About (Harry Styles)

39.

20K reads?! Is that even possible? It was only at 17K the other day. You guys are incredible. xx

Anticipation is greater than realization.

I wait in the living room with the undesirable company of my troublesome mother. She redundantly yaps on and on, pestering me to sign whatever it is they give me, do whatever it is they tell me except to blow off this 'opportunity'.

Honestly, I would have liked to wait alone with only me and my anxiety. She's done enough as it is. She got me into this mess, and now the hole is too deep for me to simply jump out of it. I've barely got enough leg power to escape.

Even after what I said last night, she acts as though nothing happened. Typical. Nothing ever fazes her for longer than an hour. She forces me into a pale pink spring dress that she recently just bought at Target. After reluctantly putting it on, she advises that I put my hair in a bun, like Audrey Hepburn, her favorite actress. I ignore her. As if I know how to do my hair like that. I just leave it as it is. No heat wave spray and some dry shampoo.

A knock is at the door and both of our heads whip to the front entrance. My palms begin to sweat, and I'm feeling even more anxious about meeting his lawyers which I didn't know was possible.

Mr. White assumes they're here to negotiate some kind of compromise - a settlement. Money.

We hear him open the door to greet the lawyers - or lawyer, singular. I was expecting at least ten of them considering it is Harry Styles. By her feminine voice, I immediately know she's a lady.

"Sorry about the mess out there," I hear him say.

I wait as my mother's husband brings her around to the living room. My mother and I both rise from our seats at the same time as she appears in a casual outfit. A T shirt with some hipster vibes and a pair of dark blue capris, a black purse on her shoulder ... and a backpack.

What? Where was the briefcase? The suit? Were we being punked?

She gives us a pleasant smile and I try to return one but can only manage a small one. She looks very young for a lawyer. I must admit that even I look older than she does.

Mr. White tells her to sit down which she does, letting the backpack hit the ground with a loud thud. He joins my mother on the couch next to her, placing his arm across her back and rubbing it to comfort her.

"I'm sorry," she starts by saying. "Only Miss White is allowed to be in here at the moment."

My mother is the reluctant one to go, but if it's coming from a lawyer, she'll listen. I'm surprised she didn't even try to argue. Just gave me a worried, disappointed look before she walked away with her compliant husband.

"I'll start off with introducing myself," the lawyer with the chocolatiest eyes, even more so than her skin, which is flawless might I add, says as she maneuvers to sit on the edge of the chair. "My name is Whitney Baxter," she extends an arm out to my mother before to me. "I am representing Mr. Styles. Unfortunately, Mr. Styles isn't here today as you can tell. It's hard to miss his presence, isn't it?"

Her joke is more than true. His presence demands attention.

"Elaine," I tell her.

"I know," she says politely. "Do you not have a lawyer representing you?"

"No," I say, caught off guard. I didn't even know I needed one for these kinds of things.

"Well, if it's alright with you, we can still proceed without one. With your permission of course."

"Yes, it's okay."

"Let's get started, shall we?" She flashes her white teeth at us.

She's a lot ... friendlier than I expected which is nice.