About (Harry Styles)

20.

"Do you like me?" I ask, the abrupt question causing him to freeze in place.

"Would it be okay if I did?" He answers ... Not to my surprise, with another question.

His reply still captivates me til this very moment. The incertitude on his face. The ambiguity of his motives.  It all allures me in which a way I don't completely understand.

Harry Styles worries about me?

Harry Styles nervous about me?

Harry Styles ... likes ... me? 

How could he even like me? What does he even like about me?

We haven't even known each other for that long.  Only instances here and there, not long enough for such romantic feelings to develop.  

How long does it take for someone to like someone?

Is there even an exact answer?

I mustn't let this go on.  
I mustn't let him fill my thoughts. 
I mustn't.

...

Rushing down the stairs, my feet almost trip over themselves as I reach the bottom.  I call for my mother, my voice echoing through the house as I search for the sight of the blonde-haired woman. 

I'm caught off guard when the high spirited doctor walks in, asking me why I'm looking for my mother so ardently.  He pushes his glasses further up his nose as he sets the daily newspaper onto the dining table.

"I'm late for work and need a ride," I answer.  "Have you seen my mother?"

"She went to the store, but I can give you a ride," he offers with a smile. 

...

"How's work going?"  He asks once we're on the road. 

Damn.  I was hoping for a silent car ride.  It's awkward enough as it is with him pretending to be my father. This was going to be a long ass drive.

"It's good," I reply, my eyes out the window, showing my disinterest.  "I've only worked a day or two because of my ankle."

"Oh, right.  Quinn worries about you, you know."  The sudden mention of his son somehow strikes me as bizarre.  "I told him about what happened, but he doesn't buy the squirrel story."

Quinn returned to Delaware, right after they attended church, because of work, I'm assuming.  Out of urgency as usual.  I never get to say goodbye to him. 

"I wanted to talk to you about what happened a week ago," he starts.  My mind replays the last week and can't think of anything he would want to discuss with me.  "The night Quinn came back."

Oh ... that.

"I know how you feel.  Quinn's mother abandoned us when he was only four years old.  So I know how it feels to be left behind."

"Why did she leave?"  I ask, realizing the next second that my question might have been too intrusive.  "Sorry, I don't --"

"No, it's okay. I mean, it's a valid question," the lawyer says sincerely.  He keeps his eyes out on the road as he drives, but I can see that he's driving down a different lane in his head.  "Quinn's mother and I weren't financially stable at the time so she and I decided a divorce was the choice for us.  She didn't want custody of Quinn since she didn't have the steady income to provide for him, plus she had another ... lover."

"Wow," is all I'm able to say.  Mr.  White and my mother have been married for almost four years now and I'm only learning of this now.   I was never really enthralled by his side of the story.  Or anybody's really.