Those Maudlin Days

I had never been one for confrontation.

In grade school, I was often pushed around by girls who noticed the way my cheeks grew rosy if I was called on in class. They were as manipulative as they came. It was bullying in the most vindictive and sly ways. Even now, bitter somewhere within me, my much older and wiser mind commends these girls for being so creative at such a young age. Instead of outright humiliating me, they pushed for all they could get out of me, simply because they knew I wouldn’t push back. If they wanted the clothes right off my back on a rainy day, I’d do it. If they played a game and made me clean up, not a word would be uttered. They got away with anything they wanted, because I would never speak up. And though I slowly grew a bit of a voice alongside a backbone as I aged, it never grew to be very loud or very strong. Confrontation was a scary thing and I was good at finding ways around it.

Unfortunately, sometimes I was forced to a bite the bullet and the familiar feeling would come back in tidal waves. My cheeks would grow hot, red underneath a thin layer of freckles. Fall in Wolverhampton was hardly friendly, but underneath a thin scarf and light coat, I was burning up. My stomach churned, my knees wobbled and my mouth went dry. On a particularly gloomy fall day, this was exactly the mess of nerves I found myself withering away within as I stood outside a hotel, awaiting a specific face to appear. Time always went slowly in situations of dread and I found myself licking my lips every time I checked the watch on my wrist – which was essentially every minute on the dot.

I wasn’t looking forward to it. And not only because confrontation in all regards had me wishing conversations could be neglected, but because normally, when I needed to confront something, it was me waving a disappointed finger in someone else’s direction. I couldn’t say I was an angel that had never hurt someone, but I found myself in most situations being the scolder rather than the one being scolded. Now, as I stood in the cold and looked from side to side, watching as people passed by without a second thought, I felt low, guilty – but not ready to be looked at with disappointed eyes, not ready to be the confrontee, rather than confronter.

A figure moved to my left and the paranoia of impending doom had my head turning quickly to get it all over with. But unfortunately, the face was unfamiliar. Instead, a man in a black coat fiddled with a camera around his neck. His brow was furrowed as he took second and third glances towards the door of the hotel before us. My gaze must have caught his distracted attention though, because his brown orbs met mine in a flash. Lifting his camera, his gruff voice mixed in with the sound of traffic behind us, “Looks like it’s just us. How lucky.”

My mind reeled – did I know him? Was there a missing piece of a puzzle I wasn’t aware of? The confusion on my face must have put him off, though, read as something more hostile, because suddenly his tone changed.

“Before you can go off at me, I’m just doing my job. It benefits you girls, anyway. More to drool over,” he rushed out defensively. But if it was supposed to give any hints or prompt me to apologize for being so taken back by his words, it didn’t do what he had intended. Instead, I was even more lost, more put off and frankly offended, though I didn’t have all the answers.

“What?” I scoffed, finally showing him my truly hostile and angry face. It was admittedly not as threatening as I wished. With big blues, pink cheeks and glasses, I was sure to have looked like a kitten growling. But he was showing no interest in me once the hotel door finally opened. In a second, his camera was up and flashing, one picture after another, no time to stop to admire his candid shots. It didn’t matter what he was getting of his model, if it was flattering or not. And as my eyes turned, my stomach dropped. There it was; the familiar face.

“Oi, alright, alright. Enough. You’re hurting my eyes, mate,” Liam sighed, hand over his face as he walked over to me. The flashes didn’t stop though, despite the protest. The strange man ignored him entirely, which only caused Liam to scoff under his breath in disgust, “Fucking paparazzi.”

And just like that, everything clicked.

I had seen Liam in candid photos on magazine covers, always knew stars had paparazzi riding them like a carnival ride to the bank, but never had I seen it unfold before my very naïve eyes. The complete invasion was privacy was appalling, but what caught me entirely off-guard, letting me displace my anxiety, was the fact that as Liam linked my arm with his and turned his back to the man with the camera, the flashes continued to go off. With me, nothing but a university girl, he followed Liam and took picture after picture. Despite my indistinguishable presence, despite that in my head, it was just dorky Liam Payne, the camera was snapping beside us. And that was what real fame was – instead of being ignored if you were standing beside a ‘nobody,’ that ‘nobody’ became a ‘somebody.’ Liam Payne wasn’t just in my past, he wasn’t just a face on a magazine. He was famous, completely and totally, and because I was now arm in arm with him, walking down Wolverhampton’s sidewalk, I mattered to the people who’d see these photos.

“Don’t you have a girlfriend, Liam?” the man shamelessly asked, using Liam’s first name as if they were longtime friends, though I was sure they’d never met before. But the boy beside me didn’t bat an eye.

“Don’t you have something better to do with your afternoon, man?” he countered easily. The camera seemed not to phase him anymore, eyes adjusting to bright light that came in quick seconds, and his tone was annoyed rather than surprised. I, on the other hand, felt dizzy from the attention and rather self-conscious – after all, these pictures couldn’t be great in the least bit. And why would a stranger need to see me anyway? I kept my head ducked down, but my skin was crawling.

“Aren’t you supposed to be the nice one?” the paparazzi questioned condescendingly. I could barely believe the scene unfolding before me. Though my eyes were on my high top converse, they widened with shock. Was he really being mean to sweet Liam, who was simply defending himself? Normally never good with voicing my thoughts, I wanted to suddenly push my timid ways aside and give this guy a piece of my mind. But before courage could come barreling at me and hit me hard, Liam was finishing it all off.

The door to the café of his own choice – Pizza Art, I recognized it as right away; a place that served greasy pizza and deep fried Italian foods that Liam had always had a taste for – was opened by his hand as he ushered me in, but I caught the last words of the exchange as an aroma of heavy food wafted over me all the same, “Why don’t you get a proper job, you dick?”

The door swung shut behind us and somehow, it created a shield that held strong against the press because the man didn’t follow. Nevertheless, my wide eyes swung Liam’s way – I hadn’t ever heard him talk like that. Even to the kids who used to bully him, the shaggy haired boy at the time had always attempted to push the harsh moments into something lighter rather than adding to them. I couldn’t stop myself, despite the reason behind our meeting. I just had to jokingly gasp, “Do you kiss your mother with that mouth?”

The boy of my past who had so easily found himself into my present didn’t skip a beat. He failed to hide his smile, but as he pulled out a seat for me at a table, he shrugged, “Patience is a virtue and I completely lack it nowadays with those pests.”

I took my seat, slinking off my coat as Liam rounded to the spot across from me. I found myself staring at him now, as his own eyes stared down upon the menu he’d seen a million times before. There was no doubt in my mind that if Liam had any shred of his past self within him, he had his order already and I knew exactly what it was. It was odd, though. I sat with this feeling in my gut, knowing the boy across from me just well enough to know his order, but still feeling like a stranger from our unbelievable entrance. Pop star be damned; Liam Payne was still a measly friend to me. And with that, I opened up my menu as well.

The silence that followed was sweet; so sweet, I wished it had lasted longer. My feeling of crippling dread had passed and with the promise of food hanging around me in the small café, I was at ease. But ease passed as quickly as it came. Maybe Liam realized he was the same sixteen year old as before, who’d order the same medium sized, buffalo chicken topped pizza, or maybe he noticed my calm and figured now was a better time as any. Either way, he spoke up and his eyes bore into me as he did so, “Check the menu all you’d like, we both know you’re getting the Very Berry salad. Your stalling couldn’t be more obvious.”

And there I was, blindly thinking that he had been the only one not to change oh so much. But it was true; the salad I hadn’t indulged in, in so long sounded most promising. And yes, I was stalling. Why trek onto the road of topic that had me now feeling warm all over again? Of course it was childish, but I pursed my lips anyway, almost squeaking out, “I’m not stalling.”

“Erin,” sighed a rather frustrated Liam.

“Alright, fine,” I gave in. The menu plopped back down from my hands onto the wooden surface of our small table, and finally, my timid blues met Liam’s. But it didn’t cause the sick feeling to go away. Instead, it only grew in the pit of my stomach and I crinkled my nose as I attempted to find a beginning to the mission I had made for myself; Mission: Clean Up Pop Star Mess. It was a title I could only thank Abigail for, but it would do. “So I’m really not a big drinker.”

It was a weak start and the look on Liam’s face then, of pure exasperation and annoyance with just a bit of amusement, had proven to me that I wasn’t as smooth as I wanted to pretend I was. But it got the ball rolling. He snickered, “You’re telling me. I hugged you hello and you smelled like perfume. I hugged you goodbye and you smelled like vodka.”

A blush must have creeped onto my cheeks then, because as Liam looked over me, instead of dropping another joke and putting me down, he sighed again. Leaning forward, the mood of our little corner became as serious as it was going to get just then. And though I tried to focus in, I could only feel a stinging behind my eyes of threatening tears. Confrontation – it always got to me.

“I can’t pretend he didn’t tell me what happened. I mean, he tried not to, if not for his own sake, then for yours. But he’s sensitive, despite the Prince Charming act, you know. It’s our job to look for him, so Louis asked what he was pouting on about and – well, he summed it up,” Liam came right out.

My eyebrows raised then as my nervous fingers pulled through the ends of my hair, tugging out knots without an ounce of remorse for myself, “And now all your band mates must think I’m a bitch who can’t hang.”

“I think the term Niall used was ‘a haggard c-word,’” he replied.

In a desperate attempt to keep the conversation light, I tried to poke fun, “Did he really say ‘c-word’ or has mama-boy Liam returned with his mouth cleansed out with soap?”

Unfortunately, he either didn’t think I was as clever as I thought I was, or it just simply wasn’t the time – I was betting on both. Either way, his dead-pan face and the silence that followed was enough for me to get the picture. Explain now or forever hold your peace. So I cracked, “I was having a rough day and alcohol didn’t help. I mean, I tried to use it as a cure for my sorrows, but that obviously got messy. I – He asked me what was wrong, and I had no intention of spilling my woes to a stranger. But I did so in a very rude way, when he was being so nice, and for that, I’m sorry.”

“And why are you telling me this?” Liam questioned, one thick eyebrow quirking upwards. And suddenly, I noticed the change in the boy I was constantly claiming as the same old Payne boy. He was more confident and it showed in the way he was upfront about everything. I found myself longing for the times where he’d nod understandingly and tell a more foolish Erin that things would be okay, maybe for the bigger picture. But as that feeling came, I also found myself feeling offended by the new Liam, the current and real Liam sitting before me.

“You asked, jerk,” I scoffed as my fingers reached for the water that had been placed before us by a busy and fleeting waitress moments before.

But Liam took no time in putting the light back on me, readjusting his halo in the process, “I didn’t mean it like that. I meant, why did you call me? You have Harry’s number and an obviously recited apology for him. I don’t see why I’m involved.”

Despite the poke at my ‘speech’ (to which I couldn’t lie and say I hadn’t stared at my reflection while attempting to find the perfect words beforehand), I knew Liam was right and with good intentions. And while I wanted to play coy, wrap my hair around my finger and attempt to wave off this situation as nothing but a petty mistake that I wasn’t lingering over, I couldn’t. I’d thought about this mess backwards and forwards. And it seemed petty, because in the eyes of the boy band that had heard all about it or been lucky enough to see it, it was petty. It was just a night spent with a self-involved girl who couldn’t hold her alcohol well enough. But it wasn’t, after all. Not to me, anyway. I had learned hours before meeting with the boys that my father was terminally ill with a tumor – a thought that had me in tears every time it came around. To sit across from Liam and face this fact was hard enough. Just the idea of sitting across from Harry instead was horrendous. And while that was childish, I knew a ‘why’ would sit on the tip of his tongue, as to why I got so sloppy and why I yelled at him. And that’s where Liam came in. That was something I couldn’t tell Harry, not so easily. Liam was a different bet.

“I can’t explain it in detail, but if I tell you something, will you promise to do your comforting Liam thing?”

His brow furrowed, “Only if you tell me what that is.”

“You know,” I sighed, feeling the blush return to my cheeks, but this time from embarrassment rather than the nerves, “the thing you do when someone tells you bad news. You just sort of take it in. You don’t make a big deal out of it. You sit there, nod and then tell them it’s going to be alright, even if it’s not.”

Liam paused then and I could have sworn his mouth opened every so slightly, like he had something important to say. I watched and waited in anticipation, because embarrassment had me hoping my small explanation had diffused the situation well. But instead of giving me some satisfaction, instead, the boy leaned back in his chair. It was a cue, to carry on without a word from him – he was listening. Comforting Liam had entered.

And so the hard part began.

I took a moment to look around, listening to the tables around us gossip and laugh in delight. I wondered if the waitress would come in and save me just in time. Maybe she’d say something so horrible, Liam would get distracted and we’d have a normal lunch where this topic could be avoided. Maybe Mission: Clean Up Pop Star Mess would be semi-averted but completed. We’d walk away from this table and while I wouldn’t hear back from any of the boys in One Direction, I’d know I’d said my dues and that was all. But the waitress didn’t swoop in, I felt dirty for eavesdropping on the two middle-aged women behind us and while Liam had always been patient, I knew I couldn’t stare off forever.

“I’m not telling you this like it’s any sort of vindication for my actions last night, just so you know. I’m telling you this because you should understand not why I got so drunk – that was a mistake either way. But maybe it’ll be some insight as to why I ever so disgracefully turned your band mate away in his chivalrous time,” I began. Liam looked amused by my choice in wording – I was being generous with the word ‘disgraceful.’ Somehow, I felt like that described me on a typical day. The previous night had been less typical than I had hoped. But just the small smile on his face had enough of a calming effect on me to have me, in a shaky voice, continue, “But I just… Hours before meeting you guys at the bar, I visited home. And well, I – there was some unfortunate news waiting for me.”

The words were sitting right there. They were boiling in my head, dancing on my tongue. They were being called on by the pause in my speech, by the anticipation in Liam’s eyes. They had their entrance all set up. But as the feeling from that day creeped over me, the moments just before rushing to the bathroom to avoid bawling in front of my sick father, I felt like if I said a word, I’d choke. I attempted to open my mouth, to apologize to Liam, to maybe find an escape. But then my bottom lip quivered, my cheeks grew even hotter, and the stinging behind my eyes stopped stinging as my vision blurred behind my frames.

“Erin?”

“My dad’s going to die, Liam,” I blurted out, voice trembling, desperate and weak. I hadn’t vomited on my sloppy night but word vomit was a real thing and it was happening there and then. Tears had fallen and there it was, raw and ready, “He has a brain tumor and they’re performing surgery to get it out and test it for cancer, but I have this feeling that’s tingling in my fingers that he’s not going to make it. And it’s terrifying, because he’s all I have. And even if he wasn’t all I had, I wouldn’t want him to go. Not like this, not so soon. I don’t know how to handle the situation at all, either. I haven’t called him since him and Laura told me. His surgery is right around the corner. I’m a shit daughter, but God, if I could just get my head on straight for a moment. And how fucked is that? How selfish is it that I need a moment? I’m not the one with the tumor. I should be standing in armor beside him, but I’m not because I’m weak. I can’t do this. I can’t fight alongside him. I just want him to be better already.”

In moments of heated vulnerability, embarrassment makes the self-conscious seek relief in cleaning themselves up and attempting to push their moment of instability away. I was no different. The topic was heavy, but I still found myself wiping tears away quickly and feeling more traumatized in the moment that I was crying in a public place, in front of Liam Payne, as our waitress began walking towards us.

But even though I wanted to pretend like I hadn’t just torn my heart out and placed on the table, aching and bleeding for my company to see, he didn’t seem to cooperate. Instead, Liam’s hand found mine from across the table and his eyes linked with my timid gaze, “Erin, look at me.”

Though I was trying to see how long we had before the waitress finally came over – nothing but a few seconds was my best guess – I did as told. Warm brown eyes stared me down, but the words that followed were exactly what I was promised and maybe just what I needed right then.

“It’s going to be okay.”