Page 24

Now

From The Dining Table by Harry Styles

Dinner isn't actually as bad as I thought it was going to be. We went to one of the restaurants attached to the hotel we’re staying at, and it’s a nice place. We’re on the back patio, away from most other people, and have been conversing since the appetizers were set down.

I’ve been strategically placed next to Grant and Ella.

Grant is to my left; he’s the best person in this group for small talk because he can talk about anything for an extended period of time.

Ella is to my right, and I’m sure she’s trying to keep an eye on me, but I appreciate her keeping me away from Henry after our conversation in the elevator.

He was a lot more forward than he used to be, and I deserved his remarks no matter how much it hurt hearing them.

I can’t help but steal a few glances at him down the table; he’s grown up quite nicely in the past few years.

His hair is still that same shade of brown, a little longer than it used to be in college.

He never really styled it back then, and I guess he still doesn't, because his wavy hair is all over as the breeze blows through it.

Or it's like that because he won’t stop running his hand through it.

Back when I knew him, he used to tilt his head when he was nervous.

I was never sure if he knew he did that when he was feeling awkward or uncomfortable, but I always noticed it.

That’s one of the best parts about knowing someone so intimately—you can see things they might not have noticed about themselves.

Now, I can’t figure out if him running his hand through his hair so much is a new nervous habit he picked up, or if it’s too long and he needs to cut it because it’s bothering him.

I’ll probably never know him so intimately again, so that thought will remain unanswered.

I’m aching to solve this puzzle just so he and I can both move on and live our lives the way we were meant to—separately. I again ignore how that makes me feel before I grab a chip and dip it in salsa, shoving it into my mouth to try and get rid of the feelings I’m having.

I steal another glance at him, his body like a magnet to mine now that we’re back in close proximity, only this time, his eyes connect with mine.

Just when I think we’re about to share a look or a thought like we used to all those years ago, he breaks contact and turns back to his conversation with Oliver.

I know nothing Oliver says is ever that interesting, so the fact that he chose to talk with him rather than look at me is telling.

It hurts more than it should, because every time I had a conversation with Oliver in the past, I either wanted to fall asleep, yell at him to stop being so boring, or some other quip I used to have up my sleeve back then.

But I’m being civil because it is a celebration of his wedding, and I would hate for Paige to have to mediate our quarrels. I have enough shit to deal with on this trip, and adding Oliver to the mix is more of a headache than anything.

Deep down, I am super happy for him, but I’d never tell him that.

Not only would it upset the balance, but that’s not how our relationship works.

The two of us thrive on annoying one another, and I think we both understand that underneath all the shit we’ve said to one another, it’s all out of love.

Actually, love is too strong of a word. I guess I would call it a mutual understanding.

The eight of us order our food, and as the waiter leaves, Grant stands, clinking his glass with his knife.

“As the first official boyfriend, I am honored to welcome the eight of us to the first wedding of the book club.”

There’s a few cheers around the table, and smiles spread all around as Grant continues.

“To celebrate this momentous occasion, I have a gift for the impatient motherfucker who couldn't wait to marry his girl, even though I proposed first.” Grant pauses for the laughter he knows is coming. “I know all of us around the table can agree you two deserve a lifetime of happy memories. So, cheers to a long and beautiful life that the rest of us can’t wait to watch unfold beside you.”

Glasses are raised, and all of us take sips as Grant slides a box over to Oliver, who already looks a little petrified about what’s inside.

Honestly, if Grant were my best man, I would be a little scared too, especially with how much he loves giving either weirdly specific gifts or stupidly funny ones .

I’ve really missed this feeling of inclusion. I remember when it was just us four girls sitting in that small classroom on campus, and now, years later, here we all are, sitting around a table, our group having grown in size.

It almost feels like yesterday Hads was pacing that room complaining about having to tutor Grant.

“You’ve got to be kidding me,” Oliver says, clearly annoyed at whatever Grant gifted him.

Paige looks into the small box, and she bursts out laughing before putting an arm around Oliver, pulling him closer to her.

“Grant, why would you get us these?” Paige asks as she lifts a pair of pink, fuzzy handcuffs out of the box, already laughing.

“It felt fitting!”

“Why? Why did these feel fitting as a wedding present?” Oliver groans as he sets them back into the box, probably needing them out of his sight.

“Seriously?” Ella asks. “You don’t get the significance?”

“Even I get it,” Leo says, and I can no longer hold back my laughter. The fact that this has been the group's longest running joke will never fail to make me laugh. It was always my favorite story to tell anyone who would listen.

“I seriously thought you guys would let it go after a year or two, and for the one thousandth time, I was in a holding cell. I was not in jail!”

“Oliver, you were behind bars! That’s basically the same thing,” Hads tells him.

“I’d have to side with Oliver on this one,” Henry says, cocking his head. “He wasn’t fully processed and in jail. If Paige hadn’t done what she did, he would’ve landed himself in jail.”

We all messily talk over one another before the food comes, and we start reminiscing.

I haven't said much of anything tonight because I’ve been spending this first full get together trying to wrap my mind around everything that has happened in the past few years—and days, I guess.

Not only did I make an effort with the girls, but Henry was a surprise I never saw coming.

Him being here is dredging up lots of feelings and emotions I wasn't prepared for—good and bad.

Mostly bad, I guess. Whenever I think about what I did to him, I want to curl into a ball and melt into the floor, disappearing physically before the mental assault from my memories.

We all eat until we’re full and practically falling asleep where we sit. We’re all a little tipsy besides Oliver, Paige, and I, but those two are one hundred percent drunk on happiness.

Eventually, we all disperse. Paige and Oliver head to the beach to walk on the sand. Ella and Leo head upstairs, probably to fuck, according to Grant. All that’s left is Hads, Grant, Henry, and me. I would say it's awkward, but that word isn't strong enough for the vibes around this table.

“You guys can leave. It’s okay. I’m paying the bill. You don’t have to stay,” Grant says, trying to disperse the tension. Henry waits all of two seconds before excusing himself.

I take a few deep breaths, Hads locking eyes with me when I open my eyes a few seconds later.

“You okay?” she asks me, her voice muffled by the thoughts in my head.

“Mhm,” I hum. “I just need some air.”

I don’t hear what either of them say as I find myself drifting to the stairwell, not wanting to be stuck in the elevator, forcing other people to bear witness to whatever is going on with me right now.

Dots are clouding my vision. My legs turn to jelly as I feel them start to give out.

My mind is racing, and I need to make it back to my room before this turns into a full blown panic attack .

I make it up two flights before I collapse, my arm gripping the handrail as if it’s the only thing holding me up. I can’t tell where my body is, what I’m doing, or what is going on with me.

I somehow move to sit down when I hear footsteps from above me.

I can’t tell if they’re coming toward me or heading away, but I hope for the latter, because even a stranger seeing me like this—barely breathing properly, sweaty, tears streaming down my face—would be enough embarrassment for me today.

I’m not even sure when or why the tears started. I could barely feel them until just now. That has to be good, right? Maybe this feeling is going away. Maybe I’m fine. Maybe if I gaslight myself enough, my body will start to believe it's fine.

“Oh,” is all I hear when the footsteps stop.

When I look behind me, blue eyes meeting mine, I curse to myself.

Of course, Henry is who the footsteps belonged to. Who the fuck else would it be on a resort this big?

I can barely manage words, so I just put my head between my legs and wait for him to leave like I assume he’s going to.

Except he doesn't, because a few minutes of silence later, I feel him sit down next to me.

“Are you okay?” he asks me in a voice that seems like he really doesn't want to have this conversation with me. I’m sure he doesn't. I’m sure he’d rather leave me here or push me down the stairs or any other horrible thing I can think of, but that’s not who Henry is.

He’s nice. Thoughtful. Caring. Loving. He’s the best person I know.

Knew.

“You don’t have to do this,” I tell him, not sparing a glance at him.

I’m not sure I could look at him right now without wanting to crawl into a hole and die.

If I was smarter, I would apologize, but I know that isn't what he wants to hear, not after all this time, not after all I’ve done to him.

My words mean nothing if it's not an explanation.

“It was only a question,” he says. “And you didn't even answer it.”

“I’m fine.”

He only sighs. “It always was difficult to pull the truth out of you, Amelia. I guess some things haven't changed.”

“Some things haven't changed, but a lot still has,” I say as I look over at him for the first time since dinner. Blue eyes look back at me, but instead of seeing them shine at me like they used to, all I see is a blank expression. He’s devoid of emotions as he looks at me, tired eyes and dark circles matching the ones on my face, I’m sure.

“Well, that’s life, I guess,” he says as he runs his hand through his hair. “Can you stand?”

I nod, feeling like my body has returned to itself.

“I’ll walk you back.”

“Henry, really, it’s fine. We don't have to do this,” I say as I stand and look down at him.

“Do what?”

“Pretend it doesn't hurt every time we look at one another. Pretend everything is fine, and we’re just two people who used to know one another.”

The next words out of his mouth crush me more than they should. “I don’t know if I ever knew you at all, Amelia.”

I don’t know if he gets up and leaves, or if I somehow get my legs to move myself up the stairs to my room. I don’t know if I fumble around with my room key or if I get it on the first try.

Because of all the things we’ve said to each other, of all the things I’ve done, that hurts the most. Henry was the one person who knew every piece of me.

He was who I was most myself with, and him saying that just proves how much I took advantage of him and his kindness, of the love he gave to me .

And out of all the things the girls have said to me the past few days, after all the things my brain believes about myself in this moment, those words are the one thing to really cut into me and break me open.

Henry Hayes once knew me to the core, down to my bones. He knew my thoughts with just one glance. So, if he says something about me, then it’s true, and there’s nothing I can do to change that. No apology from me would fix what I broke.

Sometimes, things that get smashed can’t be fixed because the pieces are too small to be put back together, and Henry and I might be living proof.