Beyond Compare (h.e.s)

part seven

I think I know from the second I move into you that this might be the best thing in the world.

Turns out, it's better than I ever could have imagined.

—|—

"I really think that this is a bad idea," Carter whines as we step onto the front porch. I really want to go inside; even though it just a bit after noon, it feels way colder upstate where Harry and Summer's parents live than it does in the city.

I punch him lightly in the shoulder. "Would you like some cheese with that whine? You've been saying that for the entire ride up here."

"That's because I really, really think this is a bad idea," he repeats. "Especially after the other day."

I give trying to cheer him up at this point, but it's okay, because Brayden takes up the reins.

"Look, Carter, I get that it is weird for you being here. But Harry invited you here—and he's run it by Summer, so she's okay with it, too."

"Yeah, but what about their parents? What do I say to them? 'Sorry your daughter and I didn't work out, but hey! Here I am at your anniversary party anyway!'"

"Actually, I'd just go with 'hello'," I advise.

He glares at me.

"Just stick by Harry," Amber says. Dammit, that was my plan. "He loves his family, but they exhaust him. He'll be glad for the company."

Brayden rings the doorbell, and we are ushered in by one of Harry's aunts. I can't remember which one, but she can't remember who we are either, so it works out. We shrug out of our coats and jackets and leave the giant foyer into the Styles' even more impressive living room. About fifty people with hair in various shades of grey, chestnut, and blonde are milling about, and I can't see through them to find the one stupid, copper dusted brown-haired person I want to see.

Then, like the Red Sea, the people part and through the middle comes his mother. She greets us all with hugs and tells Carter that she made his favorite meal the previous night and saved some for him in a Tupperware in the fridge. The grin he gives her shows that her words have put him more at ease than ours ever could, and I love her a little more for it.

As the four of us get drinks—tended at the bar by his father's cousin, Alan, who makes the soda in Carter's scotch and soda seem like a garnish—we look around the large living room. Amber and Brayden get pulled away by crazy Aunt Jillian, but Carter and I resist.

He elbows me and points out Harry and Summer in conversation with the Mallorys, their neighbors. From the way Summer is flapping her arms, I'm guessing she's telling the story of how Harry was Chicken Little in the seventh grade play because he was the shortest boy in his grade till his senior year of high school. He responds by moving his hands so he looks like he's playing keyboards while having a seizure—clearly telling them about how Summer "played" the xylophone till she was eighteen.

Carter sighs so wistfully that I slip my arm around his waist and squeeze him tight.

"Stupid Styles siblings," he mutters. I look at him questioningly. "That's right. I said it. Stupid Styles' with their stupid sons being good friends and making sure that I come to their stupid parties, and their moms making stupid, awesome lasagna for me, and their stupid daughters whom I just can't get over. The freaking Styles' are ruining my life!"