Rebel Rebel |harry styles| - ongoing

FORTY-FIVE

Joni Mitchell: Harry's House/Centrepiece

Harry

This morning Jeff called and wanted to know if Essie and I would like to put out a press release announcing our marriage. It was funny to me that the thought hadn't really crossed my mind yet when it was such a logical inquiry. I didn't know which decision to make and simply thinking about how I wanted to announce my nuptials made me furious. I didn't want to announce them at all. I wanted it to be a marriage between myself and Essie, without any complications, without the fuss and the fanfare. Realistically I understood Jeff simply wanted to get in front of the headlines, but I somehow assumed we'd have our privacy forever. A problem even bigger than having to assign someone with writing that press release was broaching the topic with Essie. I knew where she stood on the fame part of my life and how she wanted to protect us and our relationship as best as she could. I also knew she would understand why we needed to figure out a way to inform the public, but I would do anything to keep us inside this little bubble for a bit longer.

"You keep drifting to this different dimension of Harry-land and I hate to think it's because of the wedding.", her soft voice intercepted the messy train of my thoughts.

"Sorry, it wasn't my intention. I just don't know how to feel about a certain something we're going to have to do eventually."

"And what is that?", Essie's full attention was now on me, as she set her book down on the duvet.

"Jeff wanted to know how we'd like to announce that we got married... and I just haven't really thought about having to do that.", her face didn't emit any signal as to whether she was surprised by this, much like I was, or if it was obvious to her that this was something we'd have to do.

"Oh. I haven't really thought about it either. How would you like to do it?"

"Honestly, I have no fucking idea,", she laughed, and the sound assured me that we'd be fine as long as we remain clueless together, "it feels odd doing a press release like 'To whom it may concern, Essie and I got married last Saturday afternoon, peace, the Styles', doesn't it?".

"Well you're obviously not going to phrase it like that, you doofus. But I do get where you're coming from, press releases are traditionally a form of announcing something – a new brand, a collaboration or a merger in the business world... not a marriage, even though it kind of is a collaboration or a merger if you think about it. 'The Styles – Robinson remix, up and running since this summer, please hesitate to contact for more information'.", she chuckled.

Sitting in our bed at 10 in the night, just giggling about putting out a press release about our wedding was an anecdote I never wanted to forget. The absurdity of it made us laugh even more, until our tummies hurt and tears streamed our faces, each worry gliding away with them.

"Let's circle back to that one in the morning, because I see you have about 7 to 10 puns ready to drop at any moment. Although, I have to say that I don't see why we need to do anything. We can go about living our lives privately because we don't owe anything to anyone."

"I agree, but I think Jeff is right – we have to do something to confirm it because if only one photograph of me in a wedding dress comes out and we don't confirm or deny they will never leave us alone. It's better to tweet 'hitched' with a photo of our rings then try ignoring them away. We'll handle the details tomorrow because day is smarter than night.", Ess leaned over to kiss me, "Now go to sleep, you PR genius.".

Estee's soft, deep breaths told me she was fast asleep, but I kept turning from one side to the other, unable to stop thinking about reconciling the two parts of me – the private and the public. I loved what I did, there was nothing like the rush a concert gave me and the hum in my ears from all the screams usually charged my social battery better than a tropical holiday ever could. But I did wonder what my life would look like if I were a simple nobody. Just a man with a job and a life. Not Harry, the artist that got photographed at every corner and asked for an autograph during a food shop. But instead Harry, the literature professor that could take his family to the park for a picnic without worrying about his kids' faces ending up front page of The Sun. And moreover, do the pros really outweigh the cons of this job? Was this something I was willing to sacrifice a big chunk of my family life to keep? There were far too many questions that I just couldn't figure out the answers to, but it didn't stop me from staying up half the night pondering them.