Those Maudlin Days

After my break down, I excused myself to the bathroom and sat on the lidded toilet as I stared at the familiar, chipping wallpaper. Tears flowed and flowed, but not a sound came from me. I was no longer in control of my thoughts, but more like an admirer of stories unfolding before me. I mulled over memories, memories that I loved with my father, and as if the news I had heard in the room one over wasn’t hard enough to take in, it seemed my twisted mind wanted me to suffer more. I began thinking of each memory and attempting to imagine it without my dad. But it was impossible. My life wouldn’t have been anything without my father. I had my mother those first twelve years, but it had been my dad who actually gave my childhood any meaning.

My father was the one who taught me how to ride a bike. He taught me how to swim. He taught me how to write my name, pushed me to have a bright imagination, came to all my dance recitals when I was younger, supported my decision to quit. He agreed to pay for the classes outside of my elementary school, when I decided playing the violin was something I actually enjoyed, and even listened to me play when I wasn’t good, but kept the smile on his face, to encourage me further. He taught me how to read time, taught me the worth of the dollar. He was quite blatantly my rock.

I couldn’t imagine life without my rock.

By the time I had walked back into the living room a good thirty minutes later, I was certain I had no more tears left in me to cry. I had washed my face of all ruined make up and took a few moments to breathe. But once I was back in the room with my dad and Laura, I sat down on that brown leather seat again, my head pounding, my eyes glancing to my father who hadn’t moved from his spot. He was watching me, but that smile, that smile that was genuine but soft, the one I hated so much was thankfully not there. It should have pained me to see him sad, sad over the fact that I couldn’t handle it. But I wanted him to be sad. I wanted him to be frowning, angry that this had happened to him. He didn’t deserve this. He shouldn’t have been able to handle this. My father shouldn’t have had to deal with a brain tumor.

So without a smile, he and Laura explained it all to me.

They explained that his tumor had begun forming in March. It was now October, nearing November. My father had obliviously walked around with a deadly tumor growing within his skull for months. Headaches became a constant and while that worried him, he chose to ignore the migraines, thinking it was just a part of aging; he thought he was beginning to decay, that he wasn’t able to keep up with his contracting job any longer. But that wasn’t it.

The headaches turned into morning sickness. The morning sickness returned in the evening, the migraines causing him to vomit. The pain was too hard to deal with, he claimed, so he knew he had to get it checked. He had gone to the doctor’s a month ago, but his symptoms could have been for anything. They gave him antibiotics that did nothing but make him feel queasier, for an illness he didn’t have. And when he returned, they checked for the worst.

He had options. There was radiotherapy, chemotherapy, surgery.

The doctor decided surgery was the best option, though. The tumor was the size of an almond, growing at a slow rate, and if they waited until surgery, there was a better chance of them simply removing it than going through months of a therapy that could destroy other parts of his body and ultimately make him feel worse. So the surgery was to be in a week. Until then, my father would be resting in quiet, low-lit places to keep from agitating his headaches further – the rag over his eyes and Laura’s soft voice now all made sense.

And by the time all the talking was through, I was sufficiently drained. I wanted nothing more than to go back to my flat and spend my Saturday as I would have any other weekend; watching pointless television shows for the sake of wasting time until my busy schedule started up again. But I had a feeling I was no longer going to have that luxury of being so careless.

And that was scary, too.

It was as if my dad picked up on this, because as he broke the silence, he sighed, “Why don’t we watch a movie or something?”

“Erin has plans,” Laura swiftly explained. And there it was. If I wanted a quick getaway, this was my chance. I could escape from this home that was no longer home, from the man who didn’t seem like my father. I could hide away for a week, keep my distance and return when everything was all better.

But then there was the chance that everything wouldn’t be ‘all better.’ And if I ran now, that was it. I would no longer be sitting in a bathroom for a half an hour, picturing life without my father. I’d be living within it, without a goodbye or anything other than this moment for a last memory.

I was in no place to take chances, and while I wanted to flee, I didn’t have the strength to do so.

“Those plans aren’t until later,” my tired voice managed. I wasn’t even sure I wanted to spend time with Harry and Liam any this point. I’d be plagued with memories of Liam meeting my father years ago, or be forced to deal with Harry’s cheeky comments for the duration of the night, no matter how trivial they seemed. “A movie would be nice.”

I glanced over at my father, who was now lying down, but the smile was evident on his face.

Laura must have caught onto it as well, because she did nothing more than make sure dad was comfortable before picking out a movie and placing it in. A Sofia Coppola film began, her pieces of work being known for their cinematography over dialogue and pure action and as everything in the house calmed, we watched the movie in a heavy silence, one that even felt phony, masking a heavy cloak of daunting thoughts, emotions and worries.

I couldn’t even focus on the film that I’d seen a million times before.

I felt numb and I couldn’t decide if I had so many thoughts, too many to organize to acknowledge as thoughts, or if I just wasn’t thinking of anything significant. For a good amount of time, I focused on my breathing. I thought about all the thoughts I had had in the bathroom. I replayed that memory from when the news hit me like a boulder. And then I wondered if I should get to Harry or Liam and cancel my plans. Harry would be disappointed, but there was no doubt in my mind that two pop stars would find better company than me for the night, even in Wolverhampton. Abigail was another force to be reckoned with. Would I even tell my flatmate of my father’s condition?

But these thoughts opened another. Did my mother know? Did my mother have the right to know? Was it necessary for my mother to know? Who else would want to know? Or why did anyone have to know? Things would be okay in the end, wouldn’t they?

It was two hours of a steady stream of thinking for me, but by the time the credits began rolling, I couldn’t take it. I felt the weight of everything on my shoulders. Before, I didn’t have the strength to leave. Now, I couldn’t bear to be in the house for another second.

My eyes glanced to the clock. It was around five and the pub was further into the city, a good thirty minute drive away, if I still wanted to go.

Laura smiled to my, oblivious to the anxiety welling within me and she stood up, “Always a nice film. One that makes you think. Erin, will you be staying for dinner?”

Dinner? I didn’t even feel slightly hungry. As a matter of fact, I felt nauseous. I shook my head, my dark blonde locks moving around my shoulders. Slowly, I stood, “Actually, I think I’m going to head out. I have friends in town and they won’t be here for long.”

Even if I didn’t plan on going, it was a good excuse. Guilty as I felt, I knew Laura and my dad didn’t want me stopping my own life or wasting one day off for this. So I used it to my advantage.

It took everything in me not to begin bawling again as I said my goodbyes; I just didn’t know if it’d be the last time. I’d never know. Laura escorted me to the door and as we hugged, the woman muttered into my ear, “I’ll send you updates. Your father is a strong one, everything should be good.”

But the words stuck with me the wrong way. ‘Should be good’ lingered in my mind as I got into my car and I gripped the steering wheel, resting my head against it. Things should be good, but there was no guarantee. Nothing was guaranteed and for the girl who had gotten used to her scheduled life of no surprises or worries besides doing things that now seemed trivial by a certain time, that was frightening.

So frightening, that as I lifted my head and took a deep breath, I made a quick decision.
I wasn’t cancelling those plans tonight.

I needed a drink. I needed company. I needed to get my mind off it all. So instead of slipping my phone from my pocket and sending an apologetic text message Harry’s way, I got out the make up bag I kept in my car, applied a small amount – just enough to hide the fact that I had been crying – and with that, began on my way to the pub.



I ended up arriving early to the pub that I had only been to once or twice in my brief amount of time being eighteen. The times I had been here, I had already been so drunk, I only had a small memory as to what the place was like. But now being entirely too sober for my liking as I walked in, my skin crawled. The place wasn’t very big at all, or loud, like the other pubs I went to. As a matter of fact, it was rather mellow, with dim lighting, a few tables and pool table in the back. Somewhere, a playlist of a wide variety of old bands from Joy Division to The Libertines played. It was clear that Harry hadn’t realized what kind of pub he had chosen when he suggested it, probably seeing it on the street and thinking it was sufficient. Not that I could blame him; he wasn’t used to Wolverhampton. Everything looked filled with history and friendly from the outside, but the inside revealed an entirely different story more times than not.

Tentatively, I walked over to the stools along the counter and sat down at one. The bartender, not busy in the slightest considering it was only nearing six in the evening, was wiping down a glass as he looked towards me, “What can I do you for, love?”

It was odd, being so welcomed. Normally, I was carded before getting into any club or going to buy a bottle of cheap wine in any store. I was always dealing with the somewhat degrading compliment, ‘You’re so cute!’ Or having to insist to the people behind the registers at any Tesco that I was, in fact, eighteen and legally able to purchase my own alcohol. But I shrugged it off, “Rum and coke on ice, please.”

He complied, putting the glass he was drying down and scooping a few ice cubes in, mixing the drink and easily placing two small, red straws within before sliding it my way. I gave him a small smile as a thank you, but I wasted no time bringing said straws between my chapped lips. The alcohol burned as it slid down my throat, but relief washed over me as it went down. I felt my worries slipping away as my mind began on its hazy trip; a couple more of these drinks and I’d be tipsy. I was a light weight, the worst one anyone could meet. But I decided not to jump the gun; my company hadn’t even joined me yet. So instead of finishing off my drink, I spun the straws about the half filled cup, my body twisting to look towards the entrance.

“Damn!” A voice scoffed, before a mess of curly hair popped up beside me. I jumped slightly, but as I took in those gray eyes – or were they nearing a green now? – I was instantly calmed. “I was trying to sneak up on you.”

“Sorry I ruined all the fun,” I apologized to the charming boy before me, the one I had been texting since I’d met him just a day ago. It was odd seeing him now, dressed in a blue knit sweater with the sleeves rolled, brown jeans sagging as his white converse clashed against the dark vibe the pub was exuding.

“I guess I can let it slide,” Harry smiled. He eyes looked over the small pub, his eyebrows rising, “It’s not like I picked great party place either.”

I laughed, letting my straw swirl my drink around in my glass, but I caught sight of the proud smile he wore as he looked over to me, probably thinking he had cracked my cold exterior.

“Danielle, I’m just saying, had we left earlier, traffic near the highway wouldn’t have been as bad. I’m not picking a fight, merely stating a fact,” a familiar deep voice said behind Harry, but as the curly haired boy moved to take one of the seats beside me, the owner of the voice appeared with a dark haired girl beside him.

“And I’m just saying that it wasn’t my fault you were having a three-footed turtle crisis,” the girl shot back, but instead of arguing with her, Liam just sighed, finally meeting Harry and I.

“Erin, hello,” he greeted politely, gesturing to the girl beside him, “Meet my lovely girlfriend, Danielle.”

Danielle extended her hand, “So you’re the girl the boys have been saying Liam almost shagged.”

I shook her hand cautiously, but I could feel the deep pink rise in my cheeks. Liam and I’s relationship was so brief and was more like comedic relief within our friendship than anything else. But meeting his new girlfriend as his ex girlfriend, I felt the need to be as polite as I possibly could, “Have the boys been saying that? What morons.”

“Agreed,” Liam piped in, but beside me, Harry just snickered.

As Danielle and Liam began discussing drink options, Harry’s hand extended to mine, taking my glass from me and wordlessly taking a sip. I gapped at him, but as his nose crinkled displeased, I couldn’t help but smirk. He clicked his tongue, handing the drink back to me, “What the hell is that?”

“Coke and rum,” I said, my tone hinting to him that his stupid question was obviously unappreciated.

“Tastes like shit,” he replied. I was just about to ask him what he normally ordered; most of the people my age that I knew stuck to the simple mixes such as these when they were aiming to have fun. But instead, I kept my mouth shut as he waved down the bartender and nodded towards him, “Aye, mate, can I get a screwdriver?”

I snorted, “A screwdriver?”

Harry turned to me defensively, “What? It’s both alcoholic and citrusy. It’s the best of both worlds.”

The bartender interrupted us before I could get another word in, though, wiping down his counter as he smirked, “Sure thing, pretty boy, but I’d like to see some ID first.”

I couldn’t stop myself. I let out a loud laugh, attempting to hide my face from Harry’s behind my hair. I took another sip, still somewhat giggling, but beside me, I heard Harry grumble something under his breath as he pulled his wallet out and showed the bartender his identification.

“If you’re trying to cockblock me, man, ace job,” Harry commented finally, as the bartender nodded and the boy was able to put his wallet away. But the man behind the counter just smiled to himself, turning to make Harry his citrus drink as the couple beside us bickered about something having to do with Liam’s turtles.

I was attempting to listen in. It was a conversation I probably shouldn’t have been eavesdropping on, but I couldn’t help myself. Liam was the same as I remembered. He barely argued; instead, he said something before defusing it by stating that it was just his opinion and he had no intention of trying to hurt Danielle’s feelings. The boy was still as sweet as could be, walking on eggshells to make his whoever happy, while attempting to prove his point. I had to smile.

But that smile quickly dropped when Harry leaned in from my left and his low voice muttered into my ear, “Didn’t your mother ever teach you that it’s rude to eavesdrop?”

Instinctively, my arm extended to whack him in the leg. He pulled back, laughing, but I was wearing a smirk on my face to encourage such behavior, obviously caught. Still, I knew to deny, deny, deny. Taking another long sip of my drink until it was dry, I shook my head, “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

I placed my empty glass back onto the counter, softly asking for another, but the boy beside me didn’t seem so fazed. He just kept that wide grin on his face, his eyes looking over my face as I watched the bartender grab another glass and fill it with its three ingredients.

When I had the rum and coke in my hands, my eyes, hidden behind frames, met Harry’s again. And goddamn, those eyes. Were they gray? Blue? Green? I could have sworn, behind the counter at Costa, they were a soft gray, somewhat blue, but far too different from my obviously blue orbs to consider them to be the plain shade as well. But now as I stared back at him, they seemed to have a green hinge to them. And before I could register my actions, I was allowing my eyes to wander. Surrounding those mysterious eyes was a mess of curly hair, not any less silly underneath these pub lights than they had been at ten in the morning at my place of work. But somehow, Harry made it work. With his soft dimples and inviting smile, he was considerably good looking and it came as absolutely no shock to me that he, of all people, was in a boy band, rather than his bandmate on my other side, who I had always seen as a classmate rather than anything more.

“You do that a lot, you know,” Harry interrupted my thoughts, taking a quick sip of his fruity drink.

I furrowed my brow, “Do what?”

“Check me out,” he responded with cheekily, biting his bottom lip. My jaw dropped. It was true, sure, but the fact that boy held no shame in calling me out on it made me want to protest. Before I could, though, he dramatically sighed, “Alright, Erin, alright. I’ll let you shag me on a park bench, but only if you pick up the tab at the end of the night. It’s got to be a proper date.”

My mouth was still slightly ajar as I stared the boy down, but a smile was tugging at my lips. He was smug, he was idiotic, and quite honestly, he was slightly aggravating. But it was hard to deny to that Harry Styles was charming in his own twisted way. Finally, I allowed myself to laugh, shaking my head and deciding to deflate his ego by simply not responding.

Not that he’d give up so easily. Harry leaned against the counter, letting his slow voice stretch out as he complimented himself, “It’s understandable though. I mean, look at me. You were probably daydreaming about me all day.”

I had been showing quite a lot of restraint by not shooting Harry down from his high horse for a good portion of the time we’d been talking. But now, he was just asking for it. I sarcastically scoffed, “Oh, definitely. I was sitting in my bed this morning, thinking of sharing it with you. And then I realized, why the hell should I waste my day dreams on Harry Styles when I could pretend that Ryan Gosling was lying next to me instead?”

Harry put a fist against his heart, feigning pain as he crumbled comically in his seat, “Right where it hurts, Erin.”

I smirked, glancing momentarily at him, but before he could catch me grinning, I pressed my lips together, removing the straws from my drink and taking a small sip.

“I guess you were never taught the most valuable lesson of them all, then,” he quipped. I turned to him, raising my eyebrows to tell him I was listening and now, he wore the smirk. “You should always pick a musician over an actor.”

“A musician? Is that what you call yourself?” I shot back, licking my lips.

Harry nodded, but when I scoffed, he eyed me suspiciously, “Well, what would you call me?”

“A pretty boy with a microphone,” I stated. Harry eyes widened slightly, but he knew the comment was nothing more than our back and forth, and a good shot at that.

The night was running smoothly and I was enjoying Harry’s company. It’d been a while since I had been able to really play a verbal game with someone who could keep up. And I wanted to say that it was enough to keep my mind off events that had panned out earlier in the day. But truth be told, I had only known Harry Styles for a day and with Liam caught up with his girlfriend, it was hard to feel comfortable enough to let my guard down and forget.

But that was nothing alcohol couldn’t fix.

I had stated earlier than I was desperate for a drink. But it was becoming clear that this wasn’t something one drink could loosen the grips of. I wasn’t as tense as I had been on the car ride over and I was beginning to wonder if I’d ever feel as relaxed as I had before today, before the school year began, before the summer. The one thing I did know, though, was if one glass could loosen me up and take me one step there, two glasses would certainly get me closer.

Bringing the cold glass to my lips, I ignored Harry’s argument regarding how he wasn’t just a preteen’s obsession. Instead, I focused on the liquid that warmed my insides, burning my throat as I took no time to finish off my second glass. Once the cold ice was the only thing left, I set the glass down. The fact that I had chugged the alcohol without much thought hit me all at once. I gripped the counter, feeling myself swaying, but all my thoughts from before were still lingering about. My mind was hazy, but not enough to impair my judgment or make me forget. And that wouldn’t do.

I asked for another.

Harry had stopped his rambling before, watching me down the drink as if it’d run from me. But as the bartender began mixing my third glass, the boy let out a small, nervous laugh, his slow and soft voice beside me, “Okay, Speed Racer. You might want to slow down while you’re ahead.”

The third glass slid towards me and I, again, removed the straws, but innocently looked to Harry.

“Lighten up, I’m just trying to have a bit of fun.”

And with that, I brought the glass to my lips again, blinded by the brown liquid as I watched it slowly decrease. But out of the corner of my eye, I saw Harry bite his bottom lip hesitantly, looking over me to Liam, who had stopped his lover’s quarrel, before ducking his head to stare down at his own drink.

It became a night I wouldn’t quite remember.