Nora Dodson is a "fast-talking, F-bomb-dropping, born-and-bred New Yorker". Harry Styles is no longer a member of One Direction. He's lovely, kind and a very odd young man, though he's entirely unhappy in his relationship. But then he meets Nora an...
Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
I was twenty-four now, and I realized immediately upon waking up on Thursday, after a seriously long night of drinking and shouting music lyrics at the top of my lungs, that my body was no longer in the shape it used to be, I mean...I'm a mother now, Jesus. So, as well as a brutal hangover, my immune system was weaker than ever, and a task as simple as walking down to the small corner market thrust an almost unbearable cold-flu-thing upon me. Fucking lovely. Harry and I had a few conversations back and forth, but after Thursday's bitter phone call, we decided it best to just take a few days and check in with one another through voiceless text messages. Both Wednesday and Thursday, he'd used the same argument. He'd given up a lot for me, Rosie and Peter. Fine, okay? I admitted to him that he was right, but he also chose me and he chose the life we were living. Performing means the world to him, so if he wanted to do it, he shouldn't have sworn himself to the burden of starting a family.
"Give it to me, por favor."
"No...gracias, I'm fine—I'm bueno!" I pitifully argue back with María as she tries to wrestle the vacuum out of my hands. Side note: I failed Spanish.
"You are sick, go be sick! Mi dios, tú chica obstinada! "
"I don't know what that means, María, that's not fair."
"It means you are a stubborn girl! You pay me money, I tell you to go away from the vacuum! Go rest. I'll do this."
"I don't pay you to clean for me!"
"I know, but you are sick and you are family, remember? Family takes care of family, now don't make me push you down, Ms. Nora, don't think I won't!" My nine month old babies are more mature than I am in this singular moment, well, most of my moments, probably. I huff dramatically as I reluctantly hand her the Shark Vacuum, the multi-cleaner that television swears by.
"Fine. But I'm making tea." I trudge over to the stove and fill the kettle with water before turning it on.
"Echinacea is in the drawer."
"What?" I ask her.
"I bought you Echinacea medicinal tea, it is good for your immune system, it will help." I sigh and turn the burner on.
"Thank you for being a million and one times better than I ever could have imagined you to be." She smiles at me.
"It helps that I like you. Even though you curse too much."
"I do kind of. But doesn't that just make me fun...or funny?"
"It makes you...something." We both laugh, but I quickly grab a napkin, knowing that a few sneezes are coming. My eyes are puffy, my nose is raw and my lips are horribly chapped. Poor Harry gets to be welcomed home by one hell of a...something, as María interestingly put it.
