Still The One

Twenty-One

Don’t ever tell anybody anything. If you do, you start missing everybody. – J.D. Salinger, The Catcher In The Rye

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Twenty-One
Two years ago – August 21, 2016

“I don’t know, Alice,” Niall pleaded into the phone. “This doesn’t feel right. I don’t want to do this.”

I sighed, in an unhappy state of mind. “Please. I can’t do it.”

“Why can’t you, though?” he groaned softly.

“I just– I just can’t.”

If it wasn’t bad enough that I didn’t have the courage to do something myself, Niall had to be careless and make me feel even worse. I greatly needed someone to go back to the flat Harry and I once shared to gather my things. I couldn’t bear seeing his face, in fear that I’d come running back. There was also the tormenting scare that he wouldn’t even want to see me. His awful words – you leave me and walk out that door, don’t bother coming back – had never left me.

Days ago, Niall had already delivered me my car, as I had originally left Harry’s place in a frenzy and had forgotten my keys. Why couldn’t he do me just one more favor? But I couldn’t get the clueless blonde to understand things from my point of view. He couldn’t possibly fathom the indomitable amount of heartache that burdened me.

Niall eventually breathed into the receiver, “Okay, but only for you.” And instantly, I felt as if a tremendous weight was lifted from my shoulders.

“Thank you. Thank you. Thank you,” I exclaimed in relief. “I owe you one.”

“And don’t forget it,” he replied almost curtly, and hung up. Niall was easy to please, anyway; a little take-out was sure to fill the solid I felt obligated to pay. I tossed my phone into my purse and the remainder of my effects into my tote bag, feeling tolerably hopeful – much more preferable than the agony I had been in the past week.

Ambling into the living room, I found Mum sitting with two stacks of hot cakes and matching coffee mugs. She was going through the newspaper, just like Dad did every morning. I was hit with a subtle sense of homesickness.

“There you are, love. I made breakfast and –” she stopped mid-sentence, the luggage in my hands noticed. “Are you going somewhere?”

I left my things to the side of the wall, and took a seat beside her. I took a sip of the coffee, and then confessed, “Mum, I think it’s time I left.”

She dabbed at the corner of her mouth with a napkin. Then she spoke softly, “Are you sure, Alice?”

“Absolutely. I need to get on with things, and I can’t do that if I stay here any longer. I’m sorry. Are you mad?” I asked, timid.

She shook her head almost incredulously at my question. “Of course not, love. But are you sure you’ll be fine?”