesn't..sometimes it can fail.' He replies, knowing he's treading on thin ice. It's not that I don't want kids, because I do, but I can't be pregnant and I don't want to have this conversation and I feel like I'm going to be sick.
'Where are you even getting this from? I'm not pregnant.' I bite. I know I'm being a bitch, but I'm annoyed and this is one of the many reasons I couldn't be a good mother right now.
'I..there have been a lot of things lately and isn't this..like, morning sick-'
'Stop it, Harry. I'm not pregnant, end of conversation.' I snap, cutting him off before he can finish saying what I know he's going to say. I can't be a mother right now, I'm just not ready.
I look down back down at the sink, keeping my eyes open but unable to look at him. That is, until I feel his unfaltering gaze on me. When I turn to look at him, he's staring at my stomach, which is fully visible from the white bralette and white shorts I'm wearing.
'Stop! Stop looking at my stomach, I'm not pregnant.' I plead with him now, turning my body away from him so he can't stare at me.
'I'm sorry, baby.' He murmurs, reaching out to touch my back again.
Something about that just makes me want to cry.
'I'm not..I don't want to make you upset.' He continues quietly, and that makes guilt start eating away at the annoyance. 'I'll get you water.' He says so quietly that I can only just hear.
When I turn around and look up at him, he's looking at me with hurt in his eyes and he takes a deep breath and turns around, walking out of the bathroom.
Once he's gone, I sink to my knees, moving so my back is against the wall beside the toilet. I'm on the verge of tears and throwing up, and I hate hurting him and I've just done it. I'm overwhelmed and I feel sick, and I'm going to be a terrible mother if this is true.
He has an album in the works and a tour in the talks, but I know he would do everything to make sure he could be there for a baby. If I was pregnant, he would make sure there wasn't a problem because of his work. I think he's ready, but I'm not, and I'm the problem.
I'm at a point in my life where I could be a mother, and I think he's a point where he could be a father, but I don't feel like I'm ready in the way that I haven't prepared. And I need to prepare for something like this, because a baby and being a mother means so much, and I can't be uninformed and uneducated about it. I want everything to be perfect for a baby, and what if it won't be now?
And the worst part about it, is that as much as I refuse to admit it, I stopped him from speaking about why because I don't want to hear it and let it be out in the air. I live on his words and his wisdom, and hearing him say why I could be pregnant is too much because it makes the possibility real, and I can't have that. And deep in the depths of me, I know he might have a valid reason to think it now I think about what he was going to say.
I'm too young and I don't know how to look after a baby. I've always known that he'll be the perfect father, regardless of when he becomes one, but I'm not like that. I'll let him down if I'm pregnant right now. I don't know enough, and as much as he's taught me how to embrace change, I'm not this spontaneous, and I never will be.
Harry has taught me to enjoy and adapt to change, but before him, I kept everything in my life scheduled. Before I did anything, I knew what to expect and I prepared for it. Whether that was studying for a test, or planning what I was going to do in a day, I was prepared. But because of him, a lot of that changed. I love spontaneity now, but becoming a mother isn't simple spontaneity. It's a commitment and a huge responsibility. So, to even think of the possibility of becoming a mother without having read any books or having done any research or having decided what this means for our future, is overwhelming.
And now, what if there's a chance I'm growing a life inside of me? I know nothing. I don't know what I can and can't eat, I don't know what size of fruit the baby is this week, and I don't know when I'm supposed to start buying maternity clothes, and I should already have an obstetrician by now, shouldn't I? I haven't done anything to prepare myself for this, and I always thought that I would be so ready to have a baby.
I thought I'd be one of those moms who could just feel that she was pregnant without even having to take a test. And now the possibility is looming, and I didn't have a clue, and I can't deny that somewhere deep inside me, I'm beginning to ponder the question he just asked the more I sit here with my thoughts. What if he's right?
I know that this is a sensitive topic, not only because it's not something we've spoken about seriously or for any time soon, but also because becoming a father is everything to him and I shut it down and I've hurt him.
I don't know how I'm supposed to become what I need to be, in 9 short months, when getting pregnant without any preparation never crossed my mind as something that would ever happen.
He just has to be wrong.
When he comes back into the room with a glass of water and a piece of toast on a plate, there are tears threatening to spill out of my eyes because I can see how hurt he is and I know it's my dismissiveness that caused it.
'Eat something dry.' He says, keeping his eyes downcast and passing me the plate and glass of water. He sits down beside me so both our bare shoulders are touching, his knees to his chest and hands on his knees, and my legs crossed in front of me. We sit in silence while I try to stomach the bread and water, and I can hear him repeatedly taking deep breaths beside me.
'I'm sorry.' I whisper to the air and to him, feeling the tears pooling in my eyes.
'I shouldn't have said anything.' He replies, keeping his eyes straight ahead. 'I'm wrong.'
The scariest part is that the longer I sit here, feeling the same nausea that I have for two days, I'm starting to wonder what other explanations there are for my missed period if it wasn't stress like I told him, the tiredness, his new obsession with my boobs, and my incessant need to have sex with him. And while he's not complaining about any of it, he's noticed it, like he notices everything, and putting it all together seems to lead to only one explanation. I had my separate explanations for all of it, but something about him bringing up pregnancy has fit all those separate pieces into one explanation in my head. It's like the switch has been flicked in the maternal centre of my brain, and I'm terrified at that thought.
'What if you're right, Harry?' I ask, looking down at my own stomach, watching a tear fall and slide down the skin. 'I don't think I can be a mother.'
'No, angel. You can be a mother..you'll be the most perfect mother there is.' He says, taking the plate off my lap and pulling my body to sit on his, cradling my head to the warmth of his neck.
'I could throw up on you.' I quickly say into his neck, before it actually happens and he hasn't been warned. I feel better from the bread, and of course I do because he gave it to me, but there's no promises that I won't throw up on him.
'I don't care.' He says, wrapping his free hand around my back so I'm forced closer to him. 'Why do you say that you can't be a mother?'
'Because I don't know anything, I'm not ready. I might..I could fuck everything up for a baby. I can't be a mother like you can be a father right now. You've always been ready.' I tell him, breathing in his comforting smell. 'But me..I'm not like that. Being a mother is something I've always wanted, but right now, I just don't know how to give myself to a baby when I don't even know what I'm supposed to give. I thought I would go into this possibility having all the knowledge I'd need to be a good mother, and I don't have any of it. I don't know how to be the perfect mother.'
'You don't have to be the perfect mother right now. If this is happening, we have 9 months and every resource to get ready for a baby.' He comforts quietly, but it doesn't make me feel any better.
'I feel like I needed to be ready and have read books and knew what I was doing before it got to this point. It's like I'm going into a lion's den without a torch.' I reply, hating that I know I just sound like I'm whining. 'I'm sorry I'm..being like this.'
'Oh, darling. Don't be sorry.' He breathes sadly, his comforting hands holding me close. 'We don't even know if you're pregnant, but if you are, if you're pregnant, we don't..um, we don't have to do this, if you don't think you can.' He says somberly, disappointment so evident in his tone. 'I love you, and I trust that one day you'll be the mother of my children, but if that's..if it's not the time right now, that's okay. I promise you, it's okay.' He sniffles, burying his own head into my hair. That's what he does when he needs comfort. 'This is your body, and it's your decision, and I love you always, whatever you think will be the..best decision.'
'No..no, Harry.' I whimper, feeling salty tears spread on the skin of his neck. Something about his suggestion stirs something in me. I don't feel ready, but the thought of us not following through with a possible pregnancy didn't even cross my mind. Growing a little life inside of me is the most terrifying thing I could ever think of, I'm so not ready, and I don't know how or if I can do this, but I also don't think I could ever let go of a little life like that. And it's killing me, because that's selfish and I don't trust myself to raise a child like I should. I just don't know how to become the mother I've always wanted to be in 9 months, if this is real. But, now it might be happening, and I can't bring myself to stop it despite the fact I don't trust myself. It's the maternal centre that has just been kicked into gear that is talking for me. 'I couldn't do that. If I'm growing our baby, I can't let that go.' I promise, already acting like I'm having pregnancy mood swings, feeling wetness on my cheeks and sickness in my stomach. He breathes a sigh of relief into my neck, and I think I feel a tiny smile play on his lips.
'I love you.' He says, sounding so happy, kissing my shoulder. 'So much.'
I smile a tiny smile at that, because I love how those words sound coming out of his mouth.
'But, I think you should know that you're wrong..I'm not ready to be a dad either. I could sing a baby a nursery rhyme and that's all I could do.' He comforts, moving his lips from brushing my shoulder and putting his cheek against mine. His hands start running through my hair, bringing me more comfort than I realised they could. 'If you're pregnant, I promise you that the day our baby is born, you'll already be ready for the..uh, the terrible twos. That's what they're called, aren't they?'
'Yeah, that's what they're called.' I nod, still crying slightly, even though he's trying to make me smile. This possibility is so real, and I don't know how to do this. I can't be pregnant, because I'm so not ready, but there's no other option for me than to have this baby if I'm pregnant and I'm so terrified. I feel like a baby deserves a better mom than I think I can be right now.
'Let me tell you something.' Harry whispers, as though what he's about to say is a secret. 'Gemma sent me a photo of you and a little boy a few weeks ago. He was wearing your sunglasses from her collection, and I think you put those on him. Do you know how happy he looks in those photos, with your sunglasses on?' He asks me, while I reach one hand into his soft hair.
'He was a happy kid.' I reply, closing my eyes at the relief of my nausea lightening up slowly.
'I'm sure he was.' He laughs lightly, kissing my shoulder. 'But you made him smile like that. I know that being able to make a child smile isn't all that you need to be a mother, but you're so good at it already. Don't think that you're going to be a bad mum, because you won't be. The furthest from it, whether it's today or a long time from now.' He says, using his thumb to rub up and down the curve of my waist, with his hand holding gently. I just nod, struggling to comprehend what I'm supposed to do if I look at a test and it says I'm pregnant.
I stay with my eyes closed and my head in his neck for a long time, focusing on the way his arms feel around me instead of the panic in my chest and slight nausea in my stomach.
'You're an angel to me, and you're going to be an angel to our baby.' He promises in the silence, kissing my shoulder again and resting his lips there. I process his words, feeling a warmth in my heart at all the meaning behind them.
'You're everything I need.' I whisper, feeling tears pool in my eyelashes, because it's true. He's perfect for me, and he's everything I'll ever need.
I know that the moment is closing in that I need to get that box from under the sink. I was so certain I wouldn't need the tests my mom gave me in New York, but now I do, and the thought of having to move, to do so much as touch that box, is scaring me.
I told him about the tests when I put them under the sink, so he knows they're there, and when I stand up, he knows exactly what I'm going to have to get.
He watches me through his long eyelashes as I stand up, and then he stands up too, but on his knees without taking his emerald eyes off me. He's still watching me as his hands gently touch the sides of my waist, and he places a soft trail of kisses up the centre of my stomach as he stands up, and then softly kisses my lips too.
He gently pulls away, and then goes over to the sink and bends down, opening one of the drawers where that box I never thought I'd have to use lies.
He obviously realises I'm in an overly fragile state, and opens the box himself, with his back turned away from me and head dipped, his thighs resting against the counter. He reads the pamphlet inside carefully, and I decide to move closer and lean into his side to read it with him. He wraps an arm around my waist and gently lets his fingers touch my skin. He's already being so gentle, at the slightest possibility there could be a baby inside me.
Once he passes me one of the tests, I'm hit with a wave of nausea again, but this time it's just pure fear. Assuming it's a correct result, whatever this stick says could very well change everything for us.
I know myself, and I know I'm probably going to want to take more than one test to be sure, so I decide I'm going to have to do this into a cup so I can stick multiple tests in there.
'I'm going to grab a cup.' I tell Harry, turning the test around in my hand and examining it as though that's going to do anything for the situation. I want this baby if I'm pregnant, but I'm so scared I'm not going to be a good mom, and that's all I want to be.
I go downstairs and find a plastic cup, which isn't very classy, but I'm not going to make Harry or I drink from a cup that has had my bodily fluids in it. The test is burning red hot in my hands as I come back up the stairs to find Harry standing in the middle of the bedroom, pinching his lips. Exactly like he looked that day in the studio when the pregnancy rumours came out, there's hope in his eyes. He's so ready for this test to be positive, both because he's ready to be a father and because he's always wanted to be.
'Whatever this says, and if you change your mind after seeing it, I'm always going to love you. Whatever you want to do, we'll do.' He reassures me, coming toward me and bending his knees and putting his hands on both of my arms, making sure I'm looking into his eyes so I know he's serious.
'Thank you.' I whisper, feeling tears spring to my eyes, because god, I love him. I already know that I want this baby if I'm pregnant, and I feel so horribly selfish for that, but I love him more for telling me again that he supports me if that wasn't what I wanted. He gives me a soft smile, and then I walk back into the bathroom to go and do this.
I do what I'm supposed to do and once the cup is full, I sit it down on the counter and stick the test in, making a mental note to clean this whole area once this is done. I'm supposed to leave it in there for 20 seconds, so that's what I do, and then put the lid back on and wash my hands. My mom obviously bought the fanciest tests on the market, because these ones have a screen that says pregnant or not pregnant, and black boxes that appear as a countdown to when the result appears.
My heart is beating out of my chest as I stare at the stick and place it flat on the counter like I'm supposed to do. I stare at it for a few seconds, like I'm trying to figure out what it's going to say. I'm desperate to know, but it's also the last thing I want to see. I don't even know how I feel.
I join Harry, who is sitting on the bed, and sit on the edge beside him, setting a timer on my phone and resting my head on his shoulder. I'm emotionally drained, and it's not even 9am yet. We've got about three minutes until the result, and he knows I'm in desperate need to talk about something other than this, because I'm falling down a spiral of nerves and endless thoughts about how we're going to raise this baby.
'What are you..looking for, in a new assistant? I think you're interviewing them?' Harry asks me, purposely keeping his tone lighthearted and coming up with the first thing he can think of.
'I'll do the interviews, for your benefit.' I nod, gently holding his bicep in one of my hands and using my thumb to brush up and down. 'I'm looking for the opposite of me, so you don't fall in love with them.' I laugh lightly, staring into space in a dream. I'm most definitely laughing as a coping mechanism.
'I wouldn't do that.' He gasps dramatically, kissing the top of my head and wrapping an arm around me. 'Only for you.'
'And for our baby girl.' I mindlessly comment in my daze. I don't even think about what I've said until the arm leaves my side and he pulls away and leaves my head hanging.
'What did you just say?' He asks me, his eyes soft and lips parted in shock. I lift my head and stare blankly at him, looking at the joy filling his green eyes.
'Our..baby girl.' I stutter, the air around me thinning when I realise what I've said and that I like how it sounds. Why did I say that?
And before his perfectly parted lips can speak, the moment of complete stillness is broken by the timer going off on my phone. We both look at each other, exchanging so many words in just a look, before he stands up and holds both my hands in his.
'Can I..um, can I look at it with you?' He asks me, looking down at me with so much hope.
'Of course you can.' I quickly reply, surprised he's asking. I would hate for him to not do this with me, and I'm in awe of him and how perfect he is at this. He's so compassionate, and so perfectly understanding, and if it wasn't for him I'd be so lost. There isn't enough gratitude in the world to tell him how thankful I am for how perfect he is at this.
I get up and walk into the bathroom, him following behind me. I wire my eyes shut once we're at the counter, because I'm petrified of what this says and accidentally reading it, and what it's going to mean. If I'm not pregnant, this has all happened for nothing, but if I am pregnant, then everything changes.
I hear him take a deep breath and pick up the test, knowing one of us has to do it, so I force my eyes open to look at the screen with the 8 letters.
Pregnant
I'm shocked and breathless, just like he is. There are tears falling down my face one my one hand is shaking, the other holding onto his bicep again. His hands are holding the test that changes everything, forever.
He turns his head to me with the test still in his hands, and his eyes are glossed over. He's scrunching his nose to try not to cry, and like I knew there would be, there's a beautiful little smile on his face. He's looking at me with all the love in his eyes, like I've just given him the best gift in the world. In his eyes, maybe this is everything he's ever wanted.
'That new assistant might not want to be in an adjacent room if there's a crying baby in ours.' I say quietly, looking back at the test to stare at that one word.
I met him, and he brought me into his world, and now we're bringing this baby into ours.
The end.
AUTHORS NOTE:
This has been the most bittersweet ending to 6 months of my life, writing this story. This is so far from the end of Harry and Sophie, but everything changes after this and I'm so sad to say goodbye to them, as they are now. You'll know why soon. I've become so attached to these two and while I'm well aware they're fictional, their love is forever running rampant in my imagination, and it's sad to see them go.
This is my first story, and I never intended for it to become an actual story (it was supposed to be one chapter to write as a way to get out of maths homework), but it became this big monster, and I'm eternally grateful for it.
The final chapter was also never supposed to be this long or this reminiscent, but then I got all sentimental and emotional writing it and made it like this. I've become a mother to these two, and I'm watching them at their grade 6 graduation and filming it with my little camcorder whilst trying not to cry.
But despite that, and most importantly, I can't thank every single one of you enough for reading this story. I love you all as much as Kelli Anne loves Harry, and watching you interact with the story warms my heart. It's so foreign for me to think that the story I write at midnight whilst eating bread and chugging water reaches so many people all over the world, and that you like it enough to comment and vote and send me messages. Sophie is Harry's angel, and you're all my angels. However, I'm not having babies with all of you. Sorry xx
And finally, for those who don't know, fictional Sophie is actually based on a friend of mine, real life Sophie. Not only is she the muse for the character, but she also likes to call herself my 'creative consultant'. And, It's for good reason. She has about a 40% stake in everything that happens and all the planning, especially everything relating to the characters and their personalities and morals and motives. Without her, you would've read 200,000 words of complete garbage. Because of this interesting dynamic, we've decided to film a Q and A, where we'll answer your questions about whatever you'd like relating to us or the story, so comment your questions. You'll also have some (or many) questions after the epilogue (trust me on that) so leave some there too.
If you'd like, precious Sophie is writing a story about yours truly too! Locate it at @findmeoneroda (I came up with that name and I'm proud of it)
Buckle your seatbelts. I love you all, but the epilogue is next..