GREEN (RL Harry Styles fanfic)

30. Purple Nurple

I was jostled awake by the rough bounce of the plane hitting the tarmac at Heathrow airport. I wiped the sleep from my eyes and tried to blink away the tired that was still consuming me. I slept about four hours on the flight, but it was restless sleep. I could never get comfortable on a plane with the constant activity going on around me and one hundred or so strangers.

I still had one more quick flight to Manchester before making my way to Harry's Mom's house in Holmes Chapel. I gathered my carry on and my one permitted personal item and joined the line of passengers barely moving as they exited the plane.

The flight to Manchester was quick, but beautiful. I was actually able to take in the scenery of the country. The stone buildings captivated me, so full of history and the vibrant green of the hillside was breathtaking from above. Perhaps because they matched the color of Harry's eyes, the eyes I'd be seeing today.

As the wheels touched down for the second time since I'd crossed the pond, I decided to text Harry.

I just landed!

I found my way to baggage claim and did an internal happy dance when my luggage all arrived, appearing unscathed. I checked my phone and still had no response from Harry.

I've got my bags. Did you send a car?

Still digital silence.

I figured I'd just wander to the pick up area and hope for someone to be out there holding a sign with my name on it. I made my way through the double doors and my eyes immediately locked on a white sign, 'Olivia Taylor.' I was only relieved for a moment before my eyes traveled up to see who was holding the sign. Anne. Harry's mom.

"Hi!," I said as enthusiastically as I could without nervously vomiting. "I didn't know you chauffeured." Anne laughed genuinely. It was a terrible joke, but I was hoping it would make this less awkward, or terrifying. Thank God I googled the woman like Jessie said.

"So glad to meet you sweetheart," Anne said pulling me in for a hug that warmed me more than one from my own mother.

I didn't need google. Harry's mom was literally the definition of a mother. The way she spoke, her kind eyes, her loving embrace, it all screamed maternal. She shared similarities to Harry, like his wide smile that stretched across his face and his dimple. Well I guess it was her dimple, since she had it first. I wanted to call her mom, not because I was dating her son, but because the title fit her so well.

"I'm glad to meet you too! Harry didn't tell me you'd be picking me up." I made a mental note to twist his nipple later as punishment, I'd decide which of the four it would be later.

"Well he had a car arranged but it's such a short drive and I wasn't busy, so decided I'd do it. He'll probably be a bit mad I didn't tell him." She chuckled slightly and I wondered where Harry was if he didn't know Anne had come to get me. "I figured it would give us time to get to know each other," Anne continued as we made our way to the car park, as it was called here. "Though I feel like I know you already with all that Harry's told me about you." Panic set in again as I wondered what Harry had said about me. I just nervously laughed.

We loaded my luggage in the car and I hopped in the passenger seat after an awkward circle about the car; forgetting the driver's side was on the opposite side than back home. I let out a heavy sigh in the few seconds I had alone before Anne climbed in to take her spot behind the wheel. I could only hope the conversation stayed light and pleasant instead of the terrifying interrogation my brain was thinking up. Anne had shown me no reason to be afraid, but my overthinking didn't take that into consideration.

"So did Harry and Gemma have a good time at Fleetwood Mac last night?" I tried to strike up conversation so it wasn't all left up to Anne.

"I think so. They were both still sound asleep when I left." It was just past noon London time when I landed, so I could only assume they were both sleeping off their hangovers. "They were certainly in good spirits when they got home last night." Anne even had such a pleasant way of describing her drunk children. "Harry was quite the chatterbox, though I couldn't make much sense of him."