Broken Things

My dad had taken it upon himself to make an appointment with a financial advisor. This displeasing news was broken to me the next morning, when he’d finally been able to sneak up on me on the trek from the bathroom back to the guest room after I’d finished up having a shower. That, piled atop the news that my stepmum and her daughter would be arriving shortly brought my mood level from a four to a two and a half.

It was proving to be a shit day and it had just started.

I took my time with getting dressed, choosing to wear a pair of denim shorts and a plain tee shirt. Somehow one of Harry’s hoodies had ended up in the bag, probably abandoned sometime during a tour. He’d forgotten it in there, but with the cool air blowing in from Lake Michigan, I took advantage of the situation and pulled it on. The length of it fell all the way to my thighs, but I didn’t mind much. My appearance was the last thing on my mind. It was plain gray and fleece lined on the inside. It still smelled like him.

I hadn’t answered his text from the evening before; I didn’t know how. So instead I cleared the notification from my phone and tucked it into my pocket before I trudged out to the living room where my father sat on the couch, scrolling through a Wall Street Journal article on his iPad.

“Nice jacket,” he commented blankly as I sat down beside him, on the far end of the couch. He hadn’t even bothered to look at me from where he was lounged, his legs parted and his back hitting the lower half of the cushion. I had my legs gathered up to my chest, heels propped up on the cushion as I tried to collect my body to myself and sit as far away as physically possible while still on the same piece of furniture.

“Nice life,” I answered for lack of a better comeback. It wasn’t my best, but he still seemed irritated, so I chalked it up as a win.

“Are you seeing him again?”

“Is that any of your business?”

“Well, you are my daughter.”

“Am I? I’d forgotten, it’s been a while.”

That, at least, shut him up. With a clenched jaw, he resigned himself to pretending to continue reading the article, though we both knew his mind was otherwise engaged with how to get me under control. I tried to calm myself by counting down the hours until I could leave.

Abruptly, the front door swung open. My dad was on his feet before I’d even fully turned my head to the sight of Helen and Stephanie making their way through the door, suitcases and shopping bags in tow.

I’d inherited my blonde hair and blue eyes from my mother, though it was apparent my facial structure and the slight wave to my hair had come from my father. In much the same way, Stephanie had inherited her mother’s strawberry blonde locks and sharp facial features. They had similar body types and taste in clothes. The eye color, the full lips, those things must have come from her father, though I’d never met the man.

My dad engulfed Helen in an embrace, kissing her softly on the lips before pulling her into his arms for a hug. Stephanie busied herself with shutting the door behind her and pulling the sunglasses that had been sitting atop her head from her hair, folding them before slipping them into her purse. Her eyes finally landed on me and she offered a pathetic attempt of a smile as greeting. I didn’t bother with the fake return of one. She didn’t seem bothered as my dad placed a kiss on her cheek as greeting.

“Hello, Sawyer,” Helen greeted me civilly.

“Good afternoon,” I responded. My dad’s eyes cut to me, but I had nothing to offer as far as fake enthusiasm goes. He could have been thankful I’d responded at all.

“You don’t look dressed for lunch,” Helen mused.

“Lunch?” I repeated, raising an eyebrow in my father’s direction.

“I figured if I’d told you earlier, you would have locked the door to the guest room.”

He was right, but I wasn’t going to give him the pleasure of knowing he’d figured something out about me and won. I narrowed my gaze.

“We’re going to Kinzie, right?” Stephanie piped in.

“Yeah,” my dad affirmed. “Why don’t you drop off your bags and we’ll get going.”

The girls nodded in unison, reaching for their suitcases and paper bags before toting them through the room. I’d given up on glaring at my dad, because it seemed to be a full time occupation I just didn’t have the time and dedication for. Instead I picked at a loose string on my shorts and scanned the Chicago skyline out the sliding glass doors.

“I’m sure Stephanie has something you can borrow to wear to lunch,” my dad said.

“I’m good,” I replied absently.

“You’re wearing your boyfriend’s oversized hoodie and a pair of Daisy Duke’s to Kinzie Steakhouse?” my dad questioned.

Despite the fact that I was very adamant to everyone else that Harry wasn’t my boyfriend, it worked to my advantage in this case to not correct my father. If history had anything to say, it was that he wasn’t Harry’s biggest fan. So I kept my head held high and ignored him completely, thinking maybe if I said nothing at all, that would be the thing to piss him off the most. He sighed, and I smiled. I loved being right.

A thick silence fell into the space between us. With my dad stewing in one corner, arms over his chest as he sized me up, I busied myself with not caring. It was a few minutes later when Stephanie reappeared in the hallway, phone in hand as she absently navigated the layout of the apartment. Helen trailed behind, fixing an earring before beaming at my dad to signal they were both ready. Reluctantly, I got to my feet.

Stephanie led the way out the door, my dad and Helen following after with me holding up the back. I couldn’t help the surge of anger I felt watching him slide an arm around Helen’s shoulders, pulling her close and planting a kiss to her cheek. The worst was knowing this wasn’t a tactic to piss me off; it was in earnest. It made me sick.

I kept my eyes on my feet, if only to swallow back the bitter words planted on my tongue waiting for their opportunity to spring forward. I only glanced up when I needed to, in order to figure out where it was we were headed. Only when we stepped out the front door of the apartment building, did I feel less suffocated. Something about the vastness of Chicago, the long streets filled with towering buildings and boisterous citizens, had always comforted me. When everything felt so big, it was nice to be reminded I was so small.

With my hands stuffed into the pockets of Harry’s hoodie, I kept stride with the rest of my dad’s family, albeit a half-step behind and dead silent. I could remember the way to the steakhouse by heart, but I knew better than to make more trouble for myself than necessary by falling too far behind. It was a slow war with many battles, and I knew there was a line between immaturity and well timed digs at my father. Regardless, eating at Kinzie was expensive and my mouth was watering for a pepperloin steak. I’d have to play nice to pass over the bill.

It was a three block walk, which in the grand scheme of things was nothing; especially for a couple of Chicago natives. Since moving to Harry’s, I’d lost use of my bike and hadn’t gone out of my way to be particularly active. I would never be a marathon runner, much to Ashley’s dismay, but I did miss the stretch of my muscles and the steady beating of my heart from a good, long walk. I’d have to make a trek down to Navy Pier, maybe, or at least to one of the walking trails that wound up and down the Chicago River.

It was a little late in the afternoon, between the lunch and dinner rushes. My dad had always done this, timed meals perfectly to avoid waiting for a seat. The host seemed to recognize my father as we all stepped through the doors. He grabbed three menus before catching sight of me and fumbling for a fourth, slightly embarrassed. I ignored how curiously he eyed me as he led the way to a seat near a wall of windows, parallel to the patio seating. It was prime for people watching, which is what I guessed I’d spend most of my time doing during this outing. There was little in the way of conversation I was interested in.

A waitress appeared momentarily with four glasses of water. I thanked her quietly before taking a long drag and eyeing the bar. I’d vowed to take a break from the liquor for a bit, but that didn’t mean I didn’t want a drink right about then. Especially when Helen launched into some long, drawn out story about their weekend in the suburbs.

I kept myself occupied by reading over the menu. It had been one of my favorite places to eat when I’d still lived here, so I knew my order already. They had re-designed the menu, though, with a more tasteful font and a few small changes in items served. I wondered if I should try something different, but quickly dismissed it once our waitress returned to inquire as to our orders.

“Sawyer, Stephanie says you’ve moved to Los Angeles,” Helen re-directed the conversation toward me. Caught off guard, I only licked my lips and shrugged in response while my dad frowned at my poor manners. Off-put, but not to be thwarted, Helen only continued. “We had no clue! You should have told us. I know your dad would prefer you live here in Chicago... We could have made some sort of arrangement, I’m sure.”

“I didn’t want to live in Chicago,” I answered easily. “It’s why I’m living in L.A.”

Helen pressed her lips into a firm line while my dad narrowed his eyes at me. If this was supposed to be an intimidation tactic, it was a pathetic attempt.

“Nonetheless, it would have been nice to know about your move. Seems like a big decision to make on your own,” Helen shrugged.

“I figured I’d tell you when you called next,” I replied with a half-smile. In the two months between my mother’s death and my move, I hadn’t heard anything more from my dad than a single voicemail informing me he’d be missing the funeral due to an inescapable business committment.

“Are you living with Harry Styles?” Stephanie chimed in. There was more than polite interest in her gaze, and I wondered how exactly I should respond to that one. I wouldn’t put it past Steph to let whatever personal information was exchanged at this lunch leak to the public one way or another. Beyond whatever petty grudge we held against one another concerning my dad, she was just the sort of brat who would do it just to watch the outcome of it all. Bored rich kids tended to do that.

“I’m sleeping in his guest room while I look for my next apartment,” I finally managed. She frowned.

“Didn’t you have a falling out with him or something? I thought your father mentioned something about him breaking up with you.”

I scowled in the direction of my stepmother, who didn’t seem to take notice as she sipped from her glass of water. I could feel my cheeks burning in anger. “We’re on better terms now,” I answered.

“With you lounging about his house in your underwear all day, I’m sure you are,” my dad commented.

“You don’t even know him,” I snapped.

“I’ve come into contact with him more than enough, I think.”

“When he was fifteen, maybe. And I don’t know why you have any qualms, he always treated me as I deserved.”

“Up and left, though, right? When your mum got sick? Never said a word, just there one minute and gone the next.”

“I’m sorry, he was starting a career and figuring out what he wanted to do in life. What the hell was your excuse? An overglorified secretary to satisfy your sex drive and her daughter who was to blind to figure out what was going on?”

“Sawyer Jane,” my father hissed. It was the first time I believed any emotion from him since I’d landed at O’Hare.

“I’m not doing this,” I declared, pushing back my chair and sliding out of my seat.

“Not doing what?”

“I’m not playing house with my replacements in the same city you built a life with my mother in. I’m done.”

“I’ve done nothing but make sure you’re provided for, Sawyer. I want nothing but the best-“

“What a load of shit!” I couldn’t help but laugh, turning on my heel to survey the scene behind me. What few patrons were left in the restaurant had halted conversation, eyes focused on the trainwreck of a family my dad had haphazardly thrown together. “You left! You found something better and you were gone! And at least Harry can be apologetic about it, at least he’s working on building something again, but you? You’re despicable. You don’t even care! You want me as a placeholder! You want to point to me and tell the execs at the office that you saved me from the snares of a sick mum and a terrible life alone, like I’m some orphan and not your own flesh and blood.”

I took a moment to collect myself, taking a breath because the words had all flooded out of me in one quick sweep. I felt lightheaded with adrenaline and anger, and high on the looks Helen and Stephanie were cutting me, when their eyes weren’t flitting across the room in embarrassment because of the audience I’d garnered.

“Go fuck yourself,” I concluded, a general statement to encompass the table in its entirety.

I turned back toward the doors, happy when no one called after me again. Pushing back out into the cool summer air, I ran a hand through my hair and tried to figure out where it was I wanted to go now. I settled for Grant Park, though it was near to the apartment. At some point I would have to go back, but I’d wait until the early hours of the morning to sneak in without notice. Mostly, I needed to keep myself distracted before I could fall apart.

I kept my head high and my hands in my pockets as I moved down Michigan Avenue, dodging pedestrians here and there and jaywalking when the opportunity arose. Growing up in Chicago, I’d long adapted deaf ears when it came to angry honkings from taxis. Being in the city, it was funny to see how much was still the same from when I was twelve and lived here last. It was funny to see how much had changed.

I’d made it three-quarters of the way to the park when I realized I hadn’t eaten. Damn my father for standing between me and a Kinzie pepperloin. I was thankful for having brought my bag along with me, but I wasn’t sure how much cash I had. If I wasn’t eating steak, I’d for sure be buying a falafel from one of my favorite food carts, but they didn’t take cards. I rummaged about in my wallet, coming up empty. A few moments later, I felt triumphant when I stumbled across a ten dollar bill floating about of its own accord elsewhere in my satchel.

There wasn’t a line at the cart, which was nice. It was the same as any of the other ones stationed around the city, with a tired-looking Indian man sweating in the heat from the grill. He still handed it to me with a smile, which I thought was worth my extra money stuffed in his tip jar. It was like once I’d ridded myself of everything threatening to burst forth concerning my father, I felt that much lighter. It was like weight lifted off my shoulders as I continued my trek toward the park and lifted the falafel to my mouth.

But there was another side to it, a part that recognized I’d made a crack in my emotional dam and there was no telling what was going to burst forth at any given moment. I threw the paper plate away in a metal trash can and lifted Harry’s hood over my head. I passed Cloud Gate sculpture and all its corresponding tourists, taking photos in front of the chrome bean or otherwise making faces at themselves in the reflective structure. I passed by the amphitheater before descending some steps from the sidewalk and making a bee-line for Buckingham Fountain. Suddenly, I felt exhausted.

I’d been an emotional roller coaster lately, something I recognized and felt so intensely embarrassed about. Maybe I needed a doctor or a therapist. Maybe I needed another falafel. What I didn’t think I needed was to call Harry, but that’s what my hands had started doing of their own accord, the reciever pressed to my ear before I had a moment to properly register what was really happening.

I sniffled, rubbing at a wet spot near my eye as I took in the scene around me. Chicago truly was one of my favorite places on Earth, one of America’s most beautiful cities. Perched on the concrete of the fountain facing Michigan Avenue, I could watch pedestrians and cars making their way into the heart of the city, could scrutinize each piece of arcitecture as it towered high above my head. The sky was blue with those wispy clouds interspersed here and there, but despite the rays of the sun beating on my back, Harry’s hoodie provided comfort and warmth as it shielded away the bursts of wind that rolled off the lake, just a couple hundred feet behind me.

“Hullo?” Harry’s slow, raspy voice asked. I considered hanging up then and there, embarrassed at calling while having bottomed out emotionally. He was probably busy doing something important and popstar-y. Regardless, our last encounter still lingered in the back of my mind, the way I’d pulled him toward me and busied my lips with his. The way he’d responded at first, then became rigid beneath my touch, untangling himself from me. He’d said something in the moments after, something that was both terrifying and exilirating and I couldn’t quite remember the specifics of it in my drunken haze, but I remembered my heart picking up speed in my chest.

“Sawyer?” he asked, and I could practically imagine the crease between his brows. A quiet chuckle escaped my lips before I could think better of it, and he breathed in response so I knew he’d heard me.

“Hi,” I managed.

“What’s wrong?”

I brought a hand back up to my eyes, rubbing at them because they burned a little. It was both astounding and also unsurprising that Harry could sift through one word and find so much behind it. I’d done no more that utter a greeting and he’d detected something in my voice he didn’t much like, something he automatically wanted to ammend. I suddenly felt worse, like I was using him, taking his kindness in the largest of quantities and lathering it over myself when things became too emotionally taxing for me to handle on my own.

“Sawyer, talk to me,” he asked, but it sounded like a plea. There was an edge to his voice and I didn’t like being the one to put it there.

“I kissed you,” I stated, because at least that was something I could address immediately. With so many miles between us, it felt easier to talk about. I didn’t have to see his face and he didn’t have to see mine, the blush that built in my cheeks and the heat that radiated from my face. “I shouldn’t have. That was selfish of me. I’m sorry.”

There was silence on the other end of the line. Harry cleared his throat, then said, “I don’t think that’s why you called.”

“It’s not,” I laughed a little again. “But I don’t want to talk about that quite yet.”

“I don’t think we should be having this discussion right now,” he finally answered after a few heartbeats of hesitance. “I don’t think you’re going to like it.”

I was silent for a few seconds as I tried to gather my strength. Everything felt so heavy and thick. Maybe if we got this one thing out of the way, the rest would follow.

“I think we should talk about it now. I think I need to get this over with.”

Harry sucked in a deep breath, holding it for a moment before letting it out. The quiet space on the phone that stretched between us was really uncomfortable and I didn’t know if he was expecting me to say anything. I felt I’d already done my part in apologizing. So instead, I asked, “Are you busy? I probably shouldn’t have called. You’re probably busy.”

“No, I’m just at the studio. I’m actually finished for the day, but Dec is with Ashley and I didn’t have anything else to do. The house feels empty with you gone.”

I bit at my lip, trying to think of a way to respond to that. Luckily, I didn’t have to before he was talking again.

“It was cruel of you to kiss me, Sawyer. Especially because I know you know how I feel about you.” He gave this a moment to sink in as I sucked in a breath. Suddenly I felt warm all over. Suddenly I felt cold to the touch. “... And I know you’re not in a place where you’d want a relationship. But worse than both of those things is that I know you wanted to kiss me. Because of that, I can’t let it go.”

I took a moment to process this. The wind picked up, pressing his sweatshirt tighter to my back as I tried to remember that moment, my deciding factor in bringing him to me and pressing my mouth to his. I tried to recall the way I felt standing there in that room, his scent surrounding me. In nothing but my underwear, his green eyes had never wavered from my face, the softness I always found there feeling like a comfort.

Above all, I knew I was safe with Harry; knew I could trust him. Beyond that, I’d always want to be wanted by him. When the rest of the world was enamored with him and his charm, his dimples and boyish grin, he was looking at me. Drunk and tired, desperate and alone, I’d had a moment where my façade had slipped and he’d seen right through it to me. And that was the most terrifying thing of all, really, because my heart beat in my chest for him, but my mind warned of the dangers. My brain repeated that I’d been there before, and remember all that pain? Remember the sleepless nights and the ignored calls? Remember that? You can’t go there again, you mustn’t.

I’d listened to my heart once. I had to listen to my brain now.

“I was drunk. I wasn’t thinking.”

“That makes it all the more authentic.”

He wasn’t arguing for the sake of it. He wasn’t doing it to sound cocky or to prove he was right. He was doing it for me, which ached. He was beckoning me home because he knew I wanted it. But I was always stubborn, and I kept my heart locked up tighter than the last time we’d met.

“I just can’t, Harry.”

“I know you can’t right now,” he conceded. “But when you can, I’ll be here.”

“And in the meantime?” I questioned, knowing in the cave of my heart that I didn’t deserve him. He only proved this when he answered with a chuckle, “I’ll still be here.”

I wanted to laugh and cry and collapse all at once. He was so much better than I deserved, despite what he’d done to hurt me in the past. I cursed myself for my inability to love him again, to just let him in. Maybe in time. I’d cross that bridge when I came to it.

“So tell me why you really called,” he implored.

“I caused a scene in a restaurant. Dad and I got in an argument and I left.”

“What were you arguing about?”

I shrugged my shoulders, though he couldn’t see me. The position I’d previously been sat in was becoming uncomfortable, so I curled one leg up and pivoted to one side, letting my other leg dangle toward the pavement. My eyes flitted across the areas I could see, watching people as they walked by; business women and children on skateboards. Couples posing for a shot in front of the fountain and fathers encouraging their sons to toss a coin into the water while making a wish. I wished Harry could see it. Maybe he had once or twice in the years I’d gone without him. I wondered if he’d come to Chicago and thought of me.

“I dunno, it started out one way and ended up another. The usual.”

“What did you say to him?”

“I told him I wasn’t going to play house with his replacements for me and my mum.”

“Ouch,” Harry mumbled.

“He’s not even trying, Harry. He only brought me here to have another go at talking me into Columbia. He wants to mold me into this perfect daughter to fit in his trophy case to parade about at the office. He doesn’t actually care.”

“He’s your dad, Sawyer. He might not be the best at showing it, but he still loves you.”

“Funny you’d be defending him. He made a few choice digs at you as well,” I told him.

To my surprise, Harry laughed. “I wouldn’t expect anything less from Jacob Powell. Anything I haven’t heard before?”

“He’s not very creative,” I dismissed. “I just...”

I trailed off, unsure of where I was taking that sentence. Harry waited patiently on the other end of the line as tears began to well in my eyes again. Looking up at the sky, I willed them away. Heaven forbid I blink and shed another tear today.

“I just really fucking miss my mum,” I finally said, and just as the words were spoken aloud an unexpected sob tore from me. A teenage girl holding two ice cream cones faltered in her steps, eyes flickering to me. She offered a soft smile which I tried to return, but failed. For a moment I thought she might head over in my direction, but then another girl called her name and she was distracted. I stood to my feet for lack of anything better to do.

“Of course you do. She was your favorite person in the world,” Harry reasoned.

“Yeah, I know. I’ve just... I’ve never said that out loud before. Oh God.”

I was crying again, harder now. I began walking in the vague direction of the apartment, though I knew I wasn’t anywhere near ready to go back there yet. I just had to move, had to do something and go somewhere.

“I wish I could be there,” Harry murmured.

“I wish you could, too,” I managed to choke out.

“I’d offer to fly you back, but I think you need to stay in the city and sort things out with your dad,” he told me honestly.

“There’s nothing left to sort out. I’m done.”

“There’s plenty left to sort out. But in the meantime I’ll book you a hotel room so you can have some space to yourself. How does that sound?”

“You don’t have to do that.”

“I want to. I want you to be comfortable, and in the meantime I want you to be brave.”

Harry’s hood fell from my head in a strong gust of wind. Nevertheless, I could hear Harry rummaging about on his end, probably looking for a computer or a way to book me a hotel. A thought slipped from my lips before I could think better of it and cut it off.

“You’re too good to me.”

For the longest time, Harry made no response. He didn’t need to; there was so much in that space between us, despite the miles and the static coming through the reciever. He was an unwavering presence, there to help me when I fell but take a step back when he thought I could figure it out on my own. Always, always seeing more in me than I ever saw in myself.

Harry cleared his throat before asking, “Hilton on Marriott?”