Parole | Zarry

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The woman standing there was the strangest-looking exterminator Harry had ever seen.

She was tall and classic and probably in her early fifties with short gray hair very carefully styled.

She wore gold-rimmed glasses and wool slacks and a pink sweater, and Harry wondered how she hadn't just melted into a puddle of bubbling goo.

"Yeah?"

"Harry Styles?"

The woman asked doubtfully, and that's when Harry realized he had seen her before in one of Zayn's photos.

"Zayn's stepmom?" he squeaked.

"Celine McCain is my name, actually, but yes."

She had an English accent, which made Harry remembered for a moment Zayn's accent had sounded like her.

"What are you-Oh no! Zayn's okay, isn't he?"

He could swear his heart stopped beating as he waited for an answer.

"He's... he's not injured or anything, if that's what you mean. But he's-might we have this conversation somewhere cooler? And perhaps with trousers on?"

"Uh, yeah. Okay. Um, come on in for a sec. There's a place we can go around the corner; it's usually pretty cool there."

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Celine nodded and waited inside the living room area while Harry found a not-too-filthy pair of jeans and T-shirt and covered his stitches.

Celine didn't actually touch anything, but at least she was trying not to look too disgusted by Harry's place.

Once, Harry had noticed a big anthropology textbook on one of Zayn's shelves.

The author was Celine McCain who, according to the page at the back of the book, was a distinguished professor of something or other.

She undoubtedly lived someplace nicer than a bug infested studio apartment with crappy AC.

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Harry's visitor looked a lot more comfortable when she slid into a booth at Cathy's Café.

The café didn't serve alcohol-and that was too bad because Harry had the feeling he'd be wanting some-but it was blessedly cool, and they made really good carrot cake.

The waitress came over, and Harry ordered the biggest frozen coffee drink they had.

Celine made a slight face and ordered tea.

Hot tea.

Geez.

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"So what brings you to beautiful Italy, Dr. McCain?" Harry asked.

"Please. Call me Celine. And you bring me here, actually."

"Huh?"

Celine frowned.

She took off her glasses and polished them with a handkerchief she pulled from her purse, then put them back on.

"I understand you had, erm, a relationship with Zayn."

"Zayn? Oh. Zayn. Um, yeah, I guess I did."

No, there was nothing uncomfortable at all about having a relationship discussion with his ex-boyfriend's stepmother.