We walk into Harry's parents' house through the garage, and if it weren't for Harry's constant hold on my hand, I probably would have turned around and ran away about seven times. The walk through the house really is long enough for me to contemplate running that many times, so just think about the mere scale of this place. Not to sound ridiculous, but this place is ginormous and I feel like everything in it is too nice for me to even look at. Literally, I'm afraid that if I look at the pictures too long, the glass will break because my poorness is somehow getting on them through the expensive air.

Who the hell actually lives in a house like this?

When we reach what I assume is the living room, we finally encounter a person, and suddenly, I get it. This is the type of person who would live in a house like this. The man standing in the corner of the room is tall and has rather intimidating look about him. His suit is tailored to perfection and his dark beard seems to be oddly symmetrical. This must be Harry's stepfather.

"Ah, Harry!" the man exclaims, seeing Harry and I standing in the doorway. His deep, Southern accent fills the air between us, "It's good to see you, son."

Harry's grip on me tightens momentarily at the man's words, but he continues to lead me forward regardless of whatever emotions he might be feeling. I know Harry doesn't have a great relationship with this man, but I just hope they are both able to be civil towards each other. I wouldn't know what to do if they started fighting.

To my surprise, Harry releases his hold on me and takes the final stride to shake his father's hand. Okay, this is good.

"Happy Birthday," Harry says quietly, forcing a smile onto that pretty mouth of his. I smile at the obvious effort Harry is making to ensure a peaceful evening and step forward just a tad when the man notices me.

"Thank you," Harry's stepfather grins, turning his attention to me. "And this must be..."

"Camryn," Harry interjects. "This is Camryn."

I put on a smile and shake the man's hand, "It's so nice to meet you, Mr.–"

"Preston," he interrupts, smiling pleasantly at me. "Please, call me Preston."

Ha, he even has a rich person name.

I catch Harry rolling his eyes in the corner of my eye, but I am distracted from the rude gesture when a very cheerful British accent comes echoing from behind me. Harry's mother comes nearly sprinting into the room, her high heels clicking against the wood floors rather aggressively. Harry smiles widely when he sees her and moves to embrace her. She wraps her arms tightly around her son, shutting her eyes with a broad smile.

It warms my heart to see Harry like this, so at ease and so desirous to show his mother that he really loves her. It's a beautiful thing, really. I suddenly become aware of the fact that I am staring at their rather intimate moment, so I look away hurriedly and fix my eyes on nothing in particular.

Harry's mom releases him and she whispers something in his ear before turning to me with that wonderfully bright smile of hers. I expect her to shake my hand like her husband did before, but I am surprised to be pulled into a tight hug for which I was not ready. I make eye contact with Harry over his mother's shoulder and he simply pushes his hands into his pockets and laughs at my probably stupid expression.

"I'm so glad to finally meet you," she exclaims, pulling away from me, but keeping her hands on my shoulders. "Harry never brings his girlfriends around here."

Girlfriends? Part of me want to address the plurality of the term while the other part wants to address the fact that she called me his girlfriend. Does that mean he called me that to his mom? Or is she just making a typical mom assumption? Ugh, I am confusion.

At this, Harry's eyes widen in embarrassment and I fight the urge to laugh at him. How does it feel to be the one who looks dumb, now?

"Okay mum, that's enough of that," he says, clearly irritated, but not denying his mother's thought-provoking words. Alright then, there might be a chance for me yet.

"What?" she questions, glancing back at him. "You don't." Harry rolls his eyes in response, and his mother returns her attention to me. "I'm Anne, by the way. I'm so glad you both could make it tonight. We really appreciate you taking the time out of your Thanksgiving break to spend the evening with us."

"Thank you for inviting me," I smile in return, trying to mentally tame my rapidly beating heart. Yeah, the house is huge and the husband is intimidating, but this woman seems to be very warm and welcoming, so I really shouldn't worry about having to impress her. "Do you need any help with anything before everyone else gets here?"

Anne shakes her head, "No, don't be silly. You're our guest."

"We could use some help with the music selection, though," Preston interjects, stepping forward and snaking his arm around his wife's waist. "Maybe your music taste is hip enough to make the party a little more lively."

Harry laughs and comes to stand beside me, "I don't think you want her to do that. She's obsessed with this teeny-bopper boyband called One Dimension, and you can bet that they would scare any self-respecting person away from this place for good."

Okay, yes I like boybands, but only because it reminds me of beautiful childhood memories that I would never trade for anything. I made some real friends on that old instagram fan account, and though it's definitely cringey to think about, I don't regret a single minute of it. I will say, my brain probably would have been better off without all the smutty fanfiction, but hey, it's a little late for that kind of sentiment. Harry doesn't know about all that though, and I don't think he ever will.

"They're good," I defend my true loves adamantly, trying not to sound like too much of a fangirl. "And besides, you look exactly like one of the guys in the band, so I'd hold off from insulting their hair again."

"For the last time, I do not look like Jerry Miles," Harry insists, though deep down he knows he is lying to himself. Harry and Jerry could be identical twins, so I just don't get why Harry continues to make this argument.

In the end, Harry picks a pretty chill playlist with artists like Van Morrison and Pink Floyd, so he was at least right about not letting me choose the music. My choice would have been boybands or Nat King Cole, neither of which seem appropriate for a dinner party like this.

The guests begin arriving about fifteen minutes after we did, and they are escorted into a giant sitting room that has a few couches and several high-top tables. Apparently, it's customary for these people to have a cocktail hour before dinner, so this is when the drinking begins as well. Harry's parents offer me wine, but I decline. I am still technically underage, so I don't think I want them seeing me drink illegally, at least not at our first meeting.

As the people continue fill the room, I begin to wonder just how may people are supposed to come to this thing. I'd estimate there is already about thirty people here, so I can't imagine many more showing up.

During this cocktail hour, I pretty much just follow Harry around like a lost puppy because I literally do not know a soul here. To my surprise, Harry remains by his parents side for the most part, greeting the many people that keep coming through the door. Most of them just shake Harry's hand and move on, but some of them embrace him warmly and begin conversation. In the second case, the guests actually address me, and I am forced to break out of my comfortable bubble of silence. I don't know why it never occurred to me that I wouldn't just be talking to Harry's parents. They were the easy ones to please, but these people are nosier, and I really don't know what to say to them.

To my absolute horror, Harry excuses himself to go talk to someone he missed on their way in, and he tells me to stay with his mother. Um, bruh. Thanks for leaving me hanging. When Harry leaves, Anne then takes it upon herself to introduce me to people, and though I want this to be a pleasant night, this is sort of where things go downhill for me.

I'd say Anne has introduced me to about nine people during Harry's absence, and to every single one of them, she introduces me as his girlfriend. Obviously, I wish this were a reality, but the fact that it's not makes me extremely uneasy. What will Harry say when all these people come up to him and talk about the girlfriend he didn't know he had? That's not a good look for me, and unfortunately, I kind of think my apprehension is beginning to show on my face.

After my ninth awkward attempt at playing along with Anne's introduction, Anne pulls me aside and asks me to help her with something in the kitchen. Given the fact that this place seems me extremely well-staffed, I get the feeling that food is not going to be the topic of our conversation, and this freaks me the fuck out.

When we make our way into a hallway where there are no people, Anne looks at me with a rather worried expression. Oh no, here it is. She's going to question me about the thing.

However, the question never comes. Instead, she simply says, "I'm so sorry for putting you in that position."

"Oh," I mutter, crossing my arms over my chest and glancing towards the floor. I know it's probably too late, but I don't want her to know that I'm secretly really insecure about my relationship with her son. Anne seems very kind and caring, but if I tell her of my doubts, she surely will tell Harry whatever I say and that's one thing I don't think I have the energy to deal with right now. If Harry and I are going to discuss whatever it is that we are, I want it to be something that happens naturally without the influence of someone else.

"You don't need to apologize," I add.

Forcing a smile, I look into Anne's kind eyes. It is then that I realize she has already seen through me, and we really are about to talk about this.

Anne smiles sympathetically and leans against the wall behind her, "No, I do. I shouldn't have assumed anything about your relationship with him, and I'm sorry."

Wow, okay. Like her son, Anne is incredibly skilled at reading me. I should probably practice hiding my emotions more.

Since there is no point in denying that Harry and I have a serious discussion ahead of us, I decide to just go with it. Anne is trying to be kind to me, and I should accept that.

"It's okay," I assure her. "It's no big deal, really. It's just–" I stop myself. That's as far as I need to go. If anything else is said, I fear that all my built-up worries will come tumbling from my mouth with no restraint.

"Just what?" Anne persists, and I mentally smack myself in the balls for my error in words. If I had just left out the last two words, this conversation would be over and done with, and my stress would dissipate just for a moment.

"I don't mean to pry, but is everything alright between you two? Is he treating you well?" Anne presses me, and I can see that she only means well. I just wish that her kind intentions didn't involve me expressing my thoughts to her in such a candid manner. 

"Oh, yes. Of course. Harry's amazing; it has nothing to do with that. It's just- I don't know where his head is, you know?" I lean against the wall opposite her and pray that she has some kind of divine motherly insight that I'm not seeing.

Anne nods thoughtfully and bites the inside of her cheek in concentration just like Harry does when he writes his music. I know I'm supposed to be freaking out right now, but I can't help but love the little things I have seen in Anne that Harry also does. It's adorable, and I'd be an idiot not appreciate it.

"I don't want to put words in his mouth," Anne finally says, her voice low and serious. "But I think you should know that it really is a big deal that you are here. I know my son has fooled around more than he probably should, but he hasn't brought someone to meet me since he was in grade school, so I wouldn't be too worried if I were you. He cares for you a great deal, I think. When he looks at you, he has the same expression of happiness as when he comes home to play me a new song of his, and as his mum, I think that is something remarkable."

Anne's words have me literally filled with so many butterflies that I think I could fly if someone asked me to. The part about Harry fooling around does disappoint me a little bit, but the rest of it is most certainly exactly what I wanted to hear. If Harry's mom is telling me that he really cares for me, then it must be true. With my self-confidence now soaring, I feel my paranoia melt away, leaving me with nothing but feelings of admiration both for the woman in front of me, and also for Harry himself.

I know it's ridiculous, but I feel as if I could swoon right now from just how many feelings I am allowing myself to have. Obviously, I was crazy about Harry before this conversation, but now I feel like the full extent of that craziness is just now being realized, and it feels entirely overwhelming yet satisfying. That hole in my chest where my doubts have been festering for the last few months has just been mostly filled in with my adoration for Harry, and it is honestly so freeing.

I am drawn from my happy place by Anne's playful voice followed by the same cheeky smirk Harry often wears, "I didn't say any of that, though."

With a smile, she tells me that she is going to use the ladies' room and that I should return to Harry at the party. I nod and thank her as she walks away, leaving me alone in the dimly lit hallway. I decide to stay just for a few moments to compose myself, but no sooner had the sound of Anne's clicking heels die away did Harry Styles himself emerge at one end of the hallway, half-covered in shadows.

I jump, startled by his sudden appearance, "Shit, Harry. You scared me."

***

lol late-night update y'all... not gonna lie, I'm a bit exhausted bc I wrote a whole chapter of this and Lips That Lied in one day, but I'm making it lol

Anyways, enough of my complaining, I hope y'all enjoyed this chapter! Thanks for reading and please vote and comment if you can! I love all y'all's comments, they make me so happy! :)
-kate💖