Heavy Heart

By four o’clock the next day, Daria was really regretting the drunken decisions she made the night before. She lay on the floor of Litzy’s room, cell phone pressed to her forehead, cursing herself for actually texting Harry her number. She was just getting over the hangover that rocked her world when she awoke, medicated with several large cups of coffee and two ibuprofen. The rest of the girls flittered comfortably around her, plenty of space for all of them in Litzy’s unreasonably large bedroom, gossiping about the events of the night before.

“Guys,” she interrupted, just as Violet had finished recounting the tale of how she had 'charmed' Zayn Malik with her impeccable wit. “Is it bad form to cancel at this point?”

“Absolutely!” Ivy gasped from her spot on the bed. “He’s going to be here in like an hour, you can’t just cancel on him!”

Daria grumbled to herself, rolling over and pressing her face into the lush carpet. “And if anything, Harry’s your friend, Daria,” Olivia scolded. “You need to stop pretending that you hate him and just give him a chance. He seems pretty set on getting to know you, so for god’s sake just do it.”

“I know, I know,” Daria muttered as her phone vibrated between her face and the floor. She knew straight away that it was one of two people – Harry, or her mother. In hopes that it was the latter she pulled her head off the floor, only to have her hopes dashed upon seeing Harry’s name run across the screen. The text informed her that he’d be picking her up from Litzy’s ritzy townhome at six, forty-five minutes later.

“That’s him,” she glowered. “Can someone grab me another cup of coffee? I’m going to need more caffeine if I’m going to make it through you all poking and prodding at me for the next hour.”

“I’ve got it!” Lucie offered, leaping from her spot on Litzy’s desk chair and running through the door. The rest giggled, under the impression that Daria was just joking around, but in all honesty, Daria was exhausted. All she wanted was to go home, finish her homework and crawl in bed early, only to watch several hours of bad television with Olivia. But she’d made a drunken commitment to Harry, and a bunch of star struck college girls were not about to let her back down, especially when they had the opportunity to wave at Harry Styles himself out the front window.

For an hour, the girls picked apart the remainder of Litzy’s at-home wardrobe and found a suitable outfit for Daria (she’d only brought jeans and a sweatshirt for the next day), played with her makeup, and designed a plan for her to abandon ship if everything were to go sour. The only thing left to Daria was her hair, which she tied up in her signature top-knot, the singular part of her outfit she felt secure about. Just as she was slipping into a pair of black pointed toe flats, the doorbell downstairs rang and it was all but a stampede down the stairs to see who could answer the door first.

Daria sighed, the only people left in the room being her, Olivia, Litzy, and Poppy. The two girls from down the hall gave her a supportive embrace, whispering encouragements in her ear like sweets she could hold onto for later, when she needed the confidence. Olivia came last, giving her the strongest smile in her.

“It’ll be great,” she insisted, her warm eyes glistening with encouragement. “Just have fun. That’s all it is, just some fun. That’s why you’re here, isn’t it?”

Daria nodded slowly, agreeing with all the words that left Olivia’s mouth. It was merely some fun with some guy; he was going to take her to dinner and take her home, that was it. But then why did she feel so nervous?

When she reached the foot of the stairs, she saw Harry standing in the doorway, dressed in a classic pair of dark jeans and a heather grey sweater, the collar of a dark red shirt peeking out around his neck. His eyes settled on her through the crowd of girls surrounding him, and when they met hers, his bright grin spread across his face.

“Are you ready?” he asked, and when she nodded in response, he turned to her friends. “It was really nice seeing you all again. Have a safe drive back to Birmingham.”

As Harry held the front door open for her, Daria snuck out onto the path. She glanced over her shoulder to see him following her, his hands in his front pockets. “I’m sorry they’re all so… overbearing,” she apologized half-heartedly. “They really do mean well, I think.”

Harry laughed, his footsteps heavy as he followed her down the path. “You look great, as always,” he complimented, running forward to the shiny black car parked in the driveway, pulling the door open for her.

“Harry…” she mumbled awkwardly, hoping he didn’t notice the blush rising to her cheeks beneath the shot of rouge Elsie had dashed across her skin. She settled into the seat of the car and glanced up at Harry, leaning against the door.

“I know, I know,” he replied. “I just believe that you deserve to be told you’re beautiful. Is that such a crime, Daria?”

She groaned, tugging on the door handle and pulling it out just slightly from underneath him so he would straighten up. “Please, can we just go? They’re all watching out the window.”

Harry let out a hearty laugh and agreed, clambering around the car and hopping into the driver’s seat. He shifted the car into drive and pulled away into the street, driving down the block.

“I’m sorry about yesterday,” she said quietly, glancing up at him from beneath her lashes. He had a complacent look about him, confident in his hands on the steering wheel, eyes alert on the road. “I normally don’t drink, or really go out to clubs for that matter. I’m sorry if I said something stupid. I feel like I made a fool of myself.”

“Stop,” Harry commanded. “You were fine. We had a good time, what time we had together that is.” Nodding in defeat, she grew quiet. Daria silently marveled at how nice his car was, but was completely unprepared for the sight of the restaurant Harry had reservations at. When they arrived to the Mayfair-area restaurant, he handed the keys to the valet and led her inside.

Her eyes were met with an elegant dining area, complete with chandeliers and ornate tapestries covering the windows, a bar lined with bottles of alcohol just off to the side. Daria had never been to such a place, surrounded with British celebrities and waiters dressed in crisp black uniforms, the music playing in the most perfectly ambient way. She began to feel the panic bubble inside her, wishing more than ever she were back in her room in Shackleton with Olivia.

“Harry, this is too much.”

“Daria, for Christ’s sake, would you just let me take you out and accept it? You’re my friend and I want to take you out. And the price of your meal will probably even out with the cost of the shirt of yours I ruined anyway.

Daria blenched, thinking of what must go into a meal that costs forty dollars. That had been one of her nicer shirts, a birthday present from her aunt when she turned nineteen in August. But just as she was about to protest again, she bit her tongue and allowed the hostess to seat them at their table.

“Now, I don’t want you to look now, but Wayne Rooney is sitting across the restaurant,” he murmured, a bright and childish beam on his face. “I’m feeling a bit star struck.”

“Wayne Rooney?” Daria spat back indignantly. “Please tell me you’re not a Manchester United fan.”

“I certainly am,” he replied defensively, knitting his eyebrows together. “And if you’re not, what’s your club then?”

“Liverpool!” Daria cried, shaking her head in disbelief. The two teams were bitter rivals with a history of hating each other to the core, Manchester having a bit of a better time of it than Liverpool as of late. Daria was still a little bitter about how the season was going.

“Okay, so maybe not football,” Harry replied with a chuckle. “How about baseball? What’s your team?”

“The Yankees,” Daria answered immediately. “My dad was a fan. Following our team is my way of honoring him, I guess.”

“Ah, see,” Harry cheered approvingly. “The Yankees are my team too. Have a jersey and everything. We can get along there.”

As Daria nodded in agreement and began to pick up her menu, the waiter arrived at the side of their table. As he introduced himself and went over the daily specials, her eyes scanned the menu, most of which was in Italian. Feeling like a very small fish in a very large pond, she lay her menu down on the table and looked at Harry with wide eyes.

“I can’t read any of this,” she whispered, as though the waiter wouldn’t hear her. Looking slightly embarrassed and then covering it up with a laugh, Harry nodded in response. He held up the menu for the waiter to see, and then pointed to several dishes.

“And two Sweet Maggies, please,” he requested, prompting the waiter to scribble down the addition and leave them to be.

“What’s a Sweet Maggie?” she asked in confusion, twisting the watch she’d borrowed from Litzy. Harry grinned and leaned forward on his elbows to get a little closer to her, not wanting to shout over the noise of the restaurant.

“It’s a drink,” he answered. “A really great drink. I’ll tell you what – if you don’t like it, I’ll never bother you to take you out ever again.”

“Ever again?” she questioned in surprise, crossing her arms over her chest in disbelief. “Ever ever again? That’s a lot of weight to put on a drink, Harry.”

“That’s how confident I am in it,” he replied with a slight nod of his head, his lips curled in what seemed to be that ever-present grin. Daria accepted the challenge with open arms, a little more than open to the fact of having Harry leave her alone. But the more and more they got to talking, the less and less she wanted the evening to end.

Harry was charming, that she already knew. But what she didn’t know was how absolutely, genuinely sweet he was – always interested in what she had to say, patiently paying attention while she told stories about her home life and her experiences so far at Birmingham. In return, he didn’t talk about himself as much as Daria would have expected from a man of his stature. As a matter of fact, Harry was unusually humble for a man at all, speaking of his days with One Direction as if he authentically felt blessed for everything he had, especially his parents.

“It’s just nice to sit at home sometimes and just read something, you know?” he pressed over dinner, which turned out to be a plate of unbelievably divine pasta for her and some fileted duck for him. He cut pieces from his meal and passed them to her, insisting that she try a little – she hadn’t lived until she did.

“Yeah, I definitely know,” she hummed in response, popping a bite of duck in her mouth and savoring its herbed flavor. “I don’t know how you function without quiet time. I need it to survive.”

“You get used to it,” he said with a shrug, reaching across the table and twirling his fork into her pasta casually. “The guys are pretty good giving each other space when we can. But for the most part, being with them is my quiet time.”

Daria nodded as though she understood, but in truth she had no idea. She’d never had friends that close that she could simply feel re-energized by being in their presence. She admired that about Harry – he was a very dedicated friend. She was already seeing that in the way he insisted on hunting her down and making up his faults to her. In fact, the sting of humiliation had completely faded into the background. Raising her glass to her lips, she took a sip of her Sweet Maggie.

“So, how is it?” he asked excitedly.

Trying to resist the smile she felt coming on, she nodded her head. “It’s fantastic,” she admitted, tilting her glass in his direction.

“I knew it,” he applauded. “Looks like you’ll be seeing me again.”

“Looks like it,” she replied, letting the smile come to her lips.

They completed their meal and took to Harry’s car, driving the now much more tolerable drive back to Birmingham. All the way, they chattered between the two of them, laughing at Harry’s ridiculous jokes and Daria’s attempts to counter them. He played her songs on his iPod, trying to introduce her to more music he was interested in. The two-hour drive simply flew in his company, and before she even realized it, they were pulling into the parking lot at Shackleton.

“Thank you, Harry,” she murmured, her voice a near whisper. “I had a really nice time. You really didn’t have to drive me all the way back here, but I’m glad you did.”

“Anytime, Daria,” he replied, his eyes like slight emerald oceans. “Let me walk you to the door.”

She nodded and exited the car, guiding him to the front doors of Shackleton. The wide glass windows revealed the interior of the first floor, nearly deserted, most students out at the pubs downtown drinking their Saturday night away. She turned to Harry, who was giving her that same look he gave her the first day they met. It was a friendly look, but the undertones were intense. Daria’s skin pricked under the gaze, her self-conscious tendencies rising to the surface.

“Call me when you get back, okay?” she asserted. “Just to be sure you’re safe.”

“Of course,” he hummed in response, his full mauve lips curled at the edges. “And thank you for letting me finally take you out. You’re a fun date.”

And before Daria could say anything more, his lips were pressed to her cheek for just a moment, and he turned on his heel to leave. As she watched him walk away, Daria was overcome with a warm feeling that shook her to the core. She’d gone out with Harry Styles and enjoyed it. But the real question resounded in her as she headed inside and upstairs to her room – was it a date?