Heavy Heart

On Wednesday she managed to busy herself with classes. Thursday, she felt nervous as she did her sociology homework as Olivia watched her cautiously over her art project. By Friday, she was bracing herself from the storm of memories that always flooded her on the worst day. But on the worst day, Saturday, hardly anything came.

In the morning, she used the en suite kitchen to make cupcakes to bring to her host family, the radio playing the news quietly in the background. The nation went on about its daily business. No one spoke of what day it was. To them, it was just another day in September. To Daria, it was the day her guiding light went out.

She waited outside of Shackleton Hall for her host mother to come and fetch her, making the almost two hour trek from Holmes Chapel on the deliciously light day. Normally on the worst day, Daria could feel the remnants of dust that hung in the air of the city in her lungs, weighing down her limbs like a phantom.

But in Birmingham, it was as if it never happened. The tragedy that surrounded her father’s death was worlds away, despite only an ocean being dividing them, an unstable, unfathomably deep partition. In Birmingham, there were no flags, with their red stripes and white star freckles, waving in his honor. In Birmingham, there were no flowers to sort through, no cards from the President, no weeping mothers to comfort. There was a car approaching the turnaround, bound to pick up Daria for dinner.

“Mom,” Daria murmured into the receiver as she watched the black car approach her. “Mom, please call me. I need to know you’re okay. I know you’re mad at me, but we need to do this together. We need each other today more than anything. We always have. Please, just call me. I love you. And I miss Dad. Please call.”

She sighed as she shut her phone, truly missing her mother with all her heart. More than anything, she wished she could wrap the frail frame of the woman who raised her in her arms and tell her everything would be alright. But Daria knew that her going away was an opportunity for them to finally cope on their own, to grow up and apart, a chance to learn how to breathe without each other. And with that thought in her heart, she picked up the handles of the bag that housed her cupcakes and put on her best smile as the car came to a stop in front of her.

The door opened and closed. “Daria Holmes?” a woman’s voice called, her head popping up above the shiny top of the sports car.

“That’s me,” Daria chimed with a wave, going around the vehicle and extending a hand to the woman.

“Anne,” she greeted with a wide grin, “Anne Cox.”

Anne Cox was a beautiful woman, her age difficult to determine. The letter had cited her as having two older children, but she didn’t look much more than thirty. Her smile was a dazzling white, skin a proper shade of tan, hair straight and neatly combed.

“Oh!” Anne cried, placing an impeccably manicured hand over her mouth. “You look so beautiful! And look at me, wearing jeans and a shirt. If I would have known you were dressing up, I would have too!”

Daria flushed, feeling rather self-conscious. “I’ve never done anything like this, so I didn’t really know what to wear,” she mumbled, smoothing her hands over her black dress. She had targeted for an area somewhere between dressy and casual, wearing a simple sheath and flats, her hair done up in her favorite top-knot with a bow.

“No, no! You look smashing. I can definitely change. Come on, get in! Dinner will be ready just as we get home.”

Immediately, Daria collected herself and went to the passenger side of the beautiful, new car, laid out the opposite way of her car back in the states. “It’s so strange having everything flipped,” Daria offered awkwardly, trying her very hardest to make conversation. “I mean, vehicle wise. And this is a beautiful car.”

“Thank you!” Anne exclaimed, her personality unfolding for Daria to understand more deeply. “My son recently came into some money and decided to treat his old mum to a car. I suppose it is completely opposite of what you’re used to, huh?”

“Everything is very opposite from Connecticut, that’s for sure,” she hummed, not sure if she was referring to the complete apathy of the day or the fact that she was still getting used to people calling trash can’s ‘bins.’ “I’m still getting used to the city noise at night. My town is very small. Birmingham is such a big city.”

Anne pulled away from the curb and nodded, her long brown hair flowing in response. “It certainly is, a very beautiful big city,” she murmured with a small smile. “My husband – my second husband, the one I’m currently married to – he attended Birmingham as well.”

“Really?” Daria replied in surprise, adjusting the bag of sweets on her lap. “Is that why you come all the way out here to support exchange students?”

“Exactly!” Anne cried, fumbling with a dial on the radio to change the station to something that sounded like classic rock. “Robin – Robin’s his name, you see – he loves the University and wants to try and support the students the best he can. He thinks that it’s so much better to have face to face contact with them rather than just donating some odd dollars in their benefit, so we’ve been welcoming study abroad students for years! You’re must be so bright, Daria.”

Daria blushed and nodded, delving into the story of how she got to Birmingham. They talked the whole way to Holmes Chapel, talking about everything from the beautiful scenery of the countryside to the way she and her husband met. Soon, they were pulling into the neighborhood they lived in, the houses all similar neutral shades. Anne targeted the car into the drive of a particular house, a light beige one with a tan roof, and lots of windows lining the walls. A disappointed look crossed her beautiful face and she surveyed the scene.

“Oh, he must not be here yet,” she murmured before turning to Daria with a forced, bright smile that was somehow familiar to her. “Our daughter Gemma couldn’t make it tonight, but my son is supposed to come from London to meet you. It seems he’s running late though, I’m so sorry.”

“It’s alright, no worries,” Daria comforted her, nodding sympathetically. They entered the house through the ornate, white front door, and Daria was immediately greeted with the strong and heavenly scent of a home cooked meal.

“Honey!” Anne called into the home, beautiful and simple in Daria’s opinion. “We’re here! Come say hello!”

Almost immediately, a droll looking man in a crisp white shirt came out from the kitchen, a smile peering through his salt-and-pepper beard. “Daria!” he cheered with a beam, wrapping her in an immediate hug. As always, she stiffened awkwardly at the contact, unsure of how to react. “Robin. It’s so nice to meet you.”

Daria returned to greeting before Anne swiftly interrupted. “Have you heard from our son?” she quipped shortly.

“He said he’s on his way,” Robin muttered, teasingly pinching at her side. “Let’s sit down and start eating, the food’s starting to get cold. He’ll get here when he gets here, you know how busy he is.”

Daria followed them through the house, dragging her bag of cupcakes along with her, nearly drooling at how delicious the meal set out at the table smelled. There was a casserole filled with Shepherd’s pie, several plates of vegetables and fruit, and a basket of freshly baked dinner rolls. As they took their seats around the table, one left empty, Daria had to control her hungry hands. Just as they started to say grace, they were cut short by the sound of the front door.

“Sorry I’m late, traffic was mental.”

Daria froze, eyes wide. She knew that voice. Slowly, she turned her head to the entryway of the kitchen, only to have her suspicions confirmed. There he stood, in all his glory, plaid button up open to display a white v-neck, curly hair perfectly mussed, the winning smile on his face. Harry Styles. The smile quickly faded however, when he saw that the foreign student that his parents picked up wasn’t just any foreign student, it was Daria.

“What are you doing here?” he gasped.

“I was about to ask you the same thing!” she replied indignantly, crossing her arms across her chest.

“What’s going on here?” Robin inquired, his shocked face matching Anne’s. Daria looked between them and then back to Harry. He was looking especially shocked out of all of them, his gleaming green eyes locked straight onto Daria.

“You know the girl I spilled coffee all over the other day?” he mumbled awkwardly, apparently embarrassed now that he was in front of his parents. “Well, this girl looks a lot like her.”

“This is your son who ‘came into some money?’” Daria cried, turning to Anne with a distressed expression. Anne shrugged, explaining that she didn’t want to scare Daria off with the talk of her son’s fame and fortune. By the time she was done, Harry had sat down at the table with them, twiddling his thumbs clumsily.

“Harry, this is Daria,” Robin elucidated, gesturing between the two of them.

“She’s our exchange student from Birmingham. She’s originally from…”

“Connecticut,” Daria clarified quietly, still glowering his Harry’s direction. “Middletown, Connecticut. I went to Wesleyan University, which is one of the top colleges in the nation. Sociology and Philosophy double major.”

“Oh, a smart one then,” Harry teased with a little grin, in a flailing attempt to break the ice between them. Daria tried to smile back, but instead sometime like a grimace came out. Harry cleared his throat and turned to his mother.

“Can we eat?”

After serving up helpings of everything onto their plates, conversation fell in amongst them. Daria stewed, completely off put by Harry’s sudden appearance. She’d been getting along so well with his parents, Anne in particular, and then he showed up. But she couldn’t help but feel a little turn in her heart every time he smiled her way, his teeth white and surprisingly straight for an Englishman. He bantered with his parents, and attempted to banter with Daria despite her inability to banter back.
She could feel his eyes on her at almost all times; examining her like she housed some untranslatable secret he was trying desperately to unravel. As the night went on, she felt herself warming to him against her will. It was true – he had that effect on people. Harry Styles’s charm was nearly impossible to avoid.

“How was Simon?” Anne asked of his time in London, spent with the one and only Simon Cowell. It was then that Daria felt a little star-struck, Simon’s name a household one stateside, a man she recognized from watching endless hours of American Idol with her mother.

“Good, Harry replied. “Just got done producing some memorial track for September Eleventh in the States. Supposed to be a big success today.”

“Oh, is that the date?” Robin clarified, glancing between Harry and Daria and then to his wife. “It must be very different here than it is in the States, eh?”

Daria felt the blood rush from her face, her skin turning an embarrassing sallow state. “Oh, yes,” she hummed quietly, her eyes cast down into her lap. “Very different. My father actually passed. On September Eleventh.”

She could only hear the sputtering cough of Robin choking on his tea, the sharp gasp from Anne, and the scalding silence from Harry, her eyes focused in her clenched fists. It had been bottled up inside her all day, just waiting for an excuse to bubble over. More than anything, Daria needed to talk about it, to anyone about it. It was almost too much for her to bear, passing up the opportunity to talk to someone about how her father had passed, how she missed him so much. Already, she felt so comfortable with Anne and Robin, and with her mother ignoring her calls; she needed some sort of parental love on the very worst day of all.

“He was on a business meeting,” she explained, squeezing her hands together tightly. “In the first tower, two floors above where the plane struck. My hometown is only a little over an hour from the city, so he went there a lot on business for his company. We received no phone call. We think he probably died on impact. I was only nine.”

“I’m so sorry, love,” Anne murmured, getting up from her chair and going to Daria, enveloping her in a sweet, maternal hug.

“It’s alright,” Daria mumbled quietly. “I don’t mean to bring down the conversation. Today has just been a hard day, and I really want to thank you all for welcoming me into your home. It’s been so lovely.”

Harry smiled at her softly, a little half grin. “What did you bring in that bag, Starbucks Girl?”

Daria narrowed her eyes at him. “Just because you’re in my foster family doesn’t mean I’ve forgiven you, sir,” she sniffed, not sure if she was being completely serious or teasing. “They’re cupcakes. And you don’t get any until you apologize.”

“God, I apologized in about a billion publications if you’d bother to read them!” he cried, tossing his hands in the air. “I’m sorry Daria, I really am. Please, for the love of all that is holy, let me try a cupcake.”

Daria felt a smile come to her lips and immediately pressed a hand against them. She hadn’t realized it, but it had been ages since she smiled. The muscles in her face almost ached at the motion, no longer used to the reaction. She stared at Harry, absolutely bewildered. He stared back, the corner of his lip cured auspiciously.

“Cupcakes!” Anne exclaimed excitedly. “Oh Daria, you absolutely didn’t have to. You’re so sweet! Please let us try.”

Snapping back to the fact that there were more people in the room than just her and Harry, Daria jumped from the table to the bag that held the tin of cupcakes. “It’s really nothing,” she insisted, dragging out the tin and setting it on the table. “I was always taught in my family to never come empty handed. It’s just my way of thanking you for having me. I work at a bakery back home called Yellow Spoon, and these are kind of my specialty.”

Before she could even finish, Harry was tearing into the tin, pulling out a large, pink tinted cupcake covered in neatly piped yellow frosting. Delicate rainbow sugar sprinkles dusted the top, with the entire package encased in a chevron print wrapper. “These look amazing,” he breathed before letting his eyes dart to Daria with anticipation.

“Seriously, please eat them,” she asserted. “I don’t want them laying around my room. My roommate and I won’t eat anything else.”

Her hosts chucked happily before digging in, a settled murmur of approval coming from each of them. Together, they ate Daria’s cupcakes, making her feel the most at home she’d felt on a September Eleventh since the very day eleven years ago. She wondered about what her mother was doing then, probably having lunch. Or rather, staring at an empty plate in front of her, struggling to find her appetite. A fleeting pang of guilt struck Daria as she laughed with the new family as her mother sat at home. But then, she resolved that her mother could call her, and until she did, Daria would feel no remorse.

After hours of sitting and talking about an array of topics including Harry’s band, Robin’s hectic work schedule, Anne’s home decorating tips, and Daria’s opinions on various world issues, the clock was chiming midnight.

“Is that really the time?” Anne gasped. “We should get you home.”

“I’ll go get the car warmed up,” Robin offered, standing up from the table. “You get yourselves ready and then we can go.” By ‘yourselves,’ she realized Robin meant her and Anne, because as the ladies stood up to get themselves together, Harry was taking off his flannel. It revealed a set of muscular, tattooed arms, causing Daria’s heart to skip just a beat. Embarrassed at her internal reaction, despite the fact that there was no way Harry could have ever known, she turned away to collect her tin.

“I’ll meet you in the car,” Anne said, already finished, as Daria was heading to grab her shoes. She nodded at her host mother, giving her a thumbs up as she disappeared out the door. Suddenly, she felt a presence behind her and turned to see Harry, hands in the pockets of his jeans with a crooked grin on his lips.

“You never called me,” he murmured. Daria felt extremely aware of herself, and of Harry for that matter, his chest rising and falling with every breath he took.

“My father taught me to never talk to strangers,” she quipped in response, tucking a loose strand of dark hair behind her ear.

“I’m not a stranger now,” he countered, flicking his hair out of his eyes with a soft jerk of his head. The green shade of them glimmered in the soft light from the lamp above them, catching her by surprise.

“Well, maybe I’ll call you then,” she murmured back, another smile crossing her face. “Goodbye, Harry.”

And with that, she left the door into the warm September air, the night sky unbelievably clear and starry. She felt as though every star was smiling down on her and the lovely evening she’d spent with her new family, cheering her on in a way no one else had before.

“Hey, Daria!” Harry called after her. She turned to see him standing in the doorway, leaned against the frame.

“You look beautiful tonight.”