No Way of Knowing

The way she’d remembered him, Harry was still small. He still had big, curly hair that stopped short an inch past his ears, still looked at the world as if there were millions of miles of land and sea and air left for him to explore. He still laughed aloud at the strangest things, still sat in his room banging his head to Iron Maiden or melting into his pillow as he listened to John Mayer sing him to sleep. He still worked in a bakery, still sung loudly in the shower no matter what time of day it was, and still ate burritos with both hands, his fingertips holding the burritos out from his palms in a way she’d never seen anyone eat them.

In her mind, Harry was still terrible at maths - not necessarily because of a lack of smarts, but rather a lack of any desire whatsoever to do them in the first place - and he still wore band t-shirts and was still the lead singer of his very own garage band and still would rave on and on about all the things his band would do. He’d still lay with her at night and smile cheekily down at her exhausted form, knowing her mother had not given her permission to stay over and likely still thought her to be asleep in her bedroom three streets up, and he’d whisper to her, “One day, the band’ll be big and I’ll take you on a trip to see the world.” In her mind, Harry was still barely 16, she was still at home, and her life was still full of warmth, and of wide open eyes to the possibilities the world had laid out in front of them.

But Nicole, every so often, would flash back to reality, and she’d remember that things had changed. She couldn’t help but keep going back to them; all the changes, that is. All the little things that had transformed over the years. Harry’s hair had grown long, of course. His eyes had seen so many of those millions of miles of land and sea and air. She wasn’t sure if he still laughed out loud at strange things, but she knew she hadn’t heard it in far too long. She was sure his taste in music had evolved - or had it? But he didn’t work in a bakery any longer.

No, he didn’t. And she wasn’t the schoolgirl that would make trips after school down to the bakery, just to stroll in and casually order a cookie or a pastry and watch with a wide smile as Harry struggled to retrieve them without staring at her. She didn’t sneak out of her bedroom to make the walk to his house anymore, and she didn’t giggle as he let her in through the back door - though they both knew Anne and Robin were well aware of her presence anyway - and she didn’t collapse onto his teenage-boy-smelling bed and groan about how long this week had been and how he’d better help her find a way to fix it or she was going to explode. Nicole wasn’t even Nicole anymore - she was Theresa again, she was the Theresa her mother had named, the Theresa that had been raised to believe you couldn’t dream until you’d achieved success.

Contradictory, she knew it to be that at the very least; but regardless, it’d always been, “go to school, get the grades, graduate, get the job. Then, once you’re making an income and have built a life, you can dream about your music or your bands… Your touring and your happiness. You can dream about your happiness then.”

And now, as she sat at the table in her dining room, slowly going through the thick text of recently updated child welfare laws, her fingers curled around a highlighter and poised over every letter waiting for the perfect word to appear, she knew that something, deep down, was still the same. Of all the changes, there was a dormant, quiet, 16 year old something that hadn’t ever truly gone.

Her fingers found words and highlighted diligently. Her eyes squinted at the pages, blurring occasionally as she drifted to thoughts of the manic day before. Her brain hadn’t processed one bit of it. Hadn’t processed him, hadn’t processed the boy, hadn’t processed the damn phone call or the calm conversation on his living room couch. She was, at once, existing in a heinous blur of thoughts and confusion, and living with a focus sharper than the point of her best kitchen knife.

“...Are you okay?” Startled out of her daze, Nicole swiftly threw a glance over her shoulder at the tall, thin blonde, her fingers pressed tightly to the sides of her highlighter. She cleared her throat and relaxed her all-too-tensed shoulders, breathing out a sigh and nodding her head. Courtney smiled slightly, her eyes playful as she stepped across the carpet in her sweats and Abercrombie t-shirt and pressed a palm to Nicole’s forehead. “You’re worrying me.”

“I’m fine, I’m fine,” the younger laughed, leaning back in her chair and allowing her roommate to leave her hand on her skin. “I’m just… It’s been an insane end of the week, I… Don’t even know where to start.” She, too, had been affected by the young boy’s loss, and she couldn’t exactly pretend it wasn’t bothering her.

“Well, I’m here all day, so… Why don’t we watch a movie or something?” Courtney took her hand back to her side and used the other to scratch at her head tiredly, her messy blonde bun barely hanging on by a thread. “It’s my only day off for another two weeeeeeeks,” she sang, turning on her socked heel and heading into the kitchen.

With a loud breath, Nicole turned back to the book in front of her and pursed her lips together in thought. “....Okay,” she said, nodding and letting the book slam closed, “A movie. Yes. This is a great idea.”

The two found themselves a DVD - it was a “Legally Blonde” kind of day - and popped some popcorn, then sat down on the living room couch and got cozy. Complete with an entirely unnecessary blanket over their laps, Courtney and Nicole had their eyes glued to the screen as music played and Reese Witherspoon happily prepared for her date with her soon-to-be-fiance. “So, is it your classes, your job, or a male?”

Nicole raised a brow and slowly turned to face her roommate, the squeals of Reese and her posse emanating from the TV. “Court, I’m fine.”

“You’re clearly stressed out. I may not always get to be up-to-date on your life, but I’m here now and I want to know what’s got you pulling out your hair.” Nicole couldn’t help the small grin that fought to find its way onto her lips at the insistence of the blonde beside her, sighing and turning back to the television.

“I guess you could say a bit of all three?” she mumbled, furrowing her brows. “I uhm…” She could feel Courtney’s eyes boring into her temple. “My… My old high school boyfriend has just kind of… magically shown back up in my life, and I’m not sure how to handle it?”

Courtney gasped so loud Nicole nearly threw her bowl of popcorn across the room, her hand immediately over her heart and eyes wide at her friend. “Jesus Christ!” she hissed as she tried to catch her breath.

“You mean some handsome love affair from your past has come back to haunt you?!” Legally Blonde felt abandoned at the other side of the small living room.

“Well, I mean… Not for reasons of romance, but yes. I am talking to him again now.”

“Oh my god, you are being painfully vague, I mean what does he look like? What is his name, is he an asshole? Did you dump him, or was he an idiot and left you? I need you to talk to me, Saunders.” As Courtney went on, a small buzz in the bulky pocket of Nicole’s sweatpants startled her, and she tugged it from its warm, cotton hold to check the message that’d come in.

From: +44 (020) 3956-1202
Hey, T. Going to take you up on your offer. Please come out as soon as you can? Need help…

She had to stare at the number for a long moment before suddenly realizing who it was and feeling her face pale. She’d yet to program his number in from when they swapped them the evening before - and it hadn’t exactly been a problem when he called in the morning because she was still about eighty percent asleep when she answered.

“...Uhm… Theresa, what? Can you not right now, I’m trying to get answers here,” Courtney grumbled, staring at her over her large mug of coffee.

“I don’t even know what to save him as,” she whimpered pitifully, sinking back into the couch.

“Okay, seriously, what is the problem here?”

Sighing, Nicole looked up. “He wants me to go see him, and his… little cousin. My ex-boyfriend, I mean.” Courtney stared blankly. Her expression clearly read, “So?”

“....I mean, I don’t know, it’s uhm. I could say no.”

Courtney rolled her eyes and set her coffee mug onto the table beside her popcorn (Nicole would never come to understand this choice in beverage, nor the combination of the two), standing onto her feet.

“But Legally Blonde?” Nicole pouted as her roommate yanked on her wrist. “She’s at the salon, this is when she figures out what she’s gonna do to get Warner ba-”

“No.”

Ten minutes later, Nicole was being forced into a pair of her cleanest jeans and a UCLA t-shirt, her hair being fussed with as Courtney told her to just “go with the flow” and “have a good time”, and to “chill out, you’re making me nervous” and at this point she wasn’t sure what was really happening, but she knew there was a message that needed to be sent.

To: +44 (020) 3956-1202
On my way.

“What the hell kind of number is that anyway? I mean I know you’re from Britain but it’s literally like a hundred and forty characters long.” Nicole laughed as she slipped into her shoes and stole a quick glance in the mirror to make sure she looked presentable.

“It’s… Well, he’s from London. Or… Well, no, he’s certainly not from London, but his number is. I guess that’s where he got his most recent phone from.”

“...Please don’t tell me he’s one of those guys that changes his number constantly to escape angry ex-girlfriends or something.” Courtney followed her frazzled friend down the hallway and helped her gather her wallet and keys.

“No, no, he uhm… Well, I don’t know. Let me just put his name in.” Nicole quickly typed in Harry and sighed softly, staring down at it. This was why she hadn’t done it yet in the first place; it felt so strange, for him to be returning to her life like this, so out of the blue. She felt like she was living in an alternate reality.

Hitting save, Nicole slid the phone into her pocket and turned to Courtney. “Alright, now like I said. Relax. Sounds like he’s just inviting you for a hangout. Don’t. Freak. Out. Besides, there’s a kid there, what’s the worst that could happen?”

Nicole laughed at that and pulled open the front door, “Just… Tell Reese I’ll be back soon. And tell her Warner’s an asshole.”

“Will do,” was the last thing she heard as she jogged down the metal steps from her apartment and headed for her car, playing the rest of the day in her head like a movie with a thousand different endings.

---

Harry sat nervously outside the dressing room as Anthony fiddled with the shirt he was trying on inside it. “You alright in there?” he murmured, biting his lip and shifting from foot to foot. Inside the small room, Anthony was shoving his thin arms into the sleeves of a jumper that was at least a size too small, his eyes catching his reflection in the large mirror. Wow, he thought. That lady must’ve really thought I was a stick.

“Mhm,” was his small, almost inaudible reply. Harry thought about the football that was sitting beside Anthony in the little room. Oh no, was he hanging onto it as he changed?

Anthony slowly pushed open the stall door, his arms stuck out at his sides in the shape of a ‘T’ with the tight knit joints of the jumper. Harry’s lips twitched up into a grin at the sight of the boy.

“Think that’s too small, bud,” he murmured through a laugh, nudging him forward back into the room. “Here, try this one.” He held up a patterned polo that looked about the right size, handing it to Anthony. “Come out when you’re ready?”

Anthony slowly nodded his head and shuffled over to close the door as Harry exited. Jackie, the saleswoman who’d brought them their items, caught Harry’s eye across the store and tried to ask him how it was going. His expression said it all.

Harry turned back to the dressing room and waited patiently, patting his thighs to the beat of the many drums playing in his head. It was about two minutes later that a concise, clear bell could be heard from the front of the store, and he was instantly turning to see if it was her.

A disappointed frown fell over his lips at the sight of a short, round, bearded man who reminded him an awful lot of Paul Giamatti, his shoulders slumping at the sight and his head turning back to face the door. This constant back and forth with the door had been going on for about twenty minutes, and Harry was beginning to wonder if he was losing his sanity. Had he even really texted her? Was he actually in this store? Or was this all an incredibly elaborate dream and one of the boys had convinced him to try some weed to take the edge off? God, was he this much of a lightweight?

Another jingle sounded at the door and he cringed, intentionally refusing to turn around. He was not going to fall victim to this again.

“Anthony?” he mumbled, “You good?”

There was a thud and a frustrated huff from the boy inside. Not so much.

As Harry went to rush forward and investigate the thud, a hand rested on his shoulder and he nearly launched himself through the ceiling.

His eyes wide, he turned to see Nicole, his breath still not back as he stared down at her, frozen in place. “I-I, uhm-”

“Is Anthony in there by himself?” she asked with a brow raised, a soft smile on her lips at the reaction of the tall, tattooed man she’d barely touched. Slowly, he recoiled and began breathing again, clearing his throat and nodding his head with a gesture to the door.

“Yeah, yeah,” he confirmed, glancing over to it, “Wanted to give him his privacy.”

Nicole smiled a little wider at that and shook her head, finally taking her hand off of him despite how comfortable it was there as she stepped up to the door, “Anthony, I’m coming in, okay?”

She waited for him to respond, just a quiet, “uh-huh”, then turned the doorknob and stepped in.

Behind her, Harry was trying to catch his breath for a whole other set of reasons. She looked different today than the day before. In jeans and a fitted t-shirt, she seemed more comfortable, more herself. Her hair fell in calm waves down her back, not nearly as straight as it had been yesterday, and her eyes when he locked on hers seemed full of curiosity and flecks of gold and the way her cheeks brightened when she smiled at his unexpected reaction to her touch and how she was kneeling beside Anthony now to help him out of the jumper he’d gotten himself tangled in and the subtle glance to her right up to where he stood when Anthony was finally getting the jumper up and over his head and Harry needed desperately to sit down, right now, immediately.

“There we go,” he faintly heard her say once he’d sat himself down on the bench from before. His eyes moved up as she led Anthony out in a full outfit; a nice red t-shirt and a clean-cut pair of jeans. Harry bit his lip as a grin overtook his face. The little boy seemed to feel so much better than he had before, glancing up at Nicole for guidance.

“Looks great to me. What d’you think?” Harry asked, gesturing to the full-length mirror to his right. Anthony turned, looking at himself in the mirror. He stared. Beside him stood his mother, a wide, proud smile on her face as she took in his appearance. She nodded quickly. Anthony’s lips turned up just slightly at the corners and he turned back to Nicole and Harry.

“Good.” The word was quiet, but it was another one he hadn’t yet used. Harry couldn’t help but be encouraged by that.

“Great! Let’s get that, then,” Nicole affirmed, then grabbed his hand and led him back into the room to find one more outfit.

An hour later, they had picked four outfits, one of which he got to leave the store in, and Harry had stayed back to order a laundry list of similar items to have on hand back at the house. After swiping his card and thanking Jackie for all her help, there was a handshake that turned into another warm and grateful hug, and then Harry’s boots were carrying him out of the store with ease.

He felt a small weight had been lifted off of the many that lived on his shoulders. His eyes found Nicole and Anthony standing half a block down, admiring signs in the store windows with their hands entwined.

“Ice cream?” were Harry’s first words as he reached them, Nicole’s eyes locking on his at the sound of his boots approaching. Her gaze lit up at the sound.

“I would die for some, actually,” she laughed, squeezing Anthony’s hand. The boy remained silent beside her, his eyes elsewhere. “Let’s go?”

It was there that they would sit Anthony down, and tactfully evade Harry’s silent deadline. Four months. They had four months.

But Anthony only needed to know one thing; they were finding him a home soon.

“So, we’re gonna be meeting some families, and along the way somewhere, we’ll find the right one. But you get to be in charge, okay? You don’t have to do anything you don’t want to do.” Anthony nodded slowly in response, listening to her speak as he ate a spoonful of his Neopolitan ice cream.

“And in the meantime, you and I can have lots of fun. In fact, earlier, while you guys were picking out ice cream, I was talking to some of my friends, and… I was thinking we could do a football match. Play some soccer next week when they’re all down here. What do you think of that?”

The boy took a bite of the ice cream, his mind trying to process what Harry’d said. You mean we could play a whole soccer game? He turned quickly to Harry, his eyes wide.

“Soccer, yeah? You love soccer, don’t you?” Harry urged the boy on, hoping for words. Instead, he received an excited nodding of the little boy’s head, his eyes wide in agreement. Harry laughed softly and shrugged. “Good, ‘cuz it’s happening.”

“I was going to ask earlier,” Nicole interjected, “About your soccerball. Where’d you get that? Did you have it back at the hospital?” Anthony didn’t answer right away, subtly looking to Harry as he continued to eat.

Harry cleared his throat and shook his head in response, his eyes falling to the football that rested on the bench beside the boy, one of his arms sat on top of it to keep it steady. “No, I uhm… I found him with it this morning, and he seems to quite like it. So, uhh… it’s his now.” At the last three words, Anthony’s brows furrowed in surprise. For a moment, his interest in the ice cream had disappeared. He looked down at the ball, then back up at Harry. His expression screamed a loud and disbelieving, really?!

With a gentle nod of his head, Harry knew he meant it.

Nicole’s brows knitted together with thought as she glanced more closely at the ball. A scribble in black permanent marker caught her eye, just along the bit of the ball hidden beneath Anthony’s forearm. “...that signature. Is that whose I think it is?”

Her eyes darted up to meet Harry’s, and they found a sheepish expression on his somehow simultaneously masculine and painfully boyish face. Eyes full of modesty and teeth sinking into his much-abused bottom lip, Harry sighed and slowly nodded. His favorite baller of all time had signed it, just two years and some change before.

She knew exactly who the name was that was drawn across the side of the ball, and couldn’t help the flashbacks to the posters in her boyfriend’s room, the afternoons spent watching the games on television with him and his family; Harry wasn’t the biggest football fan she’d ever known - her dad was a right lunatic - but when it came to David Beckham, young Harry couldn’t have wanted to be like him more. He was one of his heroes, and that was something she remembered with ease and clarity.

Quickly, Nicole shook her head to rid it of the memories, staring across the table at Harry.

“Oh my god,” she mouthed to him, Anthony taking another bite of his ice cream, unaware of their wordless discussion as he quietly pictured finally getting to run around playing soccer.

He didn’t want to be excited for something, but he couldn’t help it. It sounded so fun.

Harry shrugged at Nicole’s face full of admiration and shock, his cheeks tinting slightly and his eyes catching the way Anthony protectively kept the ball at his side. He felt good about this trade-off.

“Harry…” the Saunders girl he’d grown up with mumbled, her face changing as she let it sink in. The air between them was palpable, and she let a small, knowing smile cross her lips as she finally broke the contact between them and turned back to the boy eating his ice cream.

“That’s a great gift you’ve got there. Don’t let it go.”

Don’t let it go.

She cringed, once again shaking the memories away.

Yet, across the table, Harry was remembering every second of the two of them as if it had just happened. The laughter, the stepping into his bedroom from the hallway where he’d just gone to quickly wash his face and brush his teeth to see her splayed across his messy bed and softly snoring, the Saturday mornings she’d come over for pancakes, how Gemma would tease him but fawn completely over her. No, as they sat there, Harry wasn’t pretending to have forgotten. His dimpled cheeks and soft, green eyes were content remembering every word he’d sung to her, every joke that she’d laughed at, every stumble down the hallway (they were both horribly clumsy people).

Just as the last five years had gone, nothing had changed. He was still pushing himself to remember; all while she was struggling to forget.