Thursday nights are the busiest nights for the upscale sports bar, Big Wang's. Harry knew this because he was forced to look through the weekly numbers every Monday morning, but he didn't really understand the extent of how busy his own restaurant was until he walked through the door twenty minutes ago.
The place was absolutely packed, TVs lining every wall showing every sports game imaginable. The clientele flirted with a diverse cross section of humanity — from college students to tourists to giggly girls dressed in skimpy clothing excited to be out on the town to the drunk guys trying to hit on them. Now, seeing it in real time, made the numbers make sense, which oddly made him somewhat proud of an achievement he didn't even really earn. At least he was successful at something.
Harry had snagged the last seat at the bar, tucked tightly between a burly biker looking dude who paid him no mind and a highly attractive female that looked like she might be some kind of high class hooker. When he sat down, he went unnoticed — aside from the bartender who recognized her "silent partner" of a boss immediately. He was thankful she didn't make a fuss, but poured him his typical bourbon and ginger without needing to ask.
And there he sat, the amber liquor burning its way down his throat, but it was nothing compared to the nervousness that burned his belly.
He checks his watch again, wondering if Eleanor was going to show up. He thought he had made himself pretty clear over the phone earlier, but time will tell if she listened.
He had spent quite some time planning this rendezvous, taking an entire week to mull it over in his head to gain the courage and the right method to approach her. He decided it would be best to start small — something simple — and when she had called to invite him to dinner at a fancy sushi joint, he took took the opportunity.
He remembered clearly the thrill of excitement that trembled down his spine when he had said "no" to her, that he wanted to eat at his restaurant instead. She laughed and told him she would meet him at Katsuya after work, and what started as a thrill quickly turned to dread. But he didn't back down. He said no, they were going to eat at his restaurant. It was what he wanted to do, so that was what they were doing.
As he takes another sip of the hard bourbon, he cringes at the memory of her telling him she'd be waiting for him at Katsuya at 7:00 before she daftly hung the phone up on him.
He glances at his watch.
7:30pm.
The bartender snatches his empty glass with a small smile, and all he can do is give her a tight lipped grin in return, the next sip bitter to match his mood.
He glances over his shoulder, wondering just how long he should sit here and wait. His stomach knots at the thought of her actually not showing up. What would he do then? His mind at the moment is a blank canvas, his thoughts literally stuttering to the end of the movie reel playing in his mind. There is nothing next. Nothing he can see, anyway. Eleanor was his everything anymore. She was the first person he saw in the morning when he woke up, and she was the last person he saw before drifting to sleep at night. Almost everything he did involved her in some way — even his closest friend in LA was her fucking assistant.
So what would he do if she didn't show up? Would that be it? The...end?
He shivers hard, throwing back the remainder of his glass in one dizzying gulp. He doesn't want to think about that. Eleanor would be here any minute. She probably just got stuck in traffic or couldn't find parking or was stuck at the office.
Right?
Or — he grimaces at the thought — she was waiting for him at Katsuya.
God, he really didn't want to go home if that was the case. Maybe this was all just a bad idea. He should have just sat her down at home. He wasn't one for public displays, and she certainly wasn't shy about causing a scene. For all the thinking and processing he did on this, he didn't really plan it that well. He should have talked to Olivia about it first...
Olivia.
Just then, a quiet hush descends on the crowd, and everyone's gaze is pulled towards the entrance, finding an overly sophisticated, tall woman standing awkwardly in the door. She looks around, her nose wrinkling in a slight hint of disgust before her blue eyes catch his. The pool of relief that settled in his gut sends a surreal veil of calm over him.
He gives her a small smile, which she returns tensely before weaving her way through the crowd, clutching her Kate Spade bag to her tighter than ever, like a lifeline meant to save herself from the degenerate trash he was making her be around at the moment.
Harry spins around on his bar stool, legs widening as his back reclines, elbows resting casually on the bar behind him.
She steps in front of him, chin jutting out defiantly as she looks at him disapprovingly, but there was also a glint if curiosity there that gave him a small beam of hope. Maybe this won't be so bad?
"I waited for you at Katsuya for half an hour," she hisses through clenched teeth. Her eyes meander nervously around her, getting thrashed a bit by the hectic crowd.
"Funny, I've been waiting for you here for a half an hour." He grins in what he hopes is a playfully winning way, but he's not sure how she'll take it.
"Why are we here?" annoyance laced in her voice.
"To have dinner," Harry murmurs triumphantly. "We always go where you want to go. I thought I'd pick tonight."
"Oh, did you now?" she scowls, her arms crossing over her chest. The smile slides off his face as he nods.
"Yeah, I mean — you never ask where I want to eat," he says, his stomach knotting, heart beating out of chest. "You never ask what I want period," he adds softly, his eyes begging her softly to understand.
"Fine. You've made your point, let's go..." she mutters. She rolls her eyes and turns on her heel to leave, but Harry is quick to catch her elbow, preventing her from getting very far.
Eleanor turns to look at his hand, offended — before looking back up at his face. His eyes are more intense than she ever remembers them, and it shocks her. She stumbles in her heels a little as he tugs her closer to whisper quietly in her ear.
"I don't think I have," he says defiantly. His voice holds traces of hurt and confusion. "We need to talk, Eleanor."
"Fine," she mutters, ripping her arm from his grasp. He lets out a frustrated scowl as he leans back against the bar again, watching her face twist back into an angered pout.
"Are you ready for your table, Harry?"
He turns and the bartender is back, eyeing them both apprehensively as she tucks a black piece of hair behind her ear. He's immediately reminded of Olivia. Sweet little Olivia, who always let him pick where they ordered lunch, who always cared for and accommodated his feelings.
He blinks hard, pushing down the strange feeling he was getting in his chest at her memory.
"Yeah," he responds, getting up and putting on a smile. The bartender passed them off to the hostess who whisked them to the secret back rooftop area that he and his friends used to hold court in and drink until the wee hours of the morning light. That all seemed so long ago now.
They take their seats and a look of relief passes over her face. She's disappointed they're not in the middle of it all out of principle, but relieved that it's quiet and less packed, and more than anything, that no one will see her there with him.
He couldn't help but stare at her, noticing the sloping line of her nose, her translucent skin, the perfect bow of her lips. And the hair. It wasn't that it wasn't a flattering cut on her — it just. He didn't need her to be exquisite and perfect, even though she was. He just wanted her to be his girl again. For her to love and respect him.
"What?" she shrills.
It's then that he realizes he's been staring at her. He looks down, smoothing his hands over the specially crafted wooden table. He cannot let her intimidate him.
The waitress interrupts, bringing water for both of them before asking if he'd like another drink. He nods, earning a disapproving scowl from Eleanor before she orders a glass of wine.
He watches her for a long moment before clearing his throat, his chest tightening in the process.
"So about my birthday..."
"Oh, yes! So Olivia did tell you about the changes," she claps happily, her whole face lighting up. For a moment, he's stunned by her happiness, the beauty radiating off of her. "Your birthday is going to be fabulous! Event of the year, besides our wedding, of course," she giggles.
"Yeah, about that —"
"Of course everyone is going to be there. Olivia is going to pick up the gift bags tonight after her fitting..." she offers, wrinkling her nose at the menu choices.
"I don't think..." but he pauses, mind jarring for a second. "Wait, fitting?"
Eleanor nods. "For her dress. For the party. You know, it's black and white, so I gave her one of my old wedding dresses," she scoffs. "Who knows what she would have come up with on her own. And I can't have my assistant looking like a basic Macy's ad gone wrong."
Harry just stares at her.
"And you know, it has to be fitted because —" she giggles, motioning to her buxom chest. "You know."
He blinks, ignoring her insult. "Livvy's coming?"
She sighs, exasperated. "Of course she's coming, Harold! I need her to help out. We invited over 750 people!" She watches as the waitress returns with their drinks. "Plus, you like her..." she waves her hand disinterestedly.
"Yeah," he smiles, sucking his bottom lip between his teeth.
"You ready to order?" The waitress asks.
"I guess I'll have the Caesar salad. No croutons or onions. Only the leafy part of the lettuce, no stalks please. And no barbecue sauce. Anywhere," she says adamantly, shoving the menu into the girl's hands.
The waitress turns to Harry. "Pulled pork sandwich and fried green tomatoes," he nods, not even needing to look at the menu.
"Pecan pie?" she smiles, knowing the usual.
"Ye—"
"He doesn't want dessert," Eleanor interrupts. Harry glares at her.
"Actually, I do," he finishes. Eleanor looks at him startled, and the waitress shifts uncomfortably. "Thanks, love..." he nods, letting her know she could leave.
"You'll set your weight training back," his fiancé chastises, pulling her silverware out and placing the napkin in her lap.
"I don't really care."
Her eyes snap to his, confusion and outrage splayed on her features. He cringed, rubbing his fingers over his stubble.
"Look...about my birthday..."
"Oh, it's going to be amazing," she beams again. "Everyone is going to be there. We even have the principles of the Philharmonic Orchestra...."
"Babe, I—"
"And dinner is going to be this delicious quail braised in..."
"Eleanor," he says sharply, and she jumps at his tone.
"What?" She asks, offended he interrupted her.
"Babe, I just wanted a small party. A little get together with my friends, some beer and that's it," he sighs.
She blinks at him. "Don't be ridiculous," she laughs.
"I'm not being ridiculous," He insists. How could she just disregard his feelings like that? Has she always done that?
"Yes you are darling," she reaches over to pat his hand. "This is so much better than what you had planned."
"But it's not what I want," he says slowly, eyes catching hers and hoping she understands. He can't put it more plainly.
She blinks at him.
"But it's better," she confirms, speaking to him as if he was a dimwit.
He leans back in his chair, pulling his hand from hers, placing it in his lap instead as he starts playing with his fingernails.
"We need to talk..." his heartbeat increases as she sighs.
"So you've said," she replies sarcastically.
His chest burns, anger and hurt swirling around his lungs, nearly suffocating him.
"I'm serious," he says, his voice hard.
His eyes meet hers, and the exasperation melts from her face and a curiosity is piqued. Finally! He's getting through to her.
"This isn't working," he offers.
"Yes it is, you're just being stubborn," she huffs.
He grits his teeth, doing everything in his willpower not to let his frustration get the best of him.
"It's not the party, it's..."
"You know, I worked really hard on this for you. I wanted you to have a nice birthday," she counters.
"Eleanor," but she doesn't stop, her face contorting into victimized martyrdom.
"— and this is the thanks I get. You telling me you don't want it. I've gotten you the best of everything..."
"But it's not what I — "
"— and you don't like any of it! I swear, you're the most difficult..."
Harry grits his teeth for the final time, the frustration pouring out of him. His open palm slams down hard on the table, making their drinks and plates jump and clatter while also eliciting a shriek from her.
"WOULD YOU SHUT THE FUCK UP AND LISTEN TO ME!?"
Her eyes widen and her lips part slightly. She's stunned, something he hadn't seen from her in a very long time. She's almost never surprised.
He breathes in sharply, doing his best to quell his anger. He can't be angry for this. He has to stay calm. He can only make her understand if he's calm. It's the only way he can save them. It's the only way he can fix this, is to make her understand. Livvy said so. And she was right.
"Excuse me?" her voice was hard with disbelief.
"Eleanor, I'm sitting here telling you that this isn't working. Us...," he motions between them. "...this is what I'm saying. We aren't working."
She just blinks at him again, looking around as if she's lost. His brow creases at her lack of a reaction. If she had said something like that to him, he would be freaking out right now — begging for answers, demanding an explanation. But of course, Eleanor doesn't freak out. Not when it matters, anyway.
He reaches across the table to take her hand, his thumb running over her knuckles lovingly, but she jumps at his touch.
"I need you to listen to me, okay?" He starts.
His eyes are boring into hers, and she just stares back blankly with a stoic look, giving him an almost imperceptible nod.
"I don't know when it happened, or how it happened really, but somewhere along the line, we got to this point where you can just — do whatever to me. That my opinion doesn't matter, that what I want doesn't matter." Eleanor blinks at him for the fiftieth time tonight, and he continues after taking a deep breath. "You just...you order me around. You tell me what to do, where to go, what I can eat, who to be friends with...and this isn't us, Eleanor. I'm not...I'm not some assistant you can order around and tell what to do."
She doesn't respond, she just stares at his thumb rubbing gently over her knuckles. He gets a little nervous by her lack of a response, wondering if he's even getting through to her at all.
"You get that this isn't working, don't you?"
"Well, I do now, I guess..." she mumbles defensively. Her arms get restless, but she doesn't pull her hand away. And when their eyes connect, below the anger and confusion, he sees a softness in them that he hasn't seen in a long time.
"Come on, Eleanor. We haven't been okay for awhile. Ever since...fuck, I don't even know when."
"Don't curse," she says softly.
He eyes her hard. She ducks her head, chastised, which is also something he hasn't seen in a long time. His heart lightens slightly, thinking maybe he really is getting through to her.
"So this is all my fault, then?" she interjects defensively, shaking her head and jutting her chin out. Harry feels her hand tighten into a fist under his. "I wrecked us by trying to do what I thought was best for you?"
He sighs. "I'm not blaming you, baby." He ducks his head down so he can see into her eyes, which are still watching his thumb stroke her knuckles. "This is as much my fault as it is yours. I should have put my foot down sooner. I shouldn't have let your temper intimidate me."
"Temper?" Eleanor frowns at him.
He raises his eyebrows. "Woman...you have the worst temper I've ever seen in my life."
Her mouth opens to counteract, but she closes it quickly and frowns.
They sit in silence for a few long moments, Eleanor studying Harry's face intently, and he decided to do something he hasn't done in a while. He lets his guard down. He lets the hardened, indifferent mask fall, his eyes peering at her, begging and pleading with her to just listen, to understand where he's coming from. He prays that she's listening. He can't lose her, the wrenching in his gut proving that. He doesn't speak. He's said enough. It's her turn to talk.
He watches her bristle, shoulders driving back as she prepares her rebuttal.
"I guess...I can, uh...be strong willed...sometimes," she admits. He lets out a long sigh of relief, the tension leaving his body in a rush. She heard him! "I guess...I can try to...uh, you know, listen more." She shifts awkwardly in her chair. "I mean, I love you...I don't want you to feel like I don't."
"I love you too," he sighs, hand squeezing hers before he reaches up to cup her cheek lovingly. "I love you so much, baby — and we're gonna be okay. We just need to communicate better," he shrugs. "I just need to tell you want I want, like for my birthday..."
Eleanor tenses.
"Harry, the invitations have already been sent out." He presses his lips into a thin line. "There's not a whole lot I can do now. I wish you had said something a lot sooner..."
"Well, I did..." he says with a chuckle. She drops her head again with a blush, and he smiles widely. There's his girl.
"Yes, yes. Okay. I'm a horrible listener with a bad temper, I get it. Why don't you just burn me at the stake," she sighs. As she leans back, her frown slowly breaks into a smile, shaking her head in light amusement.
"You forgot stubborn..." he reminds teasingly. She scowls playfully in return, reaching across the table to slap him, but he maneuvers out of the way. Smiles fill both of their faces, and maybe, just maybe, Harry did get through to her. Maybe his girl is still in there after all.
"Really, I don't know what I can do," Eleanor says, squinting past him in thought. "The hall's booked, the food bought, the invitations sent."
Harry frowns, letting a deep sigh escape his lips while his index finger runs absent-mindedly along the grain of the wood. So he was going to have a circus of a birthday — he could deal with that, he guesses. He just waited too long in this particular instance. At least they were on their way to a compromise in the future. Maybe. Harry can't help but feel a little bit like a failure. He couldn't help the nagging feeling that she hadn't listened at all.
"I guess...I guess I could have Olivia call everyone and cancel," she muses sadly, reluctance in her voice. His eyes snap up to find her looking at him, his eyes catching the concern in hers before she looks away.
He watches her chew on her bottom lip, and his heart can't help but swell at the fact that she's trying. She wants to give him what he wants. She cares about what he thinks and how he feels. He feels silly now, for putting up with everything for so long when all he had to do was speak up.
But his joy is somewhat overshadowed by the pout of her bottom lip, the disappointment in her eyes. Her heart was in the right place when she planned his birthday party. She said it herself — she only wanted the best. For him. She just wasn't very good at recognizing that sometimes the best wasn't actually what he wanted. And right now, what he wanted more than what he needed, was to make her happy.
He sighs.
"What if..." he trails. She looks up at him with hope in her eyes and his heart melts. "What if we keep the party —"
"Oh, Harry...really!?" she squeals, but tries to keep it tempered. Her hands clasp together, and she's radiating happiness, to the point that he's left dazed and speechless by her beauty for a moment.
"But," he says forcefully. Her face goes stoic, her eyes fixed on him while listening intently. "I have a few stipulations."
Eleanor cringed slightly. "What are they?"
"I want a full bar." She just blinks at him.
"That's it?"
"No, there's more," he says. Her face falls, but he ignores it. "I want steak and ribs for the entree. The restaurant can cater."
Her eyes widen. "Harry, it's black tie! You can't have ribs..."
"It's what I want," he says simply, cutting her off. "And I want my band to play."
Eleanor scoffs. "Your band?"
"From my last tour," Harry explains, stomach curling in anticipation. Her eyebrow raises.
"Your Harry Styles band? With the girls and the gay guy?"
He gives her a withering look. "They weren't called the girls and the gay guy band, Eleanor. Honestly," he tries not to get irritated. They were making progress. "But yes, you get the idea."
"Harry," she shakes her head, but he puts up a hand.
"It's what I want," he smiles, enjoying the power that the words have. It's what he wants, and god damn it, it's what he's going to have.
"I don't even know their names. How am I going to track down a bunch of random musicians?"
Harry grins.
"Well, since I've just recently gotten in touch with all of them again, that shouldn't be too much of a problem," he finishes. This time, her jaw really does drop.
"You what?" She asks, her voice laced with confusion. Harry's grin widens, the butterflies multiplying as he prepares to tell her something he's been dying to tell her all week.
"Yeah, I called them a few days ago," he offers, biting his bottom lip. "I'm gonna start making music again."
Eleanor just blinks at him. This is becoming a pattern.
"You must be joking."
"No," he grins giddily, his elation at finally saying the words completely overtakes him. "No, I'm not kidding. I'm gonna do it. See what I've got, ya know? Maybe put out another record."
"Oh, don't be absurd, Harry!" She spats, brow creasing from the smile on his face. "That's not what you want."
He eyes her carefully and realized that maybe he pushed her too far, maybe he was a little too giddy at his revelation. The humor in her eyes is gone, and he realizes that while she's willing to compromise on some things, a complete lifestyle change is out of the question. He feels himself crumple slightly, and he's fully prepared to say "you're right baby, it's just a wistful fantasy," but he doesn't. It's not a wistful fantasy. He remembers a time when music was his life, and he wants that back. How he could have ever forgotten is beyond him, but he can't keep living the way that he is. He doesn't want to float through life heading from one business meeting to the next.
He couldn't let her intimidate him.
"Yes, it is..." he says firmly. Eleanor's eyes widen in shock. Apparently she was expecting the "yeah baby, you're right" as well. "This business stuff...I mean, yeah it's okay. But the music..." he trails. "Babe, I miss it."
"Well, that's all well and good Harry," she bites, arms crossing over her chest. "But in case you've forgotten, we are getting married in six months."
"It won't interfere with the wedding," he offers, and she laughs sarcastically.
"Harry, I know how you get when you start dabbling in this mess," she says. He feels the anger bubbling inside of him, and she can tell, so she allows her eyes to soften. "It just...it completely consumes you," her blue eyes flick away from his and she shifts sadly. "It's all that matters to you, all that you care about." Her fingers play absently with her fork. "Where does that leave me?" She whispers.
Harry feels his heart clench at her words and the look on her face, and he sighs. "Baby," he offers, but she refused to look at him. "You know you're the most important thing in my life, Ellie." He pauses until he meets her gaze, uncertainty in her eyes. "It's you, okay? It's always been you."
She smiles triumphantly and he has to grit his teeth at the fact that she's thought she has won.
"I promise I won't let this interfere with us, okay?" The smile wipes from her face, lips parting slightly. "I just want to try something different for a while. Just a little change."
"Well," she sighs, completely defeated, and she wonders how she got herself so turned around. "Whatever makes you happy, I guess."
He smiles, feeling as if his face would break from it, relief flooding him and he finally feels like he can relax. Everything is going to be different now. Things are going to turn around and be like they were when they first started out, just Harry and his Eleanor. They were going to be okay! He couldn't wait to tell Olivia...
Olivia.
He hisses, but his thoughts are interrupted with the waitress arriving with their food. He can't ignore the pained look on Eleanor's face as she eyes the spread, and he can't help the nagging feeling pooling at the back of his head. There was something in the way that she looked at him, a mixture of frustration and tolerance and something else that he couldn't quite place, that planted a seed of doubt in his mind.
Or maybe it was the sudden reminder of Olivia.
He shakes his head, pulling himself away from watching her play with her food to pop a fried green tomato in his mouth.
The were gonna be okay. They really were.
Guess he's not the only one with mantra's.
—
A/N
MANTRAS THAT DON'T WORK!!! Bwahahaha.
Just kidding. What do you think? Harry and Olivia are more alike than they realize.
Overall, I kinda feel bad for Eleanor a little bit, but more for Harry. He's an idiot. A lovable idiot. But an idiot nonetheless.
Gah, grow a pair. He kinda did this chapter, but was it enough to get her to listen?
Anyone else get frustrated with their own characters sometimes? Lol.
I know it's a roller coaster, but I promise there's a reason for it. :)
How's your day?
Xo,
NB