Remember? A Harry Styles Story

Chapter 2

After an early text message from Harry this morning, I prepared myself for, as he put it, “a simple, romantic evening.” and got ready for “a surprise you’ll always remember.”

I checked my hair, makeup, and dress for the third time. I had left the house and finally made it to the restaurant. The driver let me out of the car and I entered the place with an Italian name that I couldn’t (and wouldn’t try) to pronounce. 

The hostess smiled as I walked in, “Good evening, do you have a reservation?”

"Styles, for two." I said. I caught her eyes as she eyed me up and down before glancing at her list. 

"If you could please follow me." Her smile returned and I followed her into the back corner the dimly lit bistro. There were a few people, mostly couples of two, sitting and staring as I walked through. 

"Thank you very much." I smiled, sitting down and unlocking my phone for any news from Harry. I knew he’d be leaving the studio precisely at 6. It was now half passed six.

I opened a menu and glanced through. Nothing caught my fancy. I kept my head looking at the menu but my mind was racing with thoughts of Harry’s surprise. Maybe he’d finally gotten that puppy that we had been talking about. 

Harry wanted a dachshund (and wanted to name it HotDog), but I had been leaning more towards a french bulldog.

The waitress came, brought bread and water, and left. Thirteen more minutes passed and I got only slightly impatient. I picked up my phone to call Harry but I saw that Anne was now calling.

"Hi, how are you?" I answered.

"Good, good." She said in a huff, "So no one has told me the answer? What is it? How did it go?"

I stayed silent, wondering what question I could have been answering.

Anne gasped and cursed at herself, “Oh shit, he hasn’t asked you?” She asked.

"Who hasn’t asked me what?" I said, "Oh, if you’re talking about Harry, I haven’t heard from him. I’ve been waiting here for quite a while, actually."

"Harry’s not there?" She asked, "That worries me."

A little bolt of panic surged through my body at the thought that there even could be the possibility to worry about something. “Don’t say that, you know how we are when we worry.” I joked, hoping to lighten the conversation.

"I’ll ring him quickly and then send you a text." She said, "Love you lots."

"Love you too." I said, hanging up. 

I finally asked for a small glass of wine to try and calm my nerves. I sipped slowly and stared expectantly at the door; waiting for a tall man to walk through the door, hair slicked back, wearing his favorite grey suit. 

A ping alerted me. I carefully lifted the phone from my lap and tried to comprehend the text message I received.

Mummy Anne: Harry’s in Central Middlesex Hospital. Emergency department. 

It all flew by like a blur as I hurriedly told the driver to rush to the hospital. 

- - - - - 

I stepped slowly into the emergency department. It smelled of sick people and cleaning supplies. I followed the signs that led me to the information desk. 

"How may I help you?" An older woman asked. She stood, noticing my panicked expression and teary eyes.

"I-" My voice cracked, "My boyfriend is here." I sniffled, "Car crash."

"Amelia Arden?" A man’s voice called. I turned to see a doctor walking toward me. "I’m Dr. Wong." He held his hand out politely and gave me a weak smile. "We have a full report on Harold’s status. If you’d please join me in my office." 

I nodded, following Dr. Wong. He held the door open for me as we entered a cold, boring room. The chairs were uncomfortable and he had too many pictures of an ugly dog on the shelves.

"I’m so sorry for your situation." He said. "I’m happy to tell you that Harold is in stable condition right now. He will have to stay in the intensive care unit for a few days until he awakes. After that, he will be moved to another room to make a full recovery." He smiled. 

I glanced around and finally whispered, “So what happened to him?” 

"Right, right." Dr. Wong nodded, "In the crash, Harold must have hit his head on something; could have been the cement, car roof, anything. But what we know is that he has a partial frontal and temporal lobe contusion." He laced his fingers together and placed them in his lap.

"And so what does that mean? How does it affect him?" I asked, panic setting deep in me.

Dr. Wong glanced down at his lap, twiddling his thumbs. “A contusion is a bruise. Harold is going to suffer some sort of memory loss or memory complication. In his case, we’re going to assess him as soon as he wakes up.”

"How much of his life will he remember?" I asked, feeling weak.

"Not sure. Our assessment will show how far back he remembers and that’s all we can really wait for. He needs to rest for now, though."

It was too much to hear. For all I know, Harry could have no idea who his mum and I are. He might not remember Gemma, or Jack, or his own nephew. How could life go back to normal after this kind of tragedy?