9     one direction is back in the house

It’s the third day at the ex-misters house. Oh, pardon me. DEREK’S house. He insists that I call him by his first name.

Anyway, it’s day 3.

I’m sitting up in my bedroom that’s on the 2nd floor. It’s cozy, actually. The walls are a warm color and the furniture is relatively fluffy. There’s a fireplace at the foot of the room by the door and above that is a book shelf. I like the fact that I have my own bathroom, too. It’s got a jet tub!

But that still doesn’t mean I like it here.

It’s anything but enjoyable.

The kids are with Derek (ex-mister) for most of the time. Going to town and such. I’m left at the house with the butler named Matthew Clark and a personal masseuse.

I sigh, flipping to the next page of my word jumble.

There’s a heavy knock at my door. I know right away it’s the butler with the whiskers.

I’m not really sure how I feel about this guy.

“COME IN!” I shout.

The man comes in like I said. You can just tell by the stoned look on his tight face that he isn’t too fond of me or the kids I’ve brought with me. He’s shorter than I am, and a bit on the pudgy side. But the walrus mustache is the defining fact. It’s his trademark that’s given him the nickname: Mo Stash. (Those darned clever kids came up with it.)

“How can I help you Mo?” I ask lightheartedly.

“My name is Matthew Clark,” He replies bitterly.

“Mmm…” I shake my head. “I’m pretty sure it’s Mo Stash.”

Mo Stash sighs.

“Our boss is requesting you in the kitchen.”

Why so serious man?

I get off my bed, dipping into a formal curtsy. “Why of course sir,” I mock his prestige.

Mo Stash doesn’t comment but leaves swiftly.

“I shall be in attendance shortly!” I holler.

I put my slippers on and put my messy hair up in a knot. It’s useless, I know. But I might as well try.

I wander downstairs to where I think the kitchen is…

Ah! There it is! A bit past the memorial of Angelo the Angel… Rest in peace, little buddy.

I take a right and find myself in the 23rd century. The kitchen is decked out in futuristic gadgets and gizmos. It’s quite impressive. And fun to cook in actually. I’ve made meals every night.

“Good afternoon Lena.”

Ex- I mean… erm… Derek. Derek is sitting at his counter on a bar stool. There’s a cup of something in his hands. I can only assume its water or citrus soda because that’s all it looks like. His blue eyes that remind me of his children glance to me, his face unreadable unlike his ex-wife’s.

“Yeah you too,” I say back.

It’s not very sincere, which you probably assumed.

“The kids are swimming,” Derek says and gestures to the back yard.

“I know,” I say. “They asked my permission.”

Derek doesn’t like this, I think. He’s the type that wants to be the main macho: the man in charge, the kiddo with the power.

You catch my drift.

“Anyway,” he says quickly to change the topic. “I have some clients of mine coming over tonight for dinner and a chat.”

“Don’t worry,” I say. “I’ll cook something nice and make sure the munchkins stay out of the way.”

Derek smiles. “You really know what you’re doing, don’t you?”

I shrug the comment away and avoid eye contact. “I try.”

“Good,” He says and stands. “They’ll be over at four.”

As he leaves the room I look at the time. I have exactly two hours to find and cook something with enough class to feed whatever celebrities will be at the dinner table. I groan and head to the computer: Allrecipes.com it is.

 ***************************************************************************

“Like this?” Abigail asks.

I stand above her, looking down at the glass that she’s shining for me. “Perfect,” I say with a ruffle to her hair. “It looks great.”

“I don’t think you should have to cook something so fancy,” Ben says. He’s bent down to look inside the glass oven; staring at my asparagus and prosciutto wraps. “Couldn’t we just order pizza?”

“Pizza!” Cade hollers in agreement. He holds his crayons up in the air with a silly grin on his face.

“Yeah,” Abigail says. “We don’t actually have to eat any of this… do we?”

Kids these days are such finicky eaters.

Eh, I don’t really blame them. Ginger glazed mahi mahi doesn’t sound very appetizing. Neither does kale salad.

“Don’t worry,” I say and smile. “Your menu is much different.”

“Pizza?” Ben asks eagerly.

No. No pizza.

Seriously though; what is so special about some dough and pasta sauce?

I glance up at the clock on the microwave. “How about you three go up and watch that movie we bought now, eh?”

“Do we really have to?” Ben whines. “I wanna meet someone famous.”

“It won’t be anyone cool,” I reassure him. “It’s a business meeting. Just a bunch of ugly old men in with no hair. Talking about money and stupid things,” I say as blandly as possible. I’m trying to extinguish the interest and its working. “I’ll bring up dinner. Dad and his clients will be in the dining hall, so steer clear. Aight?”

They all nod.

“Good. Now get your skinny butts upstairs.”

The three of them run off.

Just as soon as I’ve gotten rid of them Derek saunters into the room. He’s trying to cuff his sleeves and failing miserably. “Smells delicious,” he says.

I busy myself by taking food out of the top stackable oven.

In the distance the doorbell rings.

“Perfect timing,” Derek says.

I wait until his footsteps have faded to make mocking movements with my fingers. Blah blah blah, is all I hear.

“Ahem,” Mo Stash coughs to get my attention. I stop my childish stuff and lean against the counter. “Should I start to pour the wine?”

I shrug. “Uh, I guess. You’re asking the wrong nanny, my friend. The closest I pour to wine is grape juice.”

My joke falls flat like a pancake.

Mo reaches into the cooler and then grabs enough glasses for all our guests. “Hey, grab an extra would ya?” I ask and wink.

He ignores me completely.

Why is this guy such a grump?

All I want is a little bubbly.

“That’s okay,” I say. “I changed my mind anyway. I would much rather have this,” I point to a glass bottle I’ve taken out of the fridge.

Mo Stash rolls his eyes beneath his furry eye brows.

Fine. Be that way, Mister Grumpy Bumpy.

I pop the cap off my beer and take a sip.

It’s the only thing in the world that comes close to tea, I’ll tell ya.

I catch Mo looking at me funny.

“What?” I ask.

“You might need more than one of those tonight miss,” is all he says and walks off.

What the heck is that supposed to mean?

I wipe my damp palms. I’m wearing a very plain grey dress. Abby called it a skater dress, whatever that means. It’s got long sleeves and a tight fitting torso. I’m not fond of it, but it was a gift so I wear it a lot.

I consider taking my white and messy apron off. It’s tied at my waist in the back.

Eh, too much work.

I start to pile food onto my tray. The appetizers and silverware are first of course.

I make my way towards the dining room, already hearing Derek’s echoing laughter. I turn around to walk backwards into the room, my big butt opening the door for me.

“-Three million? That’s great!”

I roll my eyes and resist the urge to mock Derek-

Why is Harry Styles in the dining room?

Why is all of One Direction in the dining room?

Five pairs of eyes look to me. Everyone but Derek and another man at the other side of the table.

I realize my jaw has dropped when Louis opens his mouth to mock me.

I shake my head and drop my gaze to the food on my tray. Harry was looking at me. And he sure wasn’t pleased.

Well neither am I.

“We’re all just so happy to be back in London,” The man I don’t know says.

I walk behind Zayn and Liam, setting plates in front of them. I see Niall start to stand on the other side. He makes eye contact and I know he just wants to help me. It’s probably weird to see me serving like this. But this is my job. I’m used to being the staff. I shake my head left and right. Niall reluctantly sits back down.

I get above Derek. I have to step backwards out of his way as he flails his arms around to elaborate a story. I thank my lucky stars I’m not a maid any longer. Nanny work is where my heart lies.

But for this moment I’m kitchen staff.

So Derek pretends not to see me at all.

I walk to other side of the table, ready to put a plate in front of that new man. I don’t say a word or look into anyone’s eyes as I get to my last person: Harry.

I step to the side of him.

I can feel all of his friends watching on, curious as to how this is going to happen.

I am too.

Harry leans back in his chair, waiting for me to serve him like I did the others.

I must have been sitting there and staring at his curly head for too long. Because Derek asks, “Lena? Is something wrong?” And it’s not concern that fills his voice: he’s irritated.

“No sir,” I reply cordially. I lean down to put Harry’s food in front of him. “Here you go,” I say to him. I can hear my own voice echo throughout the now silent room. It’s like lead; thick and dark.

Harry glares at me as I stand to leave. I know this makes him madder than anything else I could have done: because he’s furious at me right now but he doesn’t have a reason to explode.

I immediately excuse myself. I find my way back in to the kitchen, the beer bottle in hand. Mo Stash appears and stares at me.

“You knew they were coming?” I ask.

He nods.

I tip my bottle in his direction. “Thanks for the warning,” I say sarcastically.

“Anytime,” he says.

I groan, turning back to the fridge. Now I have to make grilled cheese sandwiches for the kids. And the last thing I want to do now is cook with that spatula: I would much rather be beating someone with it again.

I’m facing into the stove, flipping cheesy breads into meals. I hear someone’s light footsteps come into the room. I can see Niall Horan’s reflection in the cabinet glass above my head.

“Whatcha doin?” I ask.

He shrugs, his shirt slipping to show his collar bone. “It’s getting pretty boring in there. I wanted to see what you were doing.”

“Well I’m about to go be a nanny,” I reply. “Making cheeses.”

“Oh,” Niall says quietly.

I can read that look anywhere.

I flip one of the sandwiches on a plate, sliding it across the slick counter to land in front of him. “You’re lucky Lena made extras,” I say.

The room is starting to smell burnt from the shred of cheddar I dropped on the stove top. I can hear Niall quietly take a bite of his sandwich and then sit down at the counter. “What are you doing at Derek’s house?”

“The kids are here,” I say over my shoulder. “I go where they go.”

Niall nods, digesting my words and his second dinner.

I’ve piled plates in between my two arms. Thank goodness I was blessed with long and lanky limbs: the perfect sized arms to grab ahold of toys and kiddie plates.

Niall starts to stand again: willing to help.

“You can grab three juice cups,” I say. Niall nods and jumps up to do his little job.

Niall Horan follows me up a winding staircase. We pass three floors, hiking when what we really need is that elevator that’s out of order.

I can hear the Disney movie from the narrow hallway outside of the theatre room. The surround sound is cranked up on full blast; the metal door practically shaking on its hinges.

“DINNER!” I scream at the top of my lungs. I push into the room, my ears bleeding because Toy Story 3 is blaring like a KISS concert.

And I’ve been to one.

Ben and Cade flip around on the couch. Grins spread across both of their faces.

“YAY!” the little blonde boy shouts. He starts to clap his hands together.

I notice that Niall’s tagging behind: close, but definitely hidden behind me.

I glance around the big cinema room. “Where’s Abs?” I ask Ben.

“She said something about a phone call,” Ben answers. He doesn’t seem interested in anything but the plate I’m handing him. Not even the celebrity in the room.

I don’t hesitate to take a bite of Cade’s sandwich before passing it to him. He giggles like mad and I stick my tongue out at him. “Here,” I say. “Bring your plates down when you’re all done.”

“But we just started the movie,” Ben argues.

I hold up a finger. “Wait just a moment,” I say and turn to Niall. “Excuse me sir,” I say to Mister Horan. “Do I look like a maid to you? Or is this child blind?”

“Okay I get it,” Ben groans.

I smirk. “Good.”

Niall and I are halfway to the stairs when Cade’s floppy footsteps echo after us. I turn just in time to see him pulling on the hem of my dress. He completely ignores that Niall is standing there and asks, “Is daddy almost done talking to those ugly people yet?”

“Umm,” I say. “Not yet. But I promise to report when he is.”

Cade nods, puckering his lips. I grin and bend down to his level. The four year old plants a messy kiss on my left cheek then runs away, his stuffed elephant flying behind him.

I wipe my hands on my apron.

“Ugly, huh?”

I make a “Psst” noise. “Kids these days, right?”

I think Niall’s about to reply. But before he can utter an Irish word I can hear my name being screamed from the kitchen. I know who it is right away. It’s the ex-mister I’m being forced to work for.

Niall shrugs. Then he flips his tall blonde hair to the side. With a smirk on his face he falls in step beside me as we walk back to the kitchen downstairs.

“Ahhh- there you both are,” Derek says. He’s standing in the middle of the kitchen. I wonder what is so important that he left his dinner guests in the dining room. “Lena could you find Matthew and start to prepare a few rooms? It looks like we’ll be housing just a few extras for the time being.”

I stare at him blankly.

I will be sleeping under the same roof as… him.

“Time being?” I repeat. “Time being: being how long?”

Derek straightens his collar, a nervous habit. “Well I don’t see how that’s relevant- but for the next few nights at least. There are factors that you don’t know about.”

A few nights.

AT LEAST.

“Lena, are you alright?” Derek asks.

No! No I am not alright! I just found out that I will be the servant of prissy pants HARRY STYLES for the next million hours! My life has resorted to picking up Harry’s messes again. Picking up his messes and breathing the same air. I can’t do this! I can’t! Not only do I have to deal with creepy ex-mister Derek but now I have HARRY! The same Harry that ruined my life!

“I’m peachy mister,” I mutter in between gritted teeth. Is my face as red as I think it is? I sure hope not. I’d look like a tomato.

“Okay…” Derek says. He doesn’t quite know how to react at this moment. “Well, I’ll leave you to it.” He starts to go to the dining room again but then remembers something. “Oh!” He turns to look at me with his bright blue eyes. “Could you maybe move your things to the downstairs apartment? I think Styles would love to take up the fireplace suite.”

I clench my fists that hang at my sides.

I bite my tongue but I wanna scream out. I end up telling him what he wants to hear, “Of course.”

As soon as Derek’s left I find my half empty beer. Tipping my head up to the ceiling lights I finish off the brew.

“Woah,” is all Niall has to say. “This is awkward.”

“You’re preaching to the choir,” I mumble.

I’ve been digging my nails into my palms without even knowing it. My heart is so loud in my head that it’s like a jack hammer is being pounded against my skull. And I’ve totally forgotten that I have an audience. So when I throw the beer bottle across the room and out the cracked window I don’t even consider that someone could be watching.

When I turn around Niall’s standing behind me, his face blank and hands in his pockets. “Nice throw,” He says lightheartedly.

“Des taught me,” I huff. Why does every childhood memory relate to Harry and his family? I plunk into a chair and tap my fingers on the glass table top.

I wanna break something.

Preferably Harry Styles’ face.

“What are you two doing in here, eh?”

We both turn to see Liam walk into the room. He smiles sweetly before scowling: probably noticing the solemn look on my face.

“Is this about us staying here?” Liam asks. “Because it wouldn’t take much to just go to a hotel-”

I shake my head. “It’s fine Liam. I get it. You’re working early and late hours and hotels probably aren’t that much fun. Harry and I are grownups now, we can ignore each other,” I say. I stand up, untying the apron from my waist. I bundle up the dirty fabric and toss it on the ground away from me. “I’ll see you two later. I have a couple things to do,” I say.

“Do you uh, need any help?”

“It’s okay Niall. Go back and finish your dinner.”

Before either one of the incredibly nice boys can protest I leave. I’m walking upstairs again, this time all the way to my bedroom.

Oops- this isn’t my room anymore is it?

It’s Harry’s.

I slowly close the bedroom door behind me. My eyes scan the huge suite; trying to picture Harry relaxing in it just hours after I’ve left.

I have an excellent idea.

Just call me Einstein.

I run to my backpack. It’s resting on the fireplace mantel; untouched from the park trip yesterday. I unzip the pouch and reach inside. I know I’ll pull out a plastic container: and I do. It’s got Cade’s favorite snack.

Crackers.

I’m running to the bedside. Crumbling crackers in my fist I use the other hand to pull pack the sheets and blankets. I then proceed with my brilliant idea and spread them out all through the pillow linings and foot space.

That’ll drive him mental.

There’s an onsite bathroom.

Taking my backpack with me I skip into the loo. The walls are tiled white: the faucets are all shiny chrome.

I find my bright blue ballpoint pen next to my wallet. I toss the backpack aside while trying to tear the pen apart. It’s not working too well. These things look easier on TV. But I finally manage to open the ink tube. Twisting the cap off of the complimentary shampoo I squeeze every drop of blue dye.

It’s malicious, I know.

I’m a pure bred criminal.

I put the shampoo bottle back right where I found it next to the loofa.

This'll turn his scalp into a big old stupid blueberry.

My mission is complete.

I smile to myself.

Lena-3 Harry-0