The voice sliced through my slumber with a ringing clarity, yanking me from my dream with little care for the content. It had been a good dream, too, I thought bitterly, prying one eye open to glare at the bearer of such a cold-hearted voice.
"Are you going to actually move in at some point in the foreseeable future?" Emily was now casting a searing glance at my possessions - the unpacked boxes haphazardly placed around the room, the heap of clothes draped across my chair to be hung up, and the growing, dirty pile of laundry in the corner that prevented my bedroom door from opening more than halfway. I imagined Emily having to slide into the room sideways, thoroughly annoyed and muttering to herself, and smiled.
"I'm not sure what you mean." I mumbled, stretching luxuriously under the covers for effect.
Emily crossed her arms, giving me a cold, pointed stare, "Look, we're doing this today. I can't stand it anymore."
She proved herself by ripping open a box with her bare hands - the layers of duct tape didn't stand a chance - grabbing a hanger, and thrusting a shirt onto it.
"And I know you had a late night last night," she paused to smirk, "but we're starting now. Your parents will be here in less than three hours."
I sighed, bringing my hands up to my eyes, "Ugh, that's today?"
"Yes, Maddie," Emily unceremoniously dumped out the contents of the box, "You moved in two days ago, if you recall, and we told your parents that Sunday would be the perfect day for them to come see the apartment."
I sat up slowly, squinting against the slant of light that streamed in through the window directly beside my bed, "Right, well, they know I'm a mess. We don't have to do it today."
Emily didn't look up from her work, adding hanger after hanger to the closet with incredible focus, "That's true. Your mother definitely won't mind."
"On second thought, I'll just get dressed." I said, moving from under the covers, "Be back in a minute."
Emily was right when she'd said it had been a late one last night - it had been a late night every night since I'd last seen Harry, two days ago in my dorm room. Looking in the bathroom mirror, I smiled at the thought, still amazed that my life had so quickly become this - waiting for the next phone call from a boy I'd never entertained the thought of seeing romantically, platonically, or at all, a week ago.
With thoughts of Harry swimming in and out of my mind, I lumbered back to my room to begin the unpacking process. Emily was sitting cross-legged on the floor at that point, folding my clothes and tucking them into the drawers of my dresser.
"Wow, you move quickly," I noted, lifting the box that read 'desk crap' and searching for something to open it with.
"Give it here," Em said, grabbing the box from me and ripping it open with the same fervor she had employed before.
"That's not frightening at all," I muttered, staring at the now-open box and wondering again from where she drew that kind of strength.
"So," Em said, continuing her work with the folding, "How are things?"
"Things?" I asked innocently, pulling the pencil organizer I'd ended up using for scrap bits of paper and other odds and ends instead of pencils and pens, from the box.
"With Harry." Emily said, not looking up from her work, as if it was the most obvious thing in the world.
Tidbits of our more than two hour-long conversation from the night before came rushing back to me - a discussion about how we spent our day, arguing over stupid things like whether or not chocolate is better than vanilla (chocolate is the obvious winner), and discussing real deal stuff, like what I planned to do for the rest of my life (which was still up in the air). There was never an uncomfortable lull, never a moment where I felt like I didn't know what to say, because Harry was just so cool, so comfortable, even in the quiet moments, and so accepting and humored by the stupid things that did come out of my mouth that our conversations hadn't yet lead to me overthinking anything. I could just sit and listen to the quiet sounds of his breathing, or interrupt the static silence with an enlightening thought about peanut butter, and feel equally as comfortable in both situations.
And I really liked that.
"Good." I said, smiling despite myself, "Things are good."
"That's all I'm going to get isn't it?" Emily said, looking over at me with a smile of her own.
"Yep." I responded, popping the "p," pleased with myself and content to think that our late-night conversations were mine to keep.
Emily sighed, "At least I can tell you're happy. And for now, that's all I need to know."
"Ladies and gentlemen... she does have a heart."
"Wait, one more question..." She said, "Have you guys talked about, like, what you are exactly?"
"You mean," I shoved some papers in the top desk drawer, "are we a 'thing?'"
"Yeah." Emily grabbed another box.
"Well... no." We hadn't talked about it at all, and it hadn't occurred to me until right that second that it was maybe a question I should be posing. We certainly weren't in a relationship. He hadn't asked, and neither had I. But were we headed towards one? Or was this just a friendship, destined to remain a friendship between two unlikely friends for the rest of forever? I wouldn't admit it, but I knew I didn't like the sound of that.
"But we're becoming really good friends." The memory of us standing in my doorway, leaning towards one another, the pink outline of his mouth, wanting so badly to kiss him it was difficult to think about anything else, filled my mind's eye. "And I'm good with that."
For now, I added in my head.
After a couple hours of work, we had my new room looking somewhat orderly, though I misplaced a few of the items Emily so painstakingly positioned just for a laugh. It was my room anyway. I was dragging my suitcases into the hall and shoving them in the closet when the buzzer sounded, and with Emily in her own room getting ready, I bolted for the front door.
Less than five minutes later, my mother was already scolding me, and my father was shaking his head behind her.
"Maddie, my beautiful girl," she reached out and held up the ends of my hair, "when was the last time you got yourself a trim?"
I smiled, "I've missed you, too, Mom."
"So this is the new place, huh kid?" My dad boomed, walking around my mother and glancing about the living room and attached kitchen.
"This is it," I surveyed the slate blue walls of the living room, the black furniture, the flat screen hung on the wall opposite from the couch, "Pretty nice, right? Em did all the decorating."
"She certainly has an eye for it," My mother said, smiling past me in the direction of the hallway leading to the bedrooms.
"Thank you, Michelle," Emily said, looking put-together in her pristine jeans and unwrinkled blouse - exactly like the daughter my mother had always wanted, "It's so good to see both of you." She said, wrapping my mother, then my father in a hug, "Glad you could come."
The thing was, Emily and I had grown up together. Our mothers were best friends since high school, and used to spend time together almost constantly when we were really little. So despite our many differences, Emily and I were pretty much born to be friends - playing together when we were toddlers, sticking together in school in the face of catty girls and immature boys, and even when we went to different high schools, forced to grow apart, we grew together still. And despite always being polar opposites, we understood one another, and never took our friendship for granted.
After showing my parents around the small apartment, including my newly set-up bedroom complete with Gary the minion (much to Emily's chagrin), we settled in the living room, and Emily made coffee and brought out little snacks that I inhaled as if I hadn't eaten in days.
"Kid, have you gotten any grades back, yet?" My dad asked, arm slung around my mother, slurping his coffee in a way that made her wince.
"Only one. For my stupid Philosophy class." At my parents' expectant stares, I continued with a shrug, "It was an "A," obviously."
"Oh, obviously," My mother smiled, "It's a little hard for us mere mortals to grasp things as easily as Madelyn Freeman does, so pardon our surprise."
"Good work, kid," My dad slurped again. My mother winced again, then patted his knee. "All that reading you do is really paying off."
"Yeah, yeah," I said with a wave of my hand, "Let's not get ahead of ourselves. It's only one grade."
That's when I heard it, and my whole body tensed - the blaring ring of my phone from the depths of my room. I glanced at Emily, who was nibbling a cookie, then at the clock hanging in the kitchen. It was only just after two. It's too early, I thought, but my whole body was rigid with excitement anyway.
"What is that?" My mother asked, pausing mid-interrogation and looking around with furrowed brows.
I wanted nothing more than to run into my room, but I folded my hands in my lap instead, giving her a tight smile, "Just my phone, Mom."
"Oh," she said, sitting back against my father's arm and regrouping, "So, Emily, you and Bryan are still together then?"
The ringing ceased, and I slumped, reaching for a cookie from the coffee table to attempt to fill the growing pit of disappointment in my stomach. Emily was chattering about Bryan, I supposed, and my mother and father were listening with interest, but I couldn't be bothered.
It couldn't be him, I thought, He never calls this early.
Just as I was convincing myself that it was a fluke - probably some stupid sales call that I wouldn't have answered anyway, the damn phone started ringing again. And I stiffened again. My mother whipped her head around to give me a stern look as Emily continued speaking, as if she were daring me to be rude, and go and answer it. My father pressed his lips together in silent amusement, his salt and pepper beard crowding the space where his lips should be to make it look like they didn't exist at all.
When it stopped ringing again, I caught Em's sympathetic glance as my mother responded to whatever Emily had said about her relationship with Bryan. She knew my mom practically as well as I did, which meant she knew that a serious scolding was to be had if I got up to answer that phone.
I knew it had to be him, and felt horrible not only because I couldn't talk to him, but because I was afraid he would think I didn't want to talk to him. But I didn't want to have to tell my mother who was calling. Not now. Not yet. Harry and I hadn't even known each other for a week, and I wanted to keep him to myself (and Emily) for a little bit longer - at least a month... maybe a year, I wasn't picky. But I did want the decision to tell my parents about him to be mine, and not forced by an interrogation following too many phone calls.
Several minutes and too many cookies later, I was feeling so horrible and anxious that my mother took notice, "Madelyn, what's the matter?"
"Nothing, Ma."
"Then why are you shaking your leg incessantly?"
I immediately stopped, though I hadn't noticed the automatic movement to begin with, "Oh. I didn't even realize I was."
After a pronounced huff, she continued, "Anyway, your brothers are coming in for the fourth of July with Jenny and," she paused to look at my father, "I think Mark's new girl is named Nina?" When my father gave no acknowledgment, only stared at his lap, my mother went on, "You and Emily should come to the house, too. We'll be having a big barbecue, and -"
It was ringing again, and when my mother stopped midsentence, so did my heart.
It rang once, shrill and demanding.
Twice, a patient reminder.
Three times, my leg started shaking again.
My mother sighed, "Oh for God's sake, Madelyn, go answer it before the person on the other end has a conniption."
I was out of my seat and running down the hall before she finished her sentence, thrilled at the thought that it was him, nervous to think I'd have to face her wrath after the conversation.
"Hello?" I said, just as I fell onto the bed, breathless from my sprint.
"Hey you," Harry said, sounding concerned, "Everything alright?"
"Wha- yeah, yeah. Everything's fine." I waved my hand even though he couldn't see, then held it to my heated throat, "Was that you before, too?"
"Uh, yeah, it was," he said, sounding sheepish, "Sorry to be a bother, I just -"
"No, no, you're not a bother,"
"- have some free time and -"
"I actually have my parents here, and..."
"- thought I would call, but you weren't answering,"
"- just thought it might be hard to explain..."
"...maybe you were ignoring me."
We were both silent for a moment, before the giggling ensued at the realization that we had spoken over each other for a solid thirty seconds.
"I -"
"Did you -"
We laughed again. "Sorry," I said, cheeks burning along with my neck now, "You first."
Harry chuckled, "Did you say that your parents are there?"
"Oh. Yeah they are, which was why I didn't pick up right away."
"I should let you go then, I don't want to keep you from your visit."
"No, no! I don't have to go." I relaxed a little bit into the bed, thinking that if I was already going to be in trouble, might as well have a chat with Harry first. "They'll be fine, believe me. Besides, Emily's with them."
"Oh, well okay, if you're sure."
"I'm sure." I smiled, "So what's up, you have a break early today?"
"Uh, yeah. I don't know how it happened, but none of the other lads are around, and I've got a spare half hour, so I thought I'd take advantage of the time and give you a ring."
"A ring?!" I exclaimed with an excited gasp, "This is all so sudden..."
"You know what I mean -"
"I'll need time to consider this, you know. I always thought I'd be older when some lucky guy proposed."
"Madelyn!" He was laughing, "You know I meant on the phone."
There was a pause, giving me enough time to relish the tingles in my stomach his words gave me. He was thinking of me.
I laughed, too, conceding, "I know."
"Someone's on point today." Harry was still smiling. I could hear it in his voice.
"Surprising, considering my day so far. And I am glad you called." I said, in response to his earlier statement.
"Me too." Harry sighed, "Anyway... how's the time with your parents? Did they come to see the new flat?"
"Yeah," I said, listening for a moment for the sounds of conversation outside. I heard a tight, pained sound, and knew it was my mother laughing, so I pressed on, "I'd completely forgotten about it until this morning when Em came tearing into my room. Literally, tearing. She ripped open my packed boxes with her bare hands."
"Remind me not to get on her bad side, then."
I laughed, "But it's going well, I think. At least until..." I didn't mean to imply it - not in the way it could be construed. But of course, that's exactly what Harry latched on to.
"Until I started calling repeatedly." He said, finishing my sentence for me.
"Well... yes." I said, nervous now, "But I didn't mean that precisely the way it sounded. My mother just hates phones. Texting, web surfing, all of it - especially during her designated family time."
"Well, that sounds reasonable. My mum would feel the same way."
"Yeah, it's just, my mom can be a little, well... high-strung? I guess. I don't know. I guess that's my way of saying I don't want to get on her bad side."
Harry laughed, "Right, it seems I've got a lot of people to impress in future, then." My eyes widened, my stomach buzzed. In future... "You should probably go, then, right?"
"But..." I was pouting. I was ACTUALLY pouting. "I don't really want to."
"But you should." Harry paused, "Look, I don't want your parents to hate me right off the bat for keeping you on the phone during designated family time. I'll just call you later tonight. Same time, as usual."
"Oh, but they don't know it's you." I babbled.
"What?"
"I -" Was this something he would be upset about? Me not telling my parents about him? As far as I knew, he didn't tell the "lads" about me - not to mention his actual family. We hadn't even discussed whether or not we were enough of a thing to tell people about. So, it shouldn't really matter, "I didn't tell them about you." I admitted, then tacked on a, "Not yet, anyway."
The pause after my statement wasn't long, but long enough for me to formulate all kinds of troublesome situations in my head. He was mad I hadn't told my parents of my impending relationship with a superstar. He was disappointed with me for not being honest not only with my parents, but with myself. He was upset that I didn't have enough faith in us to reveal all of our flirting to my mother.
"Oh, good. They won't have reason to be mad when they do meet me, then."
"Hmm, there you go again, Mr. Styles. First, you invite yourself to my place, and take up residence on my bed the very first time we hang out, you just offered me a ring after one date and a few phone calls, and now you're assuming you'll be meeting my family?" Harry was laughing, and as serious as I was attempting to be, I couldn't keep from smiling, "I wasn't sure whether to be offended before, but now I think I should be."
"Says the girl who, only last night, told me to have my fridge stocked with, and I quote: 'copious amounts of chocolate ice cream' for whenever she comes over."
"That seems like a pretty simple request in comparison. Requires hardly any commitment."
"Except for the fact that my fridge is in my home... which is in England." He paused, "I'd say some level of commitment will be necessary to get you across the Atlantic."
"Good point," I giggled, "Seems like we're both assuming the worst here."
"All I can say is, I hope we follow through on it." There was another pause, "I mean, not all of it. You know, not right away, of course, but... maybe... eventually."
I could hear the nerves in his voice, picture the slow, precise movement of his pink lips forming each word, as if there were intense, important thoughts behind each of them. Then, of course, the meaning of those words... My heart stuttered, and my voice sounded much less confident in response, "I hope so, too."
Harry sighed, "You should go, Mads."
"Mads?"
"Stop putting off the inevitable..."
"Mads." I said out loud, "Hm, I approve."
"Would've called you Mads anyway, you know."
"So is that what you meant by 'putting off the inevitable?'"
"No, I meant getting off the phone." He said, laughing again, "There will never be a dull moment with you around, will there?"
"Only when I'm asleep. Though Em says I talk sometimes. So, long story-short...definitely not." I assured him.
"Good." He said firmly. And I could hear that he was smiling again, "Same time tonight. Don't be late."
"I'll be there."
"Talk to you later, then."
"But wait. What will I call you?"
"Goodbye, Madelyn." He said, still chuckling before the phone clicked off.
I strolled out of my bedroom, feeling as light as if I hadn't just eaten my weight in cookies. Lighter, in fact. Our conversation had lasted all of ten minutes, but it gave me the strength I needed to get on with my day.
"You know I don't like that Madelyn."
Or so I thought.
"I know, Mom. And I'm sorry." I said, sliding back into my seat, back straight.
"Well, don't let it happen again while we're here." She was perched at the edge of her seat, her body looked wired for attack. My father brought a hand to her shoulder, rubbing it consolingly.
"Give her a break, Michelle," His normally booming voice was still loud, just at a lower decibel.
"Right," my mother said, her rigid back settling against him a bit, "Well," she looked at me again, her large brown eyes seeming to see right through me, "Who was that anyway?"
I saw my father give a roll of his eyes before I shrugged, trying to seem nonchalant, "No one."
She kept looking at me, studying me, and I dropped my eyes to my lap, afraid they would give away too much, "That wasn't no one. You look like whoever that was just shot you up with cotton candy."
"Wha - what does that even mean?"
"Don't play coy with me, Maddie. I know you better than you think I do."
She was smiling knowingly, so I tried it from another angle, giving her an exasperated sigh, "Okay, obviously it wasn't no one. Someone was calling me, but," I paused, glancing at Emily, who looked sympathetic again, but could offer no help. I was alone in this, "it wasn't anyone important."
We were at a standoff, and I stared right back at her, unwilling to be the one to blink first. But she was still smiling, and after what felt like a good minute, spoke again, "Fine."
"Fine." I said, releasing a breath I didn't realize I was holding.
"But I'll find out, Maddie." She took a sip of what was probably her third cup of coffee, "I always do."
My mother, all five foot three of her, had always made it her personal mission to discover every secret her three children could possibly have. As the youngest and only girl, I was the one she should've been able to relate to the most. But I had always felt closer to the large man beside her, with his loud, deep voice and skim-the-surface questions, which only made her dig into my life with even more ferocity. And she was good at it.
But not this time. Not with Harry Styles in the mix.
I sipped my own coffee, disgusted to find it cold, but smiled anyway, for the first time, comfortable with my odds, "Yep, you always do."