Nothing Matters

Chapter 12- Balloons

Balloons

All around were they floating, various colors depicting a joyous scene as I entered my condo, confetti littering the ground.

I had just arrived from school, it was an early dismissal due to Thanksgiving break. Soft rock music plummeted from the speakers in the kitchen and a delicate bounce of rhythm immediately pulsed through my veins. "Hello?" I called, a mischievous smile pressed to my face at the sight before me.

"Erm." I gulped, dropping my book bag onto the wooden floor and confetti fluttered about.

"Do you want to cut the cake?" Harry sat on the barstool with his feet planted on the ground due to his lengthy height. I gasped, my fingers curling upon my mouth in utter bliss.

"Harry!" I squealed, walking slowly to appear by his side. He chuckled, opening his arms and I fell into them with ecstasy, tears forming in my eyes.

"Happy Birthday, you're 17 and I'm still older than you." He teased, releasing me and I stepped back to take in the eventful scene. The walls were dressed with decorations, balloons colliding together in the breeze of the air vents. Euphoria coursed through me.

A spark in my body began to flourish. "I-I'm 17, it's m-my birthday." I stammered, the memory spiraling through my head. I had forgotten.

"When you told me that you're birthday was November 18th, I just immediately saved it onto the calendar on my phone. It's just a habit, I do it with each of my friends." He informed, the pink lipped grin still spread across his face.

"What for, why did you do this?" I sighed contently, rubbing my glossed up eyes.

"I'm being friendly, and I just.. I just wanted to surprise you." He uneasily gulped, blush creeping on his cheeks.

"Oh hush, Styles." I moped, clashing my arms around his neck and burying my head to his chest where I heard his over excited heart pump through my ears.

His cologne floated off of him and into my senses. Why didn't my own boyfriend do something this exhilarating for me?

"You're too nice." I cried into the cuffed collar of his warm flannel.

We broke apart and he stood there, watching me with a blissful grin.

"Oh, also.. I got you this!" he informed, spinning on his heel to reach for something on the counter. I watched as he narrowed his eyes down at a white-flower bordered envelope, and in seconds it was stuffed in my arms.

"Open it." He insisted apprehensively. "Ok, ok." I laughed, using my nails to gently rip open the top seal and undo the flap.

Inside was a yellow and blue birthday card, a silhouette of a young girl chasing a butterfly down a long leading path. On it in big fancy letters read. ' Every caterpillar turns into a butterfly '.

I opened it, a 62.07 British Pound Sterling immediately falling out. The words were bold and made of glitter, reading, 'Happy Birthday to a special girl.' and Harry scrawled out in deep black ink 'Hope you have a great Birthday, -Harry'.

"What? No, Harry, I can't." I convulsed, frowning with soft eyes as I picked up the currency that slowly floated to the floor.

"I can't, I can't ta-"

"Stephanie, I make plenty of those every hour, do me a favor and take one of them, yeah?"

For a second I had forgotten how world wide and famous he was, so I shut my mouth and noddeda. I stepped forward and for the 3rd time in under 5 minutes, wrapped my nimble arms around his neck and stood on my toes to press a thankful peck to his temple.

"We only met a month ago." I murmured as I rebalanced myself onto my feet, looking up into his brilliant cat-green eyes.

"A month is long enough to give someone your trust." His lips turned into a line as his eyes stared into mine seriously.

I had gained his trust...

"When is your birthday?" I laughed, trying to lighten the mood that quickly went downhill.

His smile reappeared and he took a seat on the barstool. "February 1st, just don't throw me a surprise party, I hate those." He sardonically spoke, winking in my direction.

"You'll be...20?" I cleared my throat in disbelief at just how old he was.

"Is there a problem being friends with someone with a 3 year age difference?" he teased, quirking his eyebrows.

"I- I mean... when you were 3, I was only born!" I laughed, lunging into a chair beside him.

"And when you were 5, I was 8!" He played along, adjusting his wrinkled collar.

We laughed in sync, chests heaving up in down with happiness.

"It's ok, my best friend is only 14." I chortled, picking up the large slicing knife to jam into the perfectly iced cake and cut two pieces for Harry and me.

"Marble cake? Did I mention that it was my favorite in one of our convos, or is this just a rather overwhelming coincidence?" I sighed in content, swiping my finger across the white icing and pushing my finger into my mouth to lick it off.

"Coincidence." He chuckled, grabbing a plastic fork and stabbing it into the swirled mixture of deliciousness.

Loud knocks from the anterior entrance startled me out of my trance as I pivoted to face Harry.

There was no one else who could presumably be visiting me besides...

"Quick, erm, hide, I think it's Elton." I stammered shoving him into the hall closet.

He nodded, adjusting himself against the swaying coats and stood still. I shut the door and jogged through the corridor towards the entrance.

Before opening it, I screwed my eyes shut and said a brief prayer, finally opening the door.

It wasn't Elton. It was a short women dressed in a khaki jumper, holding a medium sized box.

"For....Ms.Price?" she clucked her tongue, handing me the box, demanding me to scrawl my signature on the digital notepad.

I uncertainly did as told, then grabbed the box, watching as she tipped her embroidered hat and trotted away.

Confused, I shut the door and walked back to kitchen, grabbing a pocket knife from a drawer and splitting the lid of the box wide open to reveal navy colored lust. A box of wires and buttons were atop the cubed instrument and I suddenly concluded what it had been.

A...typewriter.

A fold of paper was already inside of the machine, black-ish letters inked into it.

'I remember how much you loved to write, poems, songs, books, anything that could be possibly written. So here you go, a typewriter that originally belonged to my father, repainted and unscrewed to perfection for only you. Happy 17th Birthday, Princess. Big love...

-Mom'

My mouth was parted, eyes shut as I thought of things to remember my mom, the same one that walked out on us.

How could it be?

Tears fell slowly down my cheek and sniffles escaped my mouth and nose, breaths racking my body, playing it like a drum.

I slumped to the ground in misery.

This was unbelievable.

Arms helped me stand back up and turned me around, and instantly the warm presence sent me back into Harry's arms where I whimpered silently.

"It's ok." He murmured, lips pressed to my hair.