Suicide // Haylor AU

Chapter 19

SATURDAY, MARCH 30
8 days left

I arrive at Harry's house a little after 7:30 a.m. I'm about to text him to come out when the door opens. Mrs. Styles steps onto the front porch in her cream-colored bathrobe and fuzzy pink slippers. She waves at me and I make myself wave back.
She walks towards me and I step out of the car. "Good morning."
"Good morning, Taylor!" She reaches out to hug me and I jump—I'm not used to people actually wanting to touch me; most people try to stay as far away as possible, as if by touching me, they could somehow catch my dad's madness.
But Mrs. Styles doesn't know about my dad and so she pulls me as close as humanly possible. I can smell her mint toothpaste and hear her rapid heartbeat. She releases me from her tight embrace but keeps her hands on my shoulders. "So are you excited to go camping?"
Camping? I guess Harry must've told her we were taking a camping trip to explain why we're going to be away for so long. I forgot his mom actually cares where he goes and what he does with his time. I'd told my mom I was working late this weekend so she shouldn't wait up for me, and Kendall usually spends Saturday nights at a friend's house. Though I'm pretty sure I could take a weeklong trip to Antarctica before anyone in my household would be at all concerned about my absence.
"Oh, yeah. I haven't been camping in forever," I say to Mrs. Styles, and she lets go of my shoulders and circles my car, peering into the backseat. In this case, forever is a code word for never.
She must pick up on my lack of camping knowledge because she asks, "Did you bring a sleeping bag?"
"Yup, it's in the trunk," I lie. Harry and I had planned on spending the night somewhere up near McGreavy Correctional Facility so that I wouldn't have to make the drive twice in one day. Plus, who knows how long I'll have to wait to see my dad. The original plan had been to crash in some dingy motel room; he could sleep in the bed and I could sleep on the floor. But I guess he's arranged a camping trip. Or at least made his mom go through the motions of planning one.
"Good, good. You'll want a sleeping bag for this weather," she says. "Anyhow, Harry is running a bit late. He's not so good at waking up early. I practically had to drag him out of bed. He's in the shower right now, but he should be out soon. Want to come in and have some breakfast?"
"I already ate," I lie again, and curse Harry in my head for not being ready. This is exactly what I was trying to avoid. I don't want to get to know his mom any better than I already do.
"Oh, well, at least come in and have a coffee." I make a face and it must be obvious that I'm not a fan of coffee. "Or hot chocolate? Don't wait out here." She heads back toward the house and waves at me, commanding me to follow her.
I let out a slight groan and follow behind her, keeping my eyes on the manicured stone path. Once we're inside, she has me take a seat at the kitchen table. She fills the teakettle up with water and puts it on the front burner. "The water will be ready in a minute."
I nod at her like there's nothing I want more in the world than a cup of hot chocolate. I glance around the Styles' kitchen. The walls are painted a canary yellow and the cabinets are made of cherrywood. On the ivory-colored countertop, there's a framed picture of Harry and Jade. Jade has her arms around Harry's neck, and Harry's eyes are crinkled like he was midlaugh. I drop my eyes to the tiled floor; I can't look at that picture.
I don't know how Mr. and Mrs. Styles can stand to look at it every day.
Mrs. Styles sets a mug in front of me and takes a seat at the table. "So tell me where you guys are going. I love camping. We used to go camping a lot as a family. I keep trying to get Robin and  Harry to agree to plan a trip for this summer. You know, Harry used to be quite the outdoorsman. Loved any kind of adventure."
I take a sip of the hot chocolate. It burns the tip of my tongue and I since.
"Oh! Be careful. It's hot."
"I don't know where we're going," I say. "Harry is the one who suggested camping."
Mrs. Styles' face clouds over. "Ah, yes. Like I said, he always loved the outdoors. It'll be good for him." She looks me in the eye. "I'm so glad he met you, Taylor." She looks over her shoulder in the direction of the stairs and then scoots toward me. In a quiet voice, she adds, "This is new for me. Letting him go off alone, unsupervised. But I couldn't say no to him. He just seems so happy when he talks about you. This will be good for him, right?"
Her eyes glaze over like she's sorting through past memories. "You'll make sure he's okay, right? That he stays safe?"
I can't ignore the pinching feeling in the base of my stomach, and I imagine my guilt as a noose, slowly tightening around my neck. My palms feel clammy and I press them against the sides of the mug. The steam from the hot chocolate rises up and tickles my face.
"Hey," I hear Harry say, and he walks into the kitchen. His brown hair is damp and he has a backpack slung over his shoulder. "Sorry. I didn't hear my alarm."
I shrug at him even though I'm planning on tearing into him the second we're alone in the car. I'm pretty sure there isn't an etiquette book for Suicide Partners, but there should be. If I weren't going to be gone in eight days, I'd write one. Rule number one would be: Never wake up late on the day you have plans with your partner. Rule number two: Never make your partner have breakfast with your mom, because they will end up eating a gigantic plate of guilt and regret.
"I'm going to get the tent from the garage," he says. "Can you give me your keys? I'll put it in the trunk."
"Oh, Harry?" Mrs. Styles says.
"Yeah, Mom?"
"I put some drinks in the cooler and took it out to the garage for you. I was thinking you could take that. I also tossed some hot dogs in there. They should be easy to grill. And I packed a basket with snacks and put it next to the cooler. Though, you might want to stop at the grocery store on your way there so you can pick up some buns for the hot dogs. I'm afraid I don't have any here." She flips her palms up and flashes me an apologetic smile. "I didn't have any in the cupboard. Harry didn't let me know until last night that you guys were planning on going camping. Or I would've been more prepared." She brushes her hands against the soft surface of her robe.
"Sounds good, Mom. No worries. We'll stop at the grocery store and get whatever else we need." "You should definitely get some stuff to make s'mores." She places her hands over her heart and sighs. "S'mores are the best part of camping."
"Right, Mom. I'll handle it. Don't worry."
"Yeah," I chime in. "Thanks for everything, though." I toss Harry my keys and he heads outside to the detached garage.
Mrs. Styles stands up from the table and opens the pantry. "I'm going to make him a peanut-butter-and-jelly sandwich to have on the road so he doesn't delay you guys any longer."
"Oh," I say. "He can eat breakfast here, if he wants."
She spins around to face me, a wide grin on her face. This is the first time I've seen Mrs. Styles without makeup. Even though she's smiling, the large dark circles under her eyes give her away. Maybe what Harry said was true. Maybe she does spend every night sobbing. That must be strange for her—silent crier in the night and cheery homemaker in the day. I don't think I'd ever be able to do it. Chop my life in two. But maybe that's what you do for people you love.
I frown as I think about how much she must love Harry. She notices me frowning and says, "Oh, sweetie. I won't delay you guys any longer."
"No, no . . ." I stumble over my words. "I'm not worried about that."
She swings a dish towel in the air and slaps it against the kitchen counter. "Well, don't look so unhappy. You guys are going to have such a fun trip."
If only she knew this trip isn't about having fun or camping. It isn't about s'mores and hot dogs and sleeping bags. It's about facing my past so I can validate what I almost know for certain about my (nonexistent) future. And there's nothing fun about that.
"Anyway, y'all need to gotta move on. Harry can eat on the road." She goes back to fixing his sandwich and I stare at my hot chocolate. I can't see my reflection in it, but I pretend I do. I don't like the girl I see. The girl who would do this to Mrs. Styles, who wouldn't warn her.
I wonder if there is more than one way to kill someone. Maybe my father didn't only kill Dean—he also killed his mom because he broke her heart. Wrecked his whole family. I guess that's why James is so motivated to make it to the Olympics—he needs to repair the damage my dad did.
Regardless, I don't want to do that to Mrs. Styles, wreck her like that. I spin the mug around in my hands. It makes my palms sweaty. Finally, I take a sip. Then a gulp. I drink my chocolaty reflection away. I make that girl disappear.
Once Harry comes back, she hands him the sandwich and gives him a tight hug. "Did you find everything?"
"Yeah, Mom. I packed it all. Thanks again."
She beams at him and pulls him even closer to her. "Oh, and Mom?"
"Yeah?"
"Can you make sure to feed Captain Nemo?"
Mrs. Styles puts her hands on Harry's shoulders and leans in to his face so she can look him in the eye. "Of course, sweetie. I'll check on him all the time. And call you with updates."
Harry rolls away from her grasp, shrugging her off. His face reddens. "Just make sure you feed him, okay?"
Mrs. Styles doesn't seem put off by his attitude. She reaches out to hug him one last time. "Whatever you say, darling." She looks over his shoulder, making eye contact with me. "But you kids should definitely get on the road. Be safe, and call me once you've reached your campsite."
My skin itches and I know that I can't watch them hug anymore. I can't listen to her go on and on about him staying safe. I give her a little wave and run out the door. "It was nice to see you, Mrs. Styles."
"Have fun!" she calls after me. "And Harry, make sure you call!"
I climb into the front seat of my car and bang my hands against the steering wheel, waiting for Harry. I gaze out the windshield. It looks like the frost hit Mrs. Styles flower bed pretty hard. The soil is watery from where the snow melted. One of the bushes is brown, its limbs still bare. I don't know if the late frost means it will take longer for the flowers to bloom. I hope the flowers bloom soon for her. She'll need them.
Finally, Harry comes out and ambles down the pathway. His hair is still wet, making it look darker, which in turn makes him look paler. More frozen. He's standing straighter, though. And there's a lightness to his step, instead of the usual reluctance. Maybe Mrs. Styles was right—he really does love camping.
He comes around to the driver's side and knocks on my window. I roll it down. "What?"
"I forgot my cell phone in the garage. I'll be back in a second."
"Hurry up," I groan, and watch him jog toward the garage that sits behind his house. It looks more like a shed than a garage with its rusted shingle roof and peeling blueberry-colored paint. He returns quickly, waving his cell phone in the air so I can see he retrieved it.
"What the hell," I say once he gets into the car. The whole car fills with the smell of his pine-scented body spray. I clasp my hand over my mouth and almost cough.