"When's this 'Greg' supposed to get here?" Harry asked me on Sunday night. He's been in a bad mood ever since Friday, and frankly I'm sick of it.
"His plane has already landed; he's just going to rest at his hotel for a few hours before coming over to mine."
"He's staying in a hotel? Why?" Harry seems to be happier when he finds that out, smirking a little when he thinks I'm not watching.
"He insisted."
Harry tries to hide his happy face behind his glass of water. "C'mon, let's practice once more before we have dinner." Harry says, pulling me back to his living room.
The practice is going on just fine until one of the close steps trips me up a bit. My heel catches on the end of Harry's jeans and I trip backwards.
"Sorry, sorry. That was my fault." He apologizes quickly, setting me upright again.
"No, it's fine. We just need to be a bit more careful during those steps." I grin at his flustered face.
"Right," He laughs awkwardly, reaching for his phone. "Why don't we chill out for a little while?"
"We just got off from a break." I point out. He doesn't seem to listen as I can see the red recording light on the cameras set up around the room go dim. He looks back up at me from his phone with a faux innocent smile on his face.
"Why don't we eat some dinner?" He suggests. I sigh before nodding, following him into the kitchen area. I wipe a sandwich crumb off his countertop before flicking it away from my finger.
He pulls out numerous possible restaurant flyers and coupons, shrugging at my raised eyebrow. I look over a few of my choices, not really caring much. I wonder if I should get something for Greg too.
"I'm fine with whatever you want," I smile as he sets the coupons aside.
"I have a better idea," He says, placing an ugly apron around himself. "Why don't I make us something to eat?"
I laugh as he pulls his hair back in a tight bun, not letting any curls loose. "And what is on the menu at El Restaurante de Styles?"
He laughs at my given name before pulling out a carton of large pasta shells. "How do you say stuffed shells in Spanish?" He asks.
"I believe it's conchas rellenas."
"Then we will be having... conch-conchela rel-rellentas." He tries, looking at me for guidance. I laugh again, shaking my head.
_-_-_
As it turns out, it takes quite a while to make stuffed shells. Well, it would have been easy, but then Harry realized that he has no cheese to stuff the shells with, so we have to go out shopping. When we're at the super-market, Harry makes it a goal to contemplate between three different cheeses for ten minutes. We ended up getting all three in the end.
"Remind me to never go shopping with you ever again in my life, ever." I groan on the way back to his house. I'm currently holding the three cheeses and a carton of eggs, with a gallon of milk at me feet and a whole watermelon.
"I'll be sure to remind you that every time right after we go shopping." The laugh lines around his mouth and near his eyes are obvious on his face. He hasn't turned to me from the road when I get an idea.
I pull my phone out and click through it a few times before getting to an assortment of my music. Scrolling through the artists, I finally stop at the song Chop Suey! by System Of A Down. I personally love this song, but I'm unsure if Harry will be as accepting.
Either way, I plug my phone into his audio outlet before adjusting the volume. He looks at me with a weird look, but doesn't say anything. At least, not until the song starts.
"No." He says. I nod frantically and laugh at his scrunched up face. "Please, Lord, save me from this hell."
"Begging God to save you from apparent Satan's music isn't going to work!" I say, turning the volume up. I mouth along to the slower words, letting Harry's distressed face keep the smile on my face.
Is it bad that I enjoy watching his pain?
Luckily for him, the song ends quickly. He snatches my phone out of my hand and tries to turn the music off, afraid of the next horrific song that could come on. Strangely enough, the next song has me blushing and trying to take my phone away and unplug it.
He smirks at me when he sees the title. "What is this here?"
"Don't you dare," I warn, but he doesn't seem to care as he turns the volume up on my phone and laughs at me.
I steal my phone back and pull the audio hook up from my plug in. He smirks even wider and pulls into some random car park. "Now, what is the badass, worships-Satan, rock-and-roll Nicolette Horan doing with a sappy love song on her Recently Listened To list? Does she actually have a," he gasps dramatically, "soul? Underneath all that dark exterior, does Nicolette Horan bear a heart in her chest?"
"Fuck off," I mutter, hiding my face in my hands.
He pulls my hands back. I wish he didn't, because all I'm met with is his stupid y grin cheeky grin that I'd rather slap off him than deal with. "A Drop In The Ocean, hm?"
"I'm literally two seconds away from getting out of this car and walking back to my apartment." I threaten. He sees no harm in my fight, though, when he laughs at me again before pulling away.
His stupid fucking cheesy smile doesn't leave his face throughout the entire drive.
_-_-_
It took us quite a while to make the shells when we returned home, so I ended up called Greg and telling him to come over to Harry's for dinner. Harry was a bit hesitant with giving away his full home address to "a stranger" as he had said. I assure him that Greg won't break in and kill him; and even if he tried, he wouldn't get very far. This house is hoarded and secured from 20 yards in the sky straight down to the core of the Earth.
Harry scoffs at my explanation.
"You'll love Greg; I promise." I smile at the thought of seeing my brother again. It's been over seven years.
"Yeah, I don't think I will." He mutters after removing the shells from the oven. I roll my eyes at him and his obvious attitude. He doesn't know how long it's been.
The man at the front gate has already been informed of our visitor, so Greg arrives at the door right as I'm pouring the milk. The door bell rings and I nearly drop the entire jug of milk onto the floor.
Luckily, my hands don't hate me too much as I continue to sustain the strength to lift the jug up. My eyes flash to Harry with a wild expression; shit.
Why am I so nervous? It's just my brother. The brother that I haven't seen in seven years and who is now 29 years old with a good life and a well-maintained relationship with our parents, but still my brother.
I have no reason to be nervous about re-meeting practically a stranger.
Fuck, I can't do this.
Harry seems to think otherwise, though, when he walks out of the kitchen to answer the front door. I think one of ribs just broke off and fell out of my butthole.
Or maybe you just farted.
I shake my head and go out to meet my guest, waving my hand behind my bum a bit to clear out the smell.
"Nic, you have a guest." Harry points out sarcastically before I round the corner to see him.
"Be nice, you fucking dick." I warn. Harry raises his hand in surrender, a scowl taking over his features.
"Now, why would I even consider being mean to him?"
"Your attitude is unnecessary, asshole." I growl. He just sniggers before walking back to the kitchen.
I take another few seconds to compose myself before walking around the corner. There he is, dressed in a pair of jean shorts and a white top and a hat that just doesn't go with his outfit at all.
But the thing that seems even more out of place is the small child standing next to him with a fat smile and big, round blue eyes that make my heart stop.
"Nic!" Greg yells loudly, sprinting over to me where I had stopped in the middle of the corridor. He wraps his arms around me and squeezes as tight as he can. I'm only about an inch shorter than him so picking me up isn't much of an option.
"Greg," I say back half-heartedly, trying to sound as excited as him. My eyes are locked on the kid, though. He looks an awful lot of like me when I was a toddler. My mum would always show me pictures of me in my little suits dressed up for Sunday School. When I look at this kid, I see myself back in those old amateur photos my mum had all around the house and in scrapbooks.
The round face, the big blue eyes, the fat little nose. Even his nearly toothless smile reminds me of, well, me.
"Oh, oh, right! Nicolette, meet Theo." I glance at my brother before looking back at the child. They both hold huge smiles.
Theo takes off into a run, just as Greg had done, and hops up onto my legs. He's clutching desperately onto my hips, looking up at me and shouting, "Auntie Ni!"
My heart squeezes in my chest as I pick the boy up into my arms. He's still smiling, and when I look up at Greg he's also wearing a warm facial expression.
"Looks a lot like you, don't he?" Greg points out with a chuckle. "Denise was all wigged out when he didn't look much like me. Demanded a bloody DNA test when he was about two or so. Bless his heart for not looking like me, he'd have a real tough time gettin' the lads or ladies when he's older with a face like this." He gestures to himself. I look up at him again before pulling him into another hug, with me doing the bone crushing this time.
"Why didn't you tell me about him?" I whisper. Theo still has a sight grin when he lays his head on my shoulder.
"I didn't think you'd care, being a big star and all. I guess I thought you might have forgotten about us back home." He sighs, his smile slowly fading. "It's been seven years, Nic. Seven years."
"I know..." I sigh too, looking down at the kid.
"Hey now, let's not get all depressing. Our lives have gone on pretty well during that time, yet we still managed to remember each other."
I smile as a tear rolls down my face. I never realized how much I missed him until I saw him again for the first time.
"And, if I'm being honest, it seems you've got quite a better life than I do. I mean, look at you! You're a star! A beautiful star, at best." He's back to smiling. "And you don't seem to be doing too bad in the romance department, either."
I raise an eyebrow and hand his son back. Theo whines as I move him, but my arms are getting tired. "Huh?"
"You can't dare tell me you haven't been datin' that fit lad in the lounge. I mean, c'mon now. I'm not stupid." He nudges me. "Why don't we go meet him? What do ya say, Theo?" Greg shakes Theo in his arms a bit, earning a yawn from the little boy. It's probably pretty late back in Ireland, so I can understand his exhaustion.
I lead both of them into the kitchen where Harry is found spooning shells onto plates. He doesn't notice our presence until I jump up on the counter. He glares at me before saying harshly, "What?"
"Greg, Theo, this is Harry. He's pretty crusty when you first meet him but..."
"Hey!"
"... he's pretty good after you get to know him. Harry, this is—"
"I know who they are." He cuts me off, scraping the metal spatula against the glass extra hard. Theo squeaks and covers his ears.
"No, I don't think you do." I growl at him. He has no reason to be in a bad mood. Well, aside from the fact that we're eating his food - I mean I'd be pretty pissed too - but that's his fault for offering. He rolls his eyes, so I hiss at him a moment later, "So turn around and quit being a fucking dick."
He sighs loudly and over dramatically before spinning around, making a show of taking his apron off and placing it on the counter. "Hi. I'm Harry. Nice to meet you...?"
"Greg, and this is Theo."
"Great. Cool. Are you ready for dinner?"
"Yeah."
"Then let's eat."
_-_-_
Saying the dinner was weird would be an understatement. Harry was purposely acting like an asshole through the entire meal - a complete difference from his usual cheeky, charming self. Greg is responding to Harry's attitude with an equally as forceful one, trying to put him back in line.
It's not until Theo yells something out that throws Harry's whole demeanor off.
"Auntie Ni, why is daddy and Hammy being mean?" I look over at the boy. He's made a complete mess of his plate and face, but I don't pay attention to that as Harry gasps at the exact same moment.
"A-Au... Auntie Ni?"