They stop at a gas station in the middle of nowhere, more than two hours away from their destination, and the other boys go inside to buy travel food while Harry sits in the passenger seat of Liam’s car, his forehead pressed up against the frosted glass of the window.
He should call his mum, he decides.
Liam’s told her about the accident and he’s also told her that Harry is fine, but Harry should still call her. He’s her son, and there’s nine days left until the world ends. He knows he’s not going to make it to see her, especially considering that the last time they spoke—almost two months ago—she’d been talking about taking a trip to the Americas with Robin. I want to see the mountains, she’d said. I want to see the sea.
And Harry just needs to hear her voice, doesn’t he?
He wants to hear her—soft and lilting and warm, the way it was when he was a child with his small hand still wrapped around her finger, always running to keep up. Sighing, he reaches into his pocket and takes out his cellphone, pressing in her number and bringing it up to his ear.
She picks up on the second ring. “Hello?” Her voice is warm and familiar, blurred up by noise on the other end, a life that Harry isn’t really a part of anymore.
“Hey.” He breathes, shutting his eyes. “It’s me.”
“Harry?” Anne asks, her voice hitching. “Harry, baby, is that you?”
“Yeah. Yeah, hi mum.”
“Oh, Harry.” She says, and she sounds sad but he can feel her smiling, somehow. “I heard about your accident, love. I almost had a heart attack until the boys told me you were fine. They’ve shut down the airports, you know, I would’ve been there—”
“—God, you’re such a mum, you know that?” Harry laughs, his eyes shut as he pinches at the bridge of his nose. Still, he’s happy that she didn’t mention what she saw on the news, if she did see anything. “Don’t worry about me, alright? I’m fine.”
“Are you, Harry?” Anne asks softly. “Are you fine?”
“Yeah, what do you mean? Of course I’m fine.” Harry says, rubbing over his eyelids. He takes a slow breath, doesn’t really want to talk about himself right now. “You know the world is ending, mum.”
“Ah, so I’ve heard.” She hums, and Harry smiles at the familiarity of it all. He suddenly misses her so much, so much that he feels it in his toes. “I think I’ll go out to the ocean. I never did learn how to swim.”
Harry chuckles, mouth turning up. He imagines the sounds of the sea. “I wish I could be there.”
“So do I, love.” Anne sighs, and it’s quiet for a minute before she speaks again. “But I think you’ve got somewhere else to be, don’t you?”
Harry hears what she isn’t saying and he opens his eyes, forehead still resting against the cold passenger window. The sky is getting darker outside, fading from pale blue into a heavy gray, and he can see the other boys through the front window of the convenience store, waiting to pay at the front desk. His stomach is in knots.
“He hates me, mum.” Harry says, and the words seem too loud against the hushed atmosphere of the car. They echo outwards, somehow. They sit beside him and they seem true. His voice breaks. “I really think he hates me this time.”
“He could never hate you, Harry.” Anne says. “You know that.”
Harry shakes his head as if she can see him. “You never heard the things I said to him.”
“And I don’t want to. I don’t need to, either.” She replies. “Harry, I knew how much you loved him from the first time you said his name.”
Harry laughs, a wet sound that gets stuck in his throat. “Mum—”
“You came home and you told me about him and you were such a lovely boy, Harry. Sixteen years old and you had the biggest spirit I’d ever seen on anyone.” Anne pauses, hesitant. “You know, when your singing career took off, I was so proud of you. I still am. I just wish I could’ve protected you from it all—”
“I know, mum.” Harry says. “I know.”
“But he did try.” Anne replies. “To protect you, I mean. He tried so hard, and that couldn’t have been easy for him.”
Harry shuts his eyes again, trying to calm himself down. It’s no use, though. He feels like everything is shattering around him, just crumbling down. “God, I’ve screwed up.”
“You can fix it, Harry. Just let him know how you feel—”
“I can’t, mum. It’s too late. It can’t be about that.”
“Oh, but you don’t you get it, Harry? It has to be.” Anne responds, telephone static blurring up her words.
“You have to fix this, Harry, or else you’re going to die a sad little boy. That’s not what I want for you.”
“Yeah.” He agrees, doesn’t bother explaining that being twenty-four years old means he’s not a little boy anymore. Right now, all he wants is to be small again, to be new, to start over. He exhales sharply as the static grows louder. “Yeah, mum? Mum, you’re breaking up.”
“What?” The word is broken up by the distance.
“Static.” Harry says again, “I’m losing you.”
“Oh.” His mum speaks quickly, finally understanding. “Oh, okay, I love you. Um, I suppose if I don’t get a chance to speak to you before…well, just know that I love you, Harry. I love you so much. I couldn’t be more proud of you if I tried. I am so proud of you. You are the happiest moment of my life, you and Gem.”
“I love you too.” Harry says.
And then his mum begins to cry, heavy sobs that sound like crashing waves over the telephone line. It’s the sort of cry that only a mother can manage, the sort of cry that happens when they realize that part of their heart is walking around outside of them, on the other side of the world, too far for them to reach. He wishes she could reach him.
Harry’s breath rattles on a slow exhale. “I love you, mum. Tell everyone that I say goodbye—”
“God, I remember when you learned to walk.” Anne laughs around her tears, almost hysterical. The static grows louder. “You were so happy, you were always so happy. My little boy—”
“I know, mum. I know. Thank you for everything.”
Anne cries louder at that, and Harry feels it inside of him, digging deep. “Okay. Okay, Harry. I love you—”
And then her voice is cut off by the hollow beeping of the dial-tone, empty white static that fills the space, and Harry breathes out shakily, shoving his phone into his pocket as he leans back in the passenger seat. “Oh, god.” He breathes, scrubbing a hand down his face. “Oh, god.”
Harry tells himself not to cry, and five minutes later when the other boys leave the store and head back towards the car, he still hasn’t cried.
He closes his eyes and pretends to be asleep.
