What Makes You Beautiful

Chapter 7: The Funeral

Sorry for the long wait! I was busy... doing absolutely nothing. I'm a procrastinator and I'm sorry for that. Also, I couldn't really get on the computer to upload... but I had it written for a while!


Now, I've only been to one funeral in my life (which was last year) for my great-aunt Ruth. So that means I have no idea what happens during funerals since first of all: I have a terrible memory, and second: I was too busy crying to listen. Basically, what I'm saying is that I'm completely making up whatever happens at the funeral.


Anyways, if you don't realize by this chapter that Sky is emotional... then I don't know how to explain that to you. •~•

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Skylar's POV:
"Now, Harry, you do realize that you won't understand a word my family says, right? They'll all be speaking Italian since none of them know English except my grandfather and a few other relatives," I warn Harry as the plane takes off.


"Right. I guess I'll just stay quiet the whole time," Harry replies. "No big deal."


"Yeah. If anyone in my family tries to talk to you, just say 'non parlo Italiano'. That means 'I don't speak Italian'," I tell him. "If you really want to talk to them, then come get me and I'll translate."


"Okay."


I take out a pad of paper and a pen and start writing in it.


"What's that?" Harry asks me, looking at what I'm writing.


"My speech. Knowing me, I'll be too upset to think of something on the spot, so I'm writing it now," I answer.


"Ah."


•*•*•*•*•*•*•*•*•*•*•*•*•*•*•*•*•*•*•


The plane touches down in Venice 2 hours later. (A/N: Thanks to @Nnialler for telling me it's only two hours! XD) I look over to see Harry asleep on my shoulder. I smile and shake him awake. "Harry, we're here."


"Hm?" He asks groggily.


"We're here. Get up," I reply. He stretches and gets up slowly. We exit the plane and enter the airport. We collect our luggage and leave. "Now, we're staying at my grandparents' house. My grandfather should be waiting for us with a gondola. Look for a tall, thin man with white hair and a white beard."


We walk outside and to the riverside. A few meters away, my grandfather was waiting by a gondola. We walk over to him. "Ciao, nonno!" I greet.


"Ciao, Skylar. Chi è questo giovane?" He asks. (Who is this young man?)


"Questo è Harry Styles. Lui è in una band chiamata One Direction. Parla solo inglese," I tell him. (This is Harry Styles. He's in a band called One Direction. He only speaks English.)


"Okay, then!" My grandfather says cheerfully while sticking out his hand. "Nice to meet you, Harry! I'm Skylar's grandfather."


Harry shakes his hand. "Nice to meet you, too, sir."


"Oh, please, call me Abraham," Grandpa says. "Shall we get going?" He gets in first, then me, then Harry. Grandpa starts rowing towards the house.


In about half an hour, we are standing in front of my grandparents' house with our luggage in hand. We all climb out of the gondola and walk inside the small house.


My grandmother is waiting for us. She rushes forward and pulls me into an embrace. "Oh, benvenuto! benvenuto! Sono così felice di vederti! È stato così a lungo!" She greets. (Oh, welcome! Welcome! I'm so happy to see you! It has been so long!)


I smile and reply, "Lo so! Mi sei mancato tanto, nonna!" (I know! I missed you so much, Grandma!) I turn around and introduce Harry to her. I be sure to mention he doesn't speak Italian.


Grandma releases me and walks to Harry. Harry holds out his hand, but Grandma hugs him instead. "Digli che io penso che sembra un bravo ragazzo." (Tell him I think he looks like a nice boy.)


I try to contain my laughter as Harry gives me a look that says, 'What's happening?'. "She says that she thinks you're a nice... boy."


"Oh..." Harry says, trying not to be rude. "Tell her I say... Thanks."


I turn back to Grandma. "Lui dice grazie." (He says thanks.)


Grandma lets go of Harry and scurries to the kitchen. "Farò la cena subito!" (I'll make dinner now!)


"You can go put your stuff up in the guest room upstairs. There's two beds, so you can each have your own," Grandpa tells us.


"Alright," I reply. I lead Harry upstairs and to the room on the left side of the hallway. We each drop our bags next to a bed. Harry claims the bed next to the far wall and the window, while I take the one by the door.


"It'll be weird having a bed all to myself again," Harry says.


I laugh nervously. "Yeah. It'll be really strange." In all honesty, I wasn't looking forward to it. I had become accustomed to sleeping in the same bed as Harry.


•*•*•*•*•*•*•*•*•*•*•*•*•*•*•*•*•*•*•


That night, I toss and turn, trying to get comfortable in the bed. It might've been nerves, but I couldn't sleep. I decide to turn on my iPod and listen to music. I start listening to It Will Rain by Bruno Mars until my iPod runs out if batteries. I frown and set it back on my nightstand.


(Harry)


It's around 11:30, and I'm about to fall asleep listening to the faint ticking of the grandfather clock in the hallway. I'm in the pre-sleep state when you are still slightly awake and are starting to dream.


Suddenly, I hear loud shuffling coming from Sky's bed, which wakes me up more. I open my eyes and prop myself up with my elbow. "Are you alright, Sky?" I whisper.


Sky turns towards me and opens her eyes. "I'm fine," She whispers back. "But, I can't sleep."


"Nervous?" I ask.


"I don't know... that might be it. I might just be afraid to sleep," Sky answers. "Since I've haven't been able to sleep peacefully on my own since they died." By "they", I knew she meant her parents.


Without hesitation, I reply, "You can come over here if you want."


Sky gets up and walks to my bed. I scoot over to one side as she climbs under the covers. "Thanks, Harry," She whispers.


"No problem," I reply. Sky nestles her head on my shoulder and closes her eyes again. I smile and close my eyes, welcoming sleep.


•*•*•*•*•*•*•*•*•*•*•*•*•*•*•*•*•*•*•


The next day, I wake up to see that Sky is already up. She isn't in the room, so I assume she went downstairs to eat. I glance over at the clock on the nightstand. It reads 8:37. I decide to get up and go downstairs.


Sky was sitting at the kitchen table with her grandma, eating... cake? I walk towards them. "Sky, what are you eating?" I ask.


She swallows the mouthful of food. "Cake. What does it look like?"


"Why are you eating cake for breakfast?" I ask, furrowing my eyebrows in bewilderment. "Isn't cake a desert?"


Sky laughs. "I can see why you're confused! In Italy, you usually eat something sweet for breakfast like cake or cookies. Just like bacon, eggs, and ham are dinner foods."


I give her a blank stare. "So... Are you guys like backwards here?"


Sky smiles. "Not entirely. We eat toast and jam for breakfast as well. We just happened to be out of bread."


"You were out of bread... but you had cake?" I ask, an eyebrow raised.


Sky passes the plate with the piece of cake on it. "Shut up and eat the cake."


I shrug and start eating.


(Skylar)


Grandma turns to me. "Che cosa stava chiedendo?" She asks. (What was he asking?)


"Era confuso perchè stavo mangiando torta. In America, la torta è un deserto," I answer. (He was confused because I was eating cake. In America, cake is a desert.)


"Ah," Grandma replies. "Ho alcune faccende da fare. Ricordate, partiamo alle dieci." (I have some chores to do. Remember, we leave at ten.)


"Va bene," I say. (Okay.) Grandma gets up and leaves Harry and I alone.  I turn back to Harry. "Did you remember to pack something nice?"


"Yes."


"What is it? A suit?"


"Yeah."


I pause. "How do you feel?"


Harry narrows his eyes. "Fine?"


I roll my eyes. "I mean, like, do you feel okay? Do you still have a headache? You still have that nasty bruise on your nose. I'm surprised my grandparents haven't mentioned it... they're probably just being polite."


"You talk a lot, do you know that?" Harry chuckles.


I smile. "Quiet. Just answer the question."


"Well... there's still a dull pain in my head," Harry answers. "Other than that, I feel fine."


"Does the light hurt your eyes?" I question.


"No..."


"Do you feel sick?" I presse.


"Not really."


I lean forward. "And what does "not really" mean?"


Harry holds up his hands in defense. "Nothing!"


I narrow my eyes, studying Harry. I feel like I'm about to grab a notepad and start taking notes on Harry's every move. I suddenly break out into a smile. "Great! I was afraid you might've had a concussion, but it seems that you don't!"


Harry gives a sarcastic thumbs-up. "Thanks, Doc."


"I don't want you doing anything that involves too much physical activity, alright?" I tell me.


"Yes, mother," Harry replies. "Haven't we been over this before?"


"Don't sass me!" I giggle.


"You're in a strangely good mood, considering we're about to go to your parents' funeral," Harry says.


"I am, aren't I?" I ask quietly. "I guess I'm just trying to hide the fact that I feel like curling up inside a dumpster and dying."


"Oh. That sounds... sad."


I shoot him a look. "Nice detective work, Sherlock."


"Sorry..."


I sigh sadly. "No, I'm sorry. I guess what I'm getting at is... I was fine until you brought that up."


"Hey! Don't blame me!" Harry retaliates. "It's not my fault! I didn't come all the way over here with you to be blamed for your problems!" He starts to make his way upstairs.


My bottom lip quivers and I start sobbing quietly. Harry turns around to look at me with a sympathetic look in his eyes. I can tell he's trying to be mad at me, but it's hard for him. (And no, I'm not crying to make him feel bad. If you couldn't tell, I'm an emotional wreck right now.) Harry walks back to me and wraps his arms around me. "You make it so hard to be mad at you," He says. "Why are you crying?"


"Why do you think?" I sob. "I'm about to go to my parents' funeral... and now you're mad at me!"


Harry sighs slowly. "I'm not mad. I can tell you're stressed, and maybe it's getting to me, too."


I sniff and pull away from him. "I need to get ready. You should, too."


Harry nods. "Right."


I go upstairs and get out the black dress I packed for the funeral. I lay it out on the bed and stare at it. It was a nice dress: black with one silver strap that goes over a shoulder. It was a little short, so I'll wear it with the black sheer tights I packed. I pair it with a simple pair of black boots.


Is it bad to say I don't want to go to the funeral? It's not that I don't want to be there, it's that I don't want to go and start crying in front of everyone. When I get up and do my speech... it'll be horrible. I'll be crying so hard that no one will be able to understand me.


Harry walks into the room. "I'm just getting dressed," He tells me while digging around his bag. He pulls out a gray suit jacket, gray dress pants, and a white button up shirt.


"Didn't it get wrinkly in there?" I ask.


Harry shrugs and holds up the wrinkled suit jacket. He straightens it out until it is only slightly crinkled. "There. All better."


I roll my eyes as he starts putting his ensemble on. I continue staring at my dress, imagining what the funeral might be like. A room full of crying Italians... Sounds fun, right? After a few moments, Harry asks, "Are you ever going to get ready?"


"I will," I answer. "I'm just..." I trail off. "Yeah, I'm going."


Harry walks out the door. "Alright."


I sigh and start putting the dress on.


•*•*•*•*•*•*•*•*•*•*•*•*•*•*•*•*•


(A/N: So... Imagine this all Italian (You know, except for obvious times like Harry talking or Sky talking to Harry) because I do NOT feel like typing this all into Google Translate. So... like... yeah. Do that.)


"Let us take this time to remember the lives of Arthur and Allegra Harris," The priest says. "They were kind-hearted and gentle people." They were kind-hearted and gentle, but I knew the priest was just making things up.


Everyone takes a moment of silence. Well, there was still quiet sobbing coming from a few people (including me). But hey, we tried.


The priest steps aside. I know that's my cue to go up and give my speech. I know I look terrible. Tears were still streaming down my cheeks (which was the reason I didn't put on make-up) and I could feel the swelling of my eyes from wiping my hands over them. I walk up to the little podium, speech in hand, and take a deep breath. **Skylar Rosetta Harris, pull yourself together! You can do this! Mom and Dad would want you to...** I encourage myself. I wipe my eyes on last time and suck back the tears, then start my speech.


"Hello, everyone. I guess I'm just supposed to talk about my parents, right?" I start. I glance down at the paper. "My parents were very, very encouraging people. I vaguely remember them cheering me on at one of my first sporting events... though that's just a small memory. One of the bigger ones that I remember would be... the time they bought me a brand new string bass. It was so random and unexpected. They just walked up to me and said, 'Hey, Sky! Let's go get you a new bass!' Of course, they later told me that they only did that to "encourage" me to practice more.


Apart from being encouraging, they were also some of the best advice givers I knew. They took phrases like "don't give up" or "never say never" or "everything happens for a reason" to new heights by using them at just the right time. Like the time I was put into an Honor's Math class a few years ago. I was about to drop out of it because I felt dumb compared to everyone else in that class. They were all so smart, while little old me was just 'meh'. When I told them I was dropping out, they gave me a long speech about how you should never give up. Well, not before scolding me. They told me to just keep trying and I would get it eventually. Now, I get some of the best grades in that class. Basically, if they wouldn't have given me that pep talk, I wouldn't be looked at as the intelligent person I am today."


I pause for a moment to wipe back the tears and take another deep breath. "I remember--" I get cut off by my voice cracking and the tears threatening to start again. "I remember the day I got the call from the police telling me about the accident. They said my dad was still alive, but not my mom. Sure, I was devastated. But I was also glad the my dad survived. I thought I would just have to live without my mom. My dad died that night, though." I try to keep talking, bit nothing comes out. I cover my eyes with my hands and try to fight the tears from spilling. Through my fingers, I see Harry slipping out of his seat, but I gesture for him to sit back down.


I hear the nervous murmurs from my relatives and a few people calling out, "Are you okay, Sky?"


I take a shaky breath, but continue my speech quietly. "As I was saying, my dad died that night. I tried to convince myself it wasn't happening, that it was a dream. I did everything I thought of: pinching myself, squeezing my eyes shut then opening them... but it was reality. Sad, sad reality. I actually was going to kill myself, but I could almost hear my parents... telling me that I shouldn't do it and something about that "not being what was meant to happen". Plus, there was nothing to kill myself with. All the knives, ropes, pills, et cetera were packed away in boxes at our new house in Milan.


My point is, I felt like dying. My parents and I were very close... so to me, this felt almost as bad as dying myself." I pause again, but this time for effect. "I hope God takes good care of them in Heaven... They're one of a kind." I step away from the podium. My relatives (and Harry) clap for me. I freely let myself cry again. Holding those tears back was hard work. I walk back to my seat next to Harry.


Harry gives me a big hug and whispers to me, "You did great."


"Thank you," I sob into his shoulder.


(Harry)


With the funeral being over, it was time to carry the coffins to the hearses. I walk over to the coffins to help a handful of Sky's uncles lift them. Sky walks over to explain to her uncles that I don't speak Italian, just English. She then walks off to find her grandparents.


One of her uncles speaks English, so he starts a conversation with me. "Are you Skylar's boyfriend?" He asks. He has a deep voice that sounds really threatening.


"No, we're just friends," I tell him.


"Ah. Just wondering. I'm her Uncle Emiliano, by the way," He says. "I would shake your hand, but we're carrying a coffin."


I wait until Emiliano chuckles to do the laugh nervously. Emiliano notices the tension. "What? Are you intimidated by my voice?"


"A little," I say quietly.


Emiliano laughs again. "Naturally! Don't worry, I'm just a big teddy bear. You could ask anyone in this room."


I laugh, still a bit wary. "Which side are you on? Arthur's or Allegra's?" I feel a bit odd calling Sky's parents by their first names, considering I just found out their first names.


"Arthur's," Emiliano answers. "I'm his older brother."


"Cool."


•*•*•*•*•*•*•*•*•*•*•*•*•*•*•*•


After the coffins were buried, Sky and I decided to pack up our things and leave Italy.


Once we were back to Sky's grandparents', we went straight upstairs. Sky is still a bit teary-eyed, but she's calmed down for the most part. "You okay?" I ask her.


Sky wipes her eyes. "I'm fine. Every once in a while, you need a good cry. Do you know what I mean?"


I nod. "You seem to have been having a lot of good cries lately."


Sky laughs. "Yeah, I guess so." We continue packing, chatting lightly. After we finish packing, we hunt for our plane tickets and get Sky's grandpa to take us to the airport in the boat.


"Thanks, Abraham," I say as I step out of the gondola. "Tell your wife I said thanks and good-bye."


"Will do," Abraham replies. "Good-bye. I hope I'll get to see you guys soon." He gives Sky a hug before she gets out with her luggage.


"I'll try to call you and Grandma sometime," Sky says. "Bye, Grandpa."


Abraham gives one last wave before rowing off.


•*•*•*•*•*•*•*•*•*•*•*•*•*•*•*•*•*•*•*•


Sky and I walk through the front door of the house. I take a long breath of sweet, homely air. "Ahh," I sigh. "It's good to be home."


Sky smiles awkwardly. "Yeah." There is silence as Sky and I set our bags down on the couch. "Thanks for coming with back home with me."


I realize why she was so awkward when I labelled this as 'home'. Italy is her home. It always will be. This is only a second home to her. Maybe even a summer house (even though it's the end of January).


Wait... the end of January? "It's January 30th, right?" I ask.


"Yeah. Why?" Sky asks.


A huge grin spreads across my face. "My 18th birthday is in two days."


Sky smiles. "That's awesome!"


I stand there and smile, too exhausted to do any real celebrating.


Sky puts her hand on her hip and smirks. "You know, one would think you would be more excited than this."


"Yeah," I say. "I'm too tired. It's like midnight."


Sky glances at a clock. "It's only 10:19."


"Eh, same difference," I say, waving my hand. I make my way upstairs.


Sky follows, stepping over the crud laying around the house (still). "I never finished cleaning this place up. We need to do that tomorrow."


I groan. "What?" I whine. "I'm no good at cleaning!"


Sky scoffs and smiles. "You're still going to."


I laugh. "Fine. Cleaning day tomorrow."


•*•*•*•*•*•*•*•*•*•*•*•*•*•*•*•*•*•*•


Okay, my dearies. That got a little boring at the end, but I was kinda rushing to get this done.


Do you like that speech? I was just making up things on the spot. I'm pretty proud of it.