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It was not going well.

I'd been on the bathroom floor for hours with some serious food poisoning trying to puke quietly and that was the least of my worries. It had started when we arrived at my parents house, after a hellacious day of delays and sniping at each other in an uncharacteristic way.

"How could you have forgotten your ring?" Milo rose his voice on the plane and my hide chafed at being chastised so publicly. But I didn't have an answer for him.

"I don't know, I just did in all of the nerves about the trip, Milo. Please, I didn't do it on purpose. Lower your voice." I ended in a low tone.

His jaw squared and I could tell he was still extremely irritated. "If you would just wear it all the time, this wouldn't be a problem. Now, how am I supposed to show your dad I'm going to make an honest woman of you soon? Hm? So he will believe it?"

He was trying to joke by the end of his question run, but he had wandered into fighting words for me. He never mentioned my mom when he talked about my parents approval, only my father's blessings were specifically mentioned, and the honest woman thing irritated me to no end. I was already irritated and nervous.

Mostly with myself. That was how I had come to leave my ring in the first place.

That night where the Melly of yesteryear tried to take over, I'd stared down at my hands and wound up rocking on the bathroom floor for hours. Like I was now, but two weeks ago, it had been with anxiety and life changing decisions. But I'd finally gotten myself together and put away that peace ring. But, I'd not been able to bring myself to put on the diamond solitaire either. So they had shared the little velvet box.

Honestly the little cube felt like it was a prison cell I was supposed to walk into. I'd taken to leaving my things out on the bathroom counters so I didn't have to see the flocked boogie man of my indecision whenever I needed to take my birth control or floss my teeth.

"Melody, why is all this junk on the sink?" Milo's voice was dragging like a tarp off a beat up pick up.

"Um, I guess I forgot to put it away this morning?" I squished my face up at the lie.

"No, Corazon, it's been on the counter for days!" He sounded closer and I tried to school my face to look less guilty. Milo liked the bathroom pin tidy. It was one of our frictions when we moved in together. I was a spread out kinda mess in the bathroom alone. My closet was tidy and my floor pristine, but the bathroom was where my mess lived. The only other person I had shared space with didn't mind. I think because it gave him the chance to play in my creams and things. I'll never forget the day he caught me putting on his cologne in the morning.

He'd leaned against the door jam, his eyes crinkling at the sides and the crevasses in his cheeks denting his cheeks in, "I do that?"

"What do you do?" I'd put the cap on and placed it on the counter to let my blush calm down before I looked up at him.

"This." He picked up my perfume. "When im gonna be away from you all day," he sprayed it closely into his right wrist. "Then, whenever I push my hair back," he did the maneuver. "I get to smell you!" His lips split up like a Lewis Carol cat done by Disney. "And since 'I look sexy when I push my hair back'" he shrugged at me and leaned in to kiss me quick.

"Alright, Regina!" I laughed at his back and he threw me a wink over his shoulder.

"Melody!" Sounded and I realized I was in my bathroom in Singapore, not a hotel room in Portugal.

"Huh?" I looked up from where I was gathering product off the slim white ring of the sink to shove into a toiletry bag.

"My love," uh oh English. "What is wrong with you? It's like you are half here?"

He was right, I was half here and halfway on a world tour with an old love in my head. I bit my lip and tried to conjure up the words to say so, that maybe we should cash in our travel insurance and just call it a day. But as far as Milo knew, things were fine, the same. I had been wading waist deep in my past while wearing my running suit for the better part of two weeks, but for him, I had simply gone on a business trip, like any other. And this one would have been like those before, except Harry.

"I..." I looked down?. "I, um."

"Corazon," his voice had softened and I looked up into his beautiful blue eyes and squared face and saw our last 18 months of delight and devotion. He smiled at me and cupped my jaw. I had to crane my neck at his proximity and I loved his size. "Are you that nervous, Melody? It will be great. Mama will love you so. And I will impress your father!" He put his face to my level and was so earnest I let my angst wash away in the flood of his presence.

"Ok, ok. I'll get it together. It will all be ok?" I opened my eyes and looked into his.

"I will all go very well." He hugged me into him and my face found the notch in his chest where my cheek fit perfectly.

But it didn't. I shoved everything in that bag from the countertop, forgetting the crystalline boogie man and it's silver sister in the little box in the cabinet.

That fight was one irritation.

The next was that he did not impress my father. I could not fathom why my dad seemed so irritated by Milo's very presence. He should have been short with Harry by all rights. When they had met, I'd been trying to mend a heart broken by Harry's casual indifference, and I lived there still. My puffy eyes and ice cream binges were there to see.

This time, I was bringing the man home to them, he wasn't turning up with his hat and intentions in hand.

It had started at dinner the first night. Milo didn't really love mum's meat pie. He didn't like them in general, I had stopped making them right quick. He loved grilled meat, a place where our cuisines dovetailed, but my mother had made my father's favorite.

"Milo, isn't my Wanda a great cook?" Garett, my graying bear of a dad asked.

Milo was a terrible liar, and frankly, I liked that he was so direct. Most of the time. "I'm sure she is!" He smiled to my mother. "But, I'm not a fan of these," he'd gestured to the plate. "I find them bland."

My mother had accepted it and offered him most aubergine salad, but I could see it bothered my dad. Then he turned down my dad's offer of beer. "I really prefer wine. Argentina grows amazing wine!" And he'd started to talk about his home and how beautiful it is. "It's broad and beautiful, and Bruno's Aires is as beautiful as Paris!" He didn't say anything bad about Australia, but I knew how he felt all the same. So did my dad.

I could also see that my dad feared I'd move even farther away with Milo.

I was a little surprised to see Milo in this light as well. He usually seemed so charming, but he was coming off a little arrogant.

After the pavlova my mother made, and Milo submitted to, he gripped my hand and I looked up quickly. We hadn't discussed telling them tonight. But Milo was about to.

He looked so proud.

"Wait—" I started to say, but wasn't fast enough, as Milo charged into ford the water's of our family dynamic. Had I been less distracted for the last several days or not slept to make up for my sleeplessness on the flight, I might have told him he should talk to my dad in private while I helped my mom with something to butter her up. Then we could link hands and share our plan to better effect.

"We have something to share," he looked at me but not long enough to catch my hesitation, or my wince at his we. "I've asked Melly to marry me! And she's accepted me," I caught his chin dip in my periphery, but was looking at my Adams. His face looked like that time he'd gotten distracted in the garden. "I bought her a beautiful ring, it rivals her face. But, can you believe she forgot it." He ruffled my hair and my dad's face was purple. My mom was gripping his bounding knee beneath the table and the room was silent for the length of a bible.

Then my dad, bless him, took a breath and looked at me. "This what you want Melody Olivia?" He shut everybody out but me.

My mom and I were more apt to spend time together. But it was my father who knew me like the back of his hand. I was made from his mold and the back of mine looked like a smaller delicate version of his own. I was certain he would see any micro expression my face ran. But I moved my other hand to the top of Milo's much larger one and smiled at him. Then looked at my dad, then my mum. "It is." It was.

There was a moment of silence and a bit of beg must have scrolled across the ticker of my face, because my mom spoke. "Well, then, let me grab some champagne! We should celebrate." She kissed my temple and when I looked at my dad, he tried to smile, but I knew a conversation was coming my way.

When Milo brought up money, I wanted to swallow my tongue. My dad looked like he had his. His jaw clenched and his temples flared. "So, sir, my plan is to cover the whole wedding, which we want to happen in Singapore in July, I would even love to fly you out. If you want, we can discuss the rehearsal dinner, but I think my cigar club is just the place..." and Milo kept on talking, oblivious to my dad's upset.

My dad wanted to pay for my wedding, had even mentioned it when I'd first come home floating on possibilities before Harry and I had a sudden loss of altitude. He'd told me to tell Harry he was still paying, he had an account he'd started when I was two for just that purpose. It was old fashioned, but sweet, and I'd not even brought up the fact that Harry had more money than he knew what to do with. I just told my dad that marriage was a long ways off. It was, but my dad seemed to prefer the idea of my marrying a rockstar to the man I'd presented him with tonight.

To my dad's an Milo's credit, the sleeping arrangements were assumed and my dad seemed to be warming to Milo after they had moved outside to share bourbon and he had helped my mother clean the table. My father was old fashioned, but he was very much a partner around the house. Seeing Milo be willing to lift a hand to help with dishes and clearing thawed him out a little. But I was tired, and the night was over and the week was just beginning.

I'd never been so thankful as I was when we got to my old room and I realized my parents had made it into a proper guest bedroom. The only thing that remained was my quotes wall.

"What's this?" Milo had gestured to the wall and I'd had a full body flash back to Harry finding my teenage dream. Except I felt more embarrassed. My fiancé, also looked less charmed and more amused and I was acutely aware of our ten year age gap.

"I wanted to be a writer when I was young." I revealed.

"You did?" He eyebrows flashed and his amusement hurt. I really wasn't who I used to be. How come I had never shared that?

I nodded.

"What did you want to write?" He asked while he looked at some of the lyrics. His fingers brushed over 'Something' and I winced a little. Milo made no bones about how he felt about me, which had been a huge attention to me, but he also never dedicated songs to me, or crooned them in my ear to indirectly show me his devotion. He had a nice voice when we sang together while cooking though. "Songs?" He guessed.

"No, not entirely sure now. Maybe, like travel fiction?" Even I was embarrassed by how flippant I was making my biggest dream sound.

"What's that?" He asked with genuine interest and I warmed all over.

"Um, maybe something I made up. I think of it kind of like historical fiction, but instead of another time, it would be another place, where my characters would be living current events and their own lives." I shrugged.

"That's an interesting idea! You could make some really important political statements, some philosophical commentary." Milo had confessed to me that he wanted to study philosophy, once, but that finance was more logical. "When did you change your ambition?"

I didn't. I shrugged, "I dunno, maybe after I started working for Jane?"

"Yeah, more reliable than writing." He smiled at me in sad camaraderie and turned back to the wall and I realized the conversation was over for him, that he could understand me making a pragmatic decision like he had made. It made me sad for both of us. He started reading the lyrics there. "I know a lot of these songs." He traced over more pieces of the old me. I could feel the prickles on my skin. "Except this one? 'if I could fly/I'd be coming right back home to you/think I might give up everything/just ask me to/pay attention I hope that you're listening/because I've let my guard down/right now I'm completely defenseless/for your eyes only I show you my heart/for when you're lonely and forget who you are/I'm missing half of me when we're apart.'" He stopped speaking and rose his eyebrows at me over his shoulder.

My confusion must have been all over my face. I didn't know that song.

"It's the longest one, you don't remember writing that one? The by line says Harry Styles." A chill ran down my back. He was reading off the wall and I was glad he was facing away from me again, My eyes welled over like a rock pool at high tide and my own defenses washed away. I got up like a jack in the box at the end of its crank and made a break to my bag for my pajamas and toothbrush.

"Oh," my voice only shook a little. "Must be really old. I'm gonna get ready for bed." And I ran for it.

In the bathroom, I puzzled over the lyrics. Where had they come from? When? I certainly hadn't written them, they were Harry's and apparently mine, but they were not from his album. I knew that backwards and forwards, even though I'd only listened to it twice. Once for his sake and once again for my own. Who wrote them out? I usually only chose a couple lines, this was an entire verse.

My most lingering question was, what was the rest of the song like? How did it sound?

I looked up at my honey colored wavy hair and my eyes, already at half mast and got ready for bed. The sound of my toothbrush and the running water was where I put my focus so I could get out of my own head.

When I got back to the room, Milo was in the new bed my parents had upgraded to from the white four poster of my youth and he was just clinging onto consciousness. I climbed into bed and accepted his kiss before he rolled to his stomach to sleep.

"I like your wall Melly. I'd love to read something you wrote." he breathed as jet lag dragged him under.

I thought I was just as tired as him. But I found myself at my literal sounding board. I knew the writing immediately. How the fuck? When in the world had Harry been in my room? Why? I traced the words and nearly tripped on my way over to my bag to pull out my headphones. I left Milo in the room that was me, and sat on the couch in my mum's sun room. I pulled up the song on youtube and found there was only audio. One Direction had never performed this song. It was off their last album before hiatus.

And it was beautiful. The whole album was. When I got to Olivia I had to pause my phone to take a breath. It was me, had to be. And I listened to it. Did he ever talk about this? Where the songs came from. The band always did tons of promo, maybe there was a video somewhere.

A google search and I was gasping. I'd seen little of him in our time apart, ran long and hard from images of his face.

God, he looked like my wet dreams come true on the tour I wasn't his mistress on. His hair was long, so long and curled about his shoulders. Before I knew it, I had wandered into tour video after tour video and was salivating over him
Even in cellulose, or whatever it's digital equivalent was. He was so sexy, always had been. But here he led with it. I suddenly flashed back to before he'd had me, when his hips led his way and everything was a dirty joke, and recognized a celibate Harry Styles as a very horny one.

When I found myself watching an impassioned rendition of my song, our song, Where Do Broken Hearts Go, I almost called him. He was clearly calling out to me.

But I didn't.

Even when my dad took me for coffee and offered his blessing, with words of caution.

"I know you don't like him Daddy, but he's good to me." I'd protested.

"Melody Olivia, I like him fine. Could really like him more. And I can see that he is, but marriage is supposed to be forever. He's a good looking bloke and clearly a man, but is he the man for you?" Was how he ended. I could see the man he would chose for me, in all his iterations. Especially the very mature evolved one I'd recently held and released.

I should have asked them, my questions, my dad looked at me long and I knew he was waiting for it. When? When did Harry come and scrawl his heart upon my bedroom wall? But I couldn't cough up the words. Not that day, or for the remainder of our stay.

I wanted the answer from the source. I still didn't call him though.

We left Australia, and the first two days in Argentina were ok. They were touch and go. We were tired, but it was nice to see my fiance in his element. Completely at ease and himself in a way I'd only seen in our apartment. Home Milo was relaxed and funny. His sense of humor not just for my delight. Milo was right about his friends. They loved me; thought me a literal doll, but his mother was lukewarm at best.

And the food, was a point of contention, just like at my house.

So now, I'm laying on the floor with food poisoning praying no one finds me. I have no control over this, but when I'd been lukewarm about the bean dish his mother made the first night, I knew I offended her, without knowing a bit of Spanish and while I tried to fake my way through liking the first portion.

I don't think she liked that I knew so little of that either. But she had liked that I was helpful around the house and that I knew how to knit. We had some nice moments doing that together, and she had smiled and laughed at a clumsy joke I'd produced in Spanish. Maria Luisa had a beautiful hearty laugh. That was a highlight. Milo and I were spending every daylight minute together too and he had shown me his favorite restaurant, and where he had learned to dance. And we had spent a breathless night on the patio while the band played and he expertly lead me around the dance floor. I was so hot for him it burned. But it had to be moved to a distant burner.

Because we were also not sharing a bed. Which I was both thankful for every night but that one, because I was afraid I'd be making love with Milo and see Harry's face, since he'd built a trench in my mind, and upset about, because I was definitely a guest here. And would remain one, instead of family, until we were married in front of God and everybody. I may have won her over some, but she still had reservations.

I wasn't catholic, for one. She said I could change that. Not in 6 months, I couldn't. Postpone she suggested with a high brow at her son. He had nodded. Nodded, she was half his height and he had been the one who thought July was perfect. I was happy to have a long engagement.

I knew she meant the world to him, but his inability to stand up to her was gonna require a conversation.

"Mi amor, nothing changes if we do it in July or two years from now. You are mine and I am yours. That will not change." He'd kissed me soundly and I'd melted.

Had we already married, he might have been right, but I wasn't sure whose I was tonight or from now on.

Things had changed. This trip was going ok, it was not the resounding success I needed it to be. Because I'd changed. Maybe me or just my mind. Or I'd woken up from the dream I'd been trying to live. Truth was, I'd foregone too many of my dreams when I'd run from the man I wanted to star in them. But I'd hurt him, so badly. That was clear. I was so sure we were over, but that was my fear and selfishness talking. I should have given Harry a chance to speak. And I still had questions.

He ended by saying, 'I love you.'

I hadn't asked then, because they were words said often and without meaning. Harry told so many people he loved them, and I was sure he meant it every time, but not the way I wanted him to mean them to me.

As I lay on the cold black and white tile of Milo's mother's bathroom in the dead of night, hoping not to throw up again, I sought comfort. The rolls of sickness washed over me and wave upon wave of memory accompanied them. The undertow of the past pulled me to him. It was not my mother's voice I needed, I wanted Harry's. So I went to YouTube, and replaced the ache in my belly with one in my heart, I listened to songs, the ones I knew were about me. From Stockholm Syndrome, apparently about a nympho, to Where Do Broken Hearts Go, to Olivia, but it was the concert videos of the new ones, the more personal ones that left me teary eyed and with his number pulled up. Meet Me In the Hallway I couldn't even finish. And If I Could Fly, the lyrics that felt like so many coals over my gaunt skin, had never been performed. I pressed the name.

What does one say to the love of your life when you realize you are no closer to your dreams than when you left him and you've agreed to marry a man you also love and are half a world and life away.

Apparently,  

"Hello?"