The Things You Mean to Me // Harry Styles Series #1 - Holmes Chapel

I'll Make This Feel Like Home

Before

The sound of a champagne cork popping somewhere way ahead of us in first class woke me up.

Dad leaned over the narrow armrest between our seats.

"Happy New Year, Liv. New decade, new adventure! Come on, I see that smile starting to creep in. It was just there, I saw it in your eye."

We crossed into 2010 somewhere over the North Atlantic, halfway through the flight from Washington, DC to London.

I still wasn't sure if I was excited, nervous, or just annoyed with this 'adventure.' Four months in a small town in the north of England. Very important work for Dad. A new school for me, and lots of new 'friends' that Dad tried to sound enthusiastic about.

I'd be back home in time for prom.

Which I wouldn't be going to with Jason, my boyfriend. Ex-boyfriend. I had broken up with him a week ago, using the excuse that it wouldn't be 'fair' to ask him to wait so long. Honestly, though, I just took advantage of the situation to get out of a boring relationship. Five months with him had been feeling like a few too many. Maybe this break would be a good thing.

Now, in the half light of the quiet cabin, I gave my father a kiss on the cheek and that smile he thought he saw.

"Happy New Year, Dad. I can't believe we'll be there in a few hours. Holmes Chapel here we come."

~

It took hours and hours to get from Heathrow to our new house. Well, three and a half. The weather was gross, grey and spitting icy rain, and nothing was as picturesque as Dad had described. Then again, he'd never been there on the first of January.

As we pulled into the driveway, disappointment must have been written all over my face.

"It's not what we're used to, Liv, but we really don't need much, and it's close to the school. You'll be able to walk there, and into town too."

We have a nice house in Weston. Not big or fancy or anything, but pretty, in a nice neighborhood on the edge of town. Normal. Our rental in England was very... different.

It was small, with the second floor up under a really high pitched roof, and a tiny front yard. Two other houses, exactly the same, were close on either side. All the other houses in the neighborhood were a little bigger, a little more normal looking, and identical.

Actually, most of the neighborhoods we saw were like this. Cookie cutter houses, either right next to each other or attached in long rows. I wondered if I'd ever learn my way around since every turn, every street, looked the same to me.

I peeked out the kitchen door and saw that the back yard wasn't much larger than the front, and entirely paved inside a high fence. Upstairs were two decent sized bedrooms, but only one bathroom. I had never in my life had to share a bathroom. That was an adjustment I hadn't even considered.

The furniture and other stuff was straight out of Ikea, so that was ok. I found the biggest beanbag chair I'd ever seen in my room. That was awesome.

We brought in our bags and began to unpack. It didn't take long for me to get my clothes put away and the few photos of my family and friends that I'd brought in my luggage tacked to the wall over my desk. The stuff we couldn't pack in our luggage, like my books and posters and Dad's CDs and his old fashioned stereo, would be coming in a week or two in a big shipping crate. After an hour I was done and my stomach was growling.

"Dad? Can we get something to eat or go to the grocery store or something?"

He came to my bedroom door.