#probably sending other foods that Bosco wouldn’t understand

[phrynewrites]

ugh i stan blind date au! can we get some more cooking hcs ?

Thank you so much hun!! I’m so glad you’re enjoying it!

Cooking HCs:

1. When Jasmine’s sick, Bosco decides to be a *good not girlfriend* and buy her soup. So they come over to Jasmine’s empty the can of condensed tomato soup into a bowl, and hand it off to her. And Jasmine, tripping on cold meds, accepts a spoon full of it before promptly spitting it out. Bosco doesn’t get it until Camden hears them mumbling to themself and has to tell Bosco that they have to heat up soup AND dilute it with water. And then takes a picture of the gloppy cold tomato concentrate and sends it to the gc.

2. When it’s their turn to host dinner for their friends, Jasmine always has Bosco plan the table setting and set it, telling them to “go as big as their heart desires.” This not only lets Bosco show off their artistry, it gives Jasmine at least two hours to actually cook the meal without Bosco either being a pest or trying to help cook, which Jasmine knows she’ll have to do over again anyway.

3. When Bosco first tries cooking Jasmine a nice dinner, they’re sending progress pictures to the group chat like “I’ll put the garlic on first because it smells good” and “and now I boil the water with the pasta” and “I think this is call deglazing but I put the wine in the pasta water because everyone likes wine” and the whole time everyone’s yelling at Bosco not to do what they’re doing but they simply ignore because they’re making pasta that maybe only Jasmine will appreciate. (Jasmine takes two bites of the alcoholic mush, compliments Bosco’s efforts at trying new things, how much she does in fact love pasta, and how they should order some pasta and maybe try to remake it together tomorrow)

[h4rr3h]

ohio is for lovers, chapter two harry and evan and everyone else

“You look like someone punched you in the vagina.”

“Thanks, Niall.” Harry snaps.

Sunday, March 25, 2018

The Mission House, Green Room

169 Bleecker Street, New York, NY

“You look like someone punched you in the vagina.”

 “Thanks, Niall.” Harry snaps.

 He shrugs and sit next to Harry in the backstage green room of the Mission House.

 “But himmmm?” Harry whines, for like, the fortieth time.

 It takes Niall five deep breaths to choke down what he wishes he could say to Harry and comes up with a rare supportive comment, “for what it’s worth I don’t see her going through with it.”

 “What makes you think that?” Louis interjects, “he’s literally one of the nicest people I’ve met, he’s going to be a doctor for Christ’s sake. He drives an Audi A5 Coupe, he volunteers at the animal shelters -”

 “Oh I’m sorry I wasn’t aware you had a crush on him,” Harry snips as Niall faux snores.

 Louis scoffs, “whatever man, she’d be stupid not to. Out of all of us, he’s the only one who actually has his shit together.”

 He wasn’t wrong.

 “Anyways,” Harry starts, “I think tonight is a good night to play the new song.”

 Niall raises an eyebrow, “you’re like four beers in, I don’t think you’re ready to play anything new in your state, Mate.”

 “You forgot the two tequila shots,” Louis reminds.

 Harry’s hazy, and completely drunk. He always plays better a little buzzed, he was more daring, and a little less uptight. But completely fucking blitzed? Well this is uncharted territory.

 “I think it’ll be fine,” he slurs.

 The longer he stands upright the more the room starts to spin. He swears he didn’t feel this drunk five minutes ago. It doesn’t help that he hasn’t eaten since this morning’s pancakes at ten o’clock.  

 Evan is fucking engaged to the Valium. In some ways he could believe it and in some ways he couldn’t. Louis was unfortunately right. On paper, the dude was perfect. He’d checked off all of Evan’s boxes long ago and what was even worse was that they had history. They dated on and off throughout high school and after a year apart their freshman year of college, they’d been inseparable ever since. Sure, Harry had Jordan. And he did love her in a way. What way that was, he wasn’t quite sure of yet. He couldn’t help but feel something was missing between him and Evan; some vital ‘aha!’ moment that was just six years too late in hitting her. That someday she’d wake up and feel the same way he did.

 Now, to be clear, Harry is not lovesick. It ebbs and flows inside of him. He’d go weeks, even a month or two without having that tugging ache on his heart of wanting what he couldn’t have. Then he’d have a few beers and whine to the boys about it and have a shag or twelve with Jordan to set himself straight again. Before anything, Evan was his best friend. Besides Louis, of course. He cherished her friendship above everything and it made him feel sick every time he wanted her in that way.

 “We’re not doing anything new tonight,” Louis reasons, “now let’s get some water and carbohydrates into you before you get up there and blow chunks, alright?”

 “Did someone say carbohydrates?” Evan chimes from the doorway, wielding two large platters of food.

 “Alright, we’ve got...mozzarella sticks and potato skins, take your pick -”

 Harry dives in the second the platters hit the table, shoveling food into his mouth, “thanks Ev.”

 Evan tilts her head towards the door, Niall and Louis catch on but Harry is too busy stuffing his face to see her subtly kicking the other boys out of the room. She shuts the door behind them when they walk out.

 “You alright?” She asks when Harry finally comes up for air.

 Harry feigns confusion, “yeah? Why wouldn’t I be?”

 Evan puts her hand on her hip and gives him the look, the one she gives every so often when she sees through his bullshit, and Harry knows it.

 “Well for starters, you’re drunk. You never get drunk before a gig.”

 “Nerves,” he replies, shoving a whole mozzarella stick in his mouth.

 She rolls her eyes and takes another step closer to him. Evan reaches out, holding his face between her palms, “I know you, you’re upset over something. You can’t lie to me. I always call you on your bullshit.”

 She looked at him and it was like that first night when they met when could have have kissed her the first time and maybe then they wouldn’t be in this mess. He’d perfected resisting the urge over the years as the fates had presented him many opportunities. Her eyes were watery like they were when she was holding back from crying, he’d seen it time and time again, and he hated himself for bringing her an ounce of pain like that.

 “I’m just going to miss you, is all,” Harry manages.

 Evan pulls him in, wrapping her arms around his middle. Harry’s resistant at first, he’s drunk and daring and feeling all too many emotions at once. He can’t say anything, and just stands there holding his arms loosely around her.

 “I’m not going anywhere. I already told Huck I’m not moving until after the wedding. You still have me.”

 If only he did, he thinks.

 Still held in an embrace, he could feel the wetness of Evan’s tears seeping through the fabric of his shirt when she pushes her face into the crook of his neck. For as long as he’d known Evan Bosco, he’d only seen her actually cry twice; once, when their cat Gretchen died, and the second, at the end of Titanic. Evan was an level headed person; logical. She wasn’t directed by emotions or feelings, she was precise in her actions and in her life and well, if she thought marrying Jacob-fucking-Huckabee was a good idea, then it probably was.

 “Are you just sure you’re ready for your last name to be Huckabee?” Harry mumbles into her ear, his chest vibrating with a quick chuckle.

 Evan snorts and gives him one last squeeze before letting go. She wipes her eyes and sniffs, trying to hide her tear streaked cheeks.

 “You should probably get out there, everyone’s waiting for you.”

 Harry shrugs, “they can wait, you’re more important.”

 Evan approaches him again, sliding her hand to the back of his head, twisting the short curls at the nape of his neck between her fingers. She lets her thumb slide against his cheek  and jaw and bottom lip and Harry thinks for a second that she may actually kiss him. His heart is racing so loud he’s damn well sure she can hear it loud and clear. He notes something in her eyes, is it hesitation? You goddamn wish, he thinks.

 Stupid girl. Can you feel it? Can you feel it?

  Evan sits around the booth with the rest of the gang, minus the three bandmates. They’ve crammed themselves into their usual spot. Sharna’s elbow is digging into her hip while Huck’s arm is wrapped protectively around her middle. Polly and Jordan are bickering over who’s more politically correct on this week’s latest cause. There’s more space now than there will be later when the eight of them are stuffed into the U-shaped booth that hugs the bar table. Empties already line the far edge of the table’s surface and there’s a mix of half watered down drinks and shot glasses in clusters that clang every time someone bumps the table.

 Huck is drunk and grabby. He’s subtle, though. He’ll press a kiss below an ear and then into the smallest exposed part of collar bone. His hands will dive between Evan’s thighs and gently squeeze; ‘just warming my hands’, he’ll say. His breath smells like the three whisky sours he’s downed in the last hour and a half. Glassy eyed, Huck whispers in Evan’s ear, sending a shiver down her spine, “you excited?” He asks, toying with the ring on her left hand.

 She smiles, “yeah,” comes out in barely a whisper.

 Evan plants a kiss on his jawline, and wiggles out of his grip, “I’m gonna go get some food for the boys backstage, I’ll be back in a jiff,” she says before giving him another peck on the cheek.

 She orders Harry’s two favorite bar foods; mozzarella sticks and potato skins. Jojo behind the counter adds it to the gang’s running tab that they’ve had since Evan’s twenty-first birthday nearly four years ago. She shutters to think of what the total of it is, but wipes it easily from her mind. She looks down at her hand and watches the diamond on her ring finger twinkle under the dim bar lighting.

 “Damn, girl!” Jojo reaches across the bar and grabs Evan’s hand. “Huckabee splurged. Congrats!”

 Evan grins, but it doesn’t quite reach her eyes, “thanks!”

 “If you need anyone to bartend the wedding, I’m your girl,” she winks, “don’t even have to pay me. Just make sure Huckleberry has some hot groomsmen for me to feast on.”

 “I’ll see if he’s got any hot med school friends for you,” Evan teases.

 “Looooord almighty, a doctah?” Jojo emphasizes her southern twang and starts fanning herself with a stack of paper napkins.

 Evan clutches her stomach laughing, an annoyed patron at the other end of the counter bangs on its mahogany top for Jojo’s attention, “sorry, have to take care of the createns,” she mutters under her breath, and within a half second musters up a cheesy customer service smile, “what can I get for you, darlin’?”

 She can’t help but feel the ring on her finger weigh her down like a dead weight. Evan blames it on the sensation of having something new (and a very heavy something, at that) on a finger that had previously been bare for twenty four years. She twists the metal back and forth, occupying herself by watching people in the packed bar. People watching was a common pastime of hers. She longed to understand the meaning of people and why they do what they do and why they don’t do what they don’t do. As Niall would always tell her ‘it’s just not that deep, Mate’ but she liked to think that human existence could be boiled down to more than just wants and needs.

 The bar always seemed hazy with the strings of  globe bulb lights that lined the ceiling in perfect tight zig-zags. Evan liked the dim lighting because it hid her bar burn when she would drink a little too much. It also made you feel a certain way; warm, happy, like nothing could hurt you here because everything and everyone glowed and things that glowed couldn’t hurt you.

 “Food’s done!” Jojo drops the two platters onto the bartop, snapping Evan out of her momentary daydream.

 “Thanks Jo! Have a round with us if you can?”

 She glares to the line of people waiting, “I don’t think tonight’s the night, but enjoy one for me,” she winks.

 The walk from the bar counter to the sorry excuse for the Mission House’s green room is short. In reality the green room used to be a freezer, but when the place nearly burned down ten years ago the owners converted it into a green room for local bands they hired to play. Harry, Louis and Niall were the top bill on Sunday nights. They had a small following with their band and Evan knew Harry wished he could do more with it than he was. He by no means had the dreams of becoming a rock star of any sort, but anything was better than teaching third graders how to play Hot Cross Buns on the recorder.

 “Did someone say carbohydrates?” She rings, displaying the trays in her hand, “alright we’ve got mozzarella sticks, potato skins, take your pick -”

 Harry lands face first into the platters before she’s had a second to finish. He’s drunk, she knows that at the very least but she wants to know why. He takes gigs much too seriously to get drunk. She spots at least four empty beer bottles while Louis and Niall are still nursing their first. She catches a glance at his bloodshot eyes when he mumbles a ‘thanks Ev’ at her.

 With a nudge of her head, the other boys take her hint and leave her to it with Harry. She knows he’d lie through his teeth to the boys about what was going on in his head but he never could get a damn thing past Evan, and she knew that very well.

 “You alright?” She asks gently.

 There’s a flicker of something in his eyes, “yeah? Why wouldn’t I be?”

 Evan puts a hand on her hip and fixates her eyes on his, locking with them for a second and giving an empathetic sigh, “well for starters, you’re drunk. You never get drunk before a gig.”

 He breaks the eye contact. “Nerves,” he says while gulping down another deep fried piece of cheese.

 Evan knows what she’s doing well. Harry wears his heart on his sleeve and it’s never too hard to tell when he’s upset about something. When she rolls her eyes at him, she makes sure to do it nice and slowly so he can see. She closes the space between them in a single step and reaches out, forcing his face between her palms, “I know you, you’re upset over something. You can’t lie to me. I always call you on your bullshit.”

 He gives her a look she hasn’t seen him give in a very, very long time. On the night they met, in fact. It happens so quick she thinks she may have been making it up in her head. Whatever it was, Evan can’t quite place it. Tears start to form in the corners of her eyes. While marrying Huck meant spending the rest of her life with the man she loved, she couldn’t help but feel her heart break when that same notion also meant leaving behind the other man she loved.

 “I’m just going to miss you, is all,” he mutters.

 Evan tugs on his shirt to pull him into her. She can feel every muscle in his body tense up when they touch, as if he’s holding something back from her. Her arms slither under his and she hugs him so tight she’s worried he’ll puke up all the greasy bar food he’s just shoved down his throat at warp speed. Harry doesn’t budge, and his arms lay loosely around her form.

 “I’m not going anywhere. I already told Huck I’m not moving until after the wedding. You still have me.”

 Forever and ever and ever and ever, she thinks.

 Evan presses her face into his shoulder and lets herself cry into him. She prays he can’t feel her body shake against him as she lets out the silent sobs. Evan wasn’t much of a cryer, but when she did…

 “Are you just sure you’re ready for your last name to Huckabee?” Harry’s chuckle tickles her, and his voice is so light and fragile in a way she’s never heard before.

 She snorts, welcoming the lightheartedness and gives Harry one last hug before finally letting go. She wipes her eyes and cheeks with the back of her hand and sniffs away the saltiness, “you should probably get out there, everyone’s waiting for you.”

 “They can wait, you’re more important.”

 It’s like all the air’s been sucked out of the room and Evan pauses for a half moment before coming back to Harry. She slides her hands behind his head and toys with the slop of curls that lie there, twirling them around her index finger, that damn ring weighing her down. Evan’s hands slide to the sides of his face, grazing her thumb across his cheek, tracing the sharpness of his clenched jaw, and finally a swipe to his bottom lip.

 Stupid boy. Can you feel it? Can you feel it?

  The gig is great as usual. Despite Harry being drunker than a skunk, the boys managed to pull off one hell of a show and Harry at least had the decency to start puking after they were finished.

 “Water and bread for you, buddy.” Louis pats his back.

 Harry is about a half step away from unconsciousness, his face buried in the crook of his arm that is spread across the table. Jordan is leaning on him, not too far behind in her state. Evan mentally prepares herself for having to listen to that all night long, neither of them were very...quiet, so to speak. Everyone is drunk and happy again and the moment in the green room is long gone from Harry and Evan’s minds.

 At least for the time being.

 “Hey did you invite your dad tonight?” Sharna slurs, “nope, wait. I’mma text him.”

 She struggles like a child to unlock her phone and whines, dropping it to the table when it doesn’t work.

 “Can you please not get that excited over my father? It’s gross.”

 “Your dad is a fucking DILF and you know it,” her friend pips, sipping from the little black straw in her AMF.

 Evan gags, “shut the fuck upppppp,” she groans, covering her ears.

 The rest of the table is laughing hysterically, except Niall. This pisses Sharna off. She’s funny. What she said was funny. Everyone should be laughing.

 Niall never laughs at Sharna’s jokes. She should know this by now.

 “So Niall, how’s the novel coming?” She asks with a touch of poison in her voice.

 “It’s great,” he starts, “I’ve already killed your character off.”

 Sharna responds with a middle finger while she sucks up the last of her drink, the straw making a slurping sound as it struggles against the ice to get the last bit of liquid in the bottom of her empty glass.

 Polly is asleep leaned up against Louis. Evan can hear her little snores and see the tiny pool of drool collecting on her boyfriend’s shirt. He gulps the last of his pint  before patting her on the cheek lightly to wake her up. Polly grumbles and curls herself into him more, “up and at ‘em Little One. You’ve got class bright and early and I have to be up in four hours to make some macchiatos for overworked White Collars.”

 She groans and finally obliges and manages to stand up long enough to jump on Louis’ back. They both wave as they head for the door. Evan chuckles as she watches them leave and turns to give Huck a little peck on the neck.

 “I love you,” he whispers low enough for just the table to hear, “I can’t wait to spend the rest of my life with you.”

 He’s drunk and kind of going cross eyed when he says it, but Evan knows it’s sincere, “I love you too,” she responds, and gives him a solid kiss on the lips.

 The bile in Harry’s throat threatens round two.

 “I think it’s time for us to go,” Harry mentions, “you coming home tonight?” He motions to Evan.

 Huck is glassy eyed and she knows he’ll pass out the second he hits the sack, take up half the mattress, and not move until morning. She was already feeling the effects of a hangover, and didn’t feel like adding no sleep to that menu.

 “Yeah, I’ll get this one a cab home and meet you back at the apartment.”

 She nudges her fiance and he slowly and sloppily slides his way out of the booth, hanging onto Evan for dear life. Or in this case, for his balance, and the two stumble to the sidewalk where she hails him a cab with the snap of her fingers. With the help of the taxi driver, and a hefty tip, she sees him off and starts the very short walk back to the apartment.

 The air is chilly but not freezing. Her bare legs prick with tiny goosebumps from her ankles to her thighs and she can’t help but think about Harry and what happened before the gig. They have these moments, every now and again, seconds between moments where she thinks things may be different, where one of them would actually have the gaul to say how they really feel. But things like that don’t happen for people like Evan Bosco. So she settles for marrying the brain surgeon and hopes one day she’ll get over that missing piece in her chest.

 Meanwhile, Harry stays inside with Jordan, who at this point, is totally asleep.  He gently nurses two more shots and a Rum and Coke before ordering an Uber for his girlfriend. She’ll end up waking up at 6am puking her brains out and he didn’t feel like spending his morning holding back her hair. Harry wanted to go home and drink until he couldn’t remember his name and try and forget this day ever happened.

 Apartment 11A is dark by the time Harry reaches the door. He looks around for signs of Evan, and sees her boots tipped over on the mat next to the entry and a half drank glass of water on the kitchen counter. He stumbles to the bar cart awkwardly shoved in a small corner of the kitchen and pulls out the fullest bottle of alcohol there is (which happens to be tequila) and brings it to bed with him.

 Monday, March 26, 2018

185 Bleecker Street, Apartment 11A, New York, NY

 It’s no surprise when Harry wakes up with a blinding headache. It’s already half past ten, which means he’s missed his first lesson at work. He makes up a half assed apology via text to his boss and lies about an aunt who passed away, then rolls back over for another hour or two until he’s woken up by Evan’s hurling noises.

 Down the hall in their shared bathroom, Evan pukes out the contents of last night’s celebrations. She may have helped herself to a half bottle of wine when she’d gotten home, tempted by it sitting on the counter when she tried to responsibly chug a glass of water and an aspirin before going to bed. She hears Harry’s footsteps coming up the hallway when another bout of vomit spills out of her.

“Don’t come in here,” she moans, her voice broken and hoarse, “I’m disgusting.”

 “I got you a glass of water!” He reasons.

 “....Fine.”

 Harry opens the door and walks slowly into the bathroom. Not for her sake, but for his, the slower he moves, the less dizzy his hangover makes him feel.

 Evan snaches the glass from his hand and gulps it down, “thanks,” she says, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand, “why aren’t you at work?”

 “Called out,” he replies, taking the glass back and a sip for himself, “why aren’t you at work?”

 She glares, “called out.”

 Harry lets out a breathy laugh, “c’mon, I’ll make you a bacon, egg and cheese sandwich on a bagel.”

 Evan clutches her chest dramatically, “music to my ears!”

 Despite that one time he set the stove on fire, Harry was actually a halfway decent cook (at least in his mind). The two ate their breakfasts at the table with two cups of coffee each, respectively. Neither wanted to bring up their talk last night. They’d both felt it, that second between a moment when they feel brave, as if they could break through some sort of invisible wall of bullshit that the both of them put up and finally break it down.

 Harry, mostly for the sake of his hangover, didn’t want to bring it up for a variety of reasons. He was clearly drunk, as Evan already knew at that point, and hoped that would be enough to keep her quiet. Pride was another, for obvious reasons. But she’d pulled him in first and she cried. He looked to his shoulder for a moment and saw the black smudge of her mascara still on his shirt. It was all too much for him to think about at this hour with this bad of a headache. He wanted to finish his meal and crawl back into bed and sleep for about another week straight.

 Did she feel it too? He thinks. Probably not because she’s still got the ring on her finger and he watches her play with it over and over again like she’s adjusting a fucking noose around her neck while they talk about today’s weather and how winter seems to be finally over. She couldn’t have felt it too, Evan’s a bold woman, she goes for things that she wants and if she had wanted Harry in that second then she would have wanted him in all the other seconds too. And he can’t wait for the day he can finally wake up in the morning and not have Evan Bosco on his mind.

 He felt nothing, not a damn thing, she thinks as she takes the last bite of her breakfast sandwich. Also, she thinks that her ring is too loose because it slides too easily between her knuckle and the middle joint in her finger. Was it this heavy on her hand last night too? She felt the cold metal slip again as she balls up the napkin and tosses it on her plate. Evan’s lucky if she’s had at least two hours of sleep from the night. She knew she shouldn’t have mixed the red wine with liquor from the bar but desperate times call for desperate measures.

 “So what are you up to today?” Harry asks.

 “Well, I have an article due by the end of the day tomorrow, but I think I’ll check in with my dad and see if he wants to go out for dinner or something. I haven’t seen him in a couple weeks.”

 As the Millennial Voice column expert in her father’s travel magazine, Evan was tasked with writing a monthly column on the hot spots in different cities that twenty-somethings would enjoy. But, due to the lack of budgeting, this usually just consisted of Google research rather than actual travel.

 “I miss Papa Bosco. I haven’t heard any of his -ism’s lately,” Harry chuckles.

 Evan Bosco Sr., who not only was fluent in Klingon, was also a walking, talking fortune cookie of life advise. Most of which he had taken out on his daughter’s friends, “oh I’m sure he’ll have plenty saved up for you next time you see him.”

 “I love a man who can make me cry about my life choices,” Harry smirks.

 Evan rolls her eyes, “or lack thereof. Any big plans for you today?” She asks.

 He shrugs, “I’ll probably just loaf around and eat my weight in Chinese food, maybe jerk off in the shower - “

 “You’re deplorable,” Evan snides, tossing her crumpled napkin at him.

 Harry sips his coffee, feeling the chip on the edge of his monogrammed mug slice the soft flesh of his inner lip. He winces a bit, and licks off the blood.

 Monday, March 26, 2018

987 Amsterdam Ave, Apartment 5B, New York, NY

 Evan busies herself with unpacking the bags of groceries she’d collected for tonight’s dinner. Her father wasn’t home yet, and she was sure due to the large amounts of missed calls and texts that he’d have a lecture waiting for her. Almost twenty-five years old and Evan was still subjected to her father’s lectures. She knows he did it out of love, but sometimes, she just wished he’d let her fuck up without there having to be a lesson about it afterwards.

 More often these days, Evan found herself missing their old apartment. It was modest, for the city. The walls were white and covered in exposed brick and held framed photos of maps and photography of all the places they’d explored together. It was a little cleaner, with Evan gone. No empty glasses left on the coffee table, just to the bottom left of the coaster, leaving yet another ring in the table’s surface. And no matter how many times Evan Sr. had to yell at his daughter about it, she never learned.

 She missed the smell of the bakery across the street wafting through their windows in the morning, making the entire place smell like warm, buttery croissants. She missed their neighbors across the hall with their hyperactive Yorkie, Chico, who never seemed to stop yipping. Hell, Evan even missed the way her socks always slid against the hardwood floors and she’d bust her ass every so often when she would pivit just right. She felt as if she had a semi permanent bruise on her hip from falling over the years.

 But most of all, she missed coming home to her father. Who, despite still having social anxiety at age forty eight and mumbled more than he actually spoke, was the most loving creature on the face of the planet. She checks the time, there’s still about another ten minutes before he would be walking in the front door, tossing his messenger bag on the floor, and reaching into the fridge for a beer. Just one, though. Always one.

 Throughout their time travelling during her childhood, Evan found out that the greatest thing about it weren’t the sights, or the culture, or the tourist traps. It was the food. Between the two of them, they’d created what they dubbed “The Holy Grail” of recipes from their travels. Transcribed into a notebook with crunchy pages and stuck together with food splatter,  shoved into the cabinet above the fridge, Evan knew she could make any meal in this book and immediately be back on her father’s good side.

 Tonight it was Paella, the recipe was given to them by the Chef of a little hole in the wall place in València. It was her father’s absolute favorite meal and he swore he could never get it just right like Evan could.

 “Surprise!” Evan declares as her father walks in the door, both confused but also relieved to see his daughter.

 Evan Bosco Sr. drops his bag at the door and slides past his daughter to stalk into the kitchen for his one beer, “you weren’t at work today,” he mutters.

 “Yes...well...it’s been an interesting twenty four hours. Plus I slept in and -”

 It takes her father approximately three and a half seconds to recognize the symptoms and before she can finish her  sentence, he interjects, “you’re hungover.”

 Her father cracks a smile, probably the first one all day. Evan Sr. wouldn’t say that he hated his job, he just hated how draining it was, and sometimes it took smelling Paella cooking in the kitchen to bring you back down to Earth again.

 “I am, but,” Evan holds up her left hand to show off the ring, “I’m also engaged.”

 Evan Sr. presses his lips together and tilts his head to the left. He gulps once before processing the diamond on her finger, “I’m happy for you, sweetheart.”

 Evan recognizes that look on her father’s face. It was the same one he had when she came home from school one time in seventh grade and told him it was now her life’s dream to drop out of middle school and join the Peace Corps. It was first a flash of confusion, followed up by mild disgust and then finished off with the sudden realization that he had to pretend to support his only daughter in a terrible decision.

 “Are you?” She quizzes.

 Evan Sr. nods, “sure am! Just been a long day.”

 He takes a long swig of his beer and places it onto the counter with a shaky hand. The green bottle double clinks onto the counter.

 “How’s Harry taking it?” He asked, stirring the simmering food in the pan.

 Evan grabs the wooden spoon from his hand, “fine, why?”

 Her father takes another choking gulp of his beer. He’s halfway done in just the two gulps he’s taken so far.

 “Just curious,” he pips, putting an arm around his daughter’s shoulders, “he is losing his best friend, after all.”

 Evan Bosco Sr. of Columbus, Ohio wanted nothing more than for his only daughter to marry the man of her dreams. Evan Sr. knew that Jacob Huckabee was not going to be this man. He knew this for a while, and while he always wanted to support his daughter in her decisions, couldn’t help but feel slighted by the latest development in her relationship status. Slighted, not only because had Jacob not considered his fiancee's father’s opinion in the matter of their union, but also because he was the most absolutely boring person on the face the the planet. This, all coming from a man who studied the courtship rituals of insect mating in college.

 For fun.

 “What is the male obsession with thinking they’re going to lose someone who gets married?!” Evan groans, “I’m not going anywhere.”

 “I know,” he pats her on the back, “it’ll just be an adjustment for him. I’m sure he’s going to have to find a new roommate.”

 “Why don’t the two of you move in together since you’re like, so obsessed with each other,” Evan rolls her eyes.

 Her father grins, “Harry will always have a place in this household.”

 “Yeah,” she scoffs, “I swear if you had it your way I’d be marrying him,”

 It felt a little too toxic to say and her father bit his tongue and fought back what he wanted to say. Recalling a time not all that long ago, when Harry was in a vulnerable state and confessed all that he felt for Evan Sr.’s daughter and he let himself reflect for a moment to a time in his life when he knew what it felt like to be absolutely helpless in love with someone.

 Being a single father was not the life that Evan Bosco Sr. had planned for himself. He’d met his forever girl (or so he’d imagined) at age eighteen. They had dreamed of a life together traveling the world with each other. However, Elizabeth Highwater, or Just Lizzie, as Evan Sr. had called her through their nine year courtship, had never wanted children. So after a few years of marriage and a few spins around the globe Evan Sr. had suggested settling down somewhere and starting a family. It was six months after that conversation that Lizzie had found herself pregnant with a child she didn’t really want. She stuck around at first, playing doting wife and mother. But there had been a new man that offered her an out and a new life, the life a Highwater was expected to have. And all of this did not involve being the wife of Evan Bosco Sr.

 So she left. One day on a chilly November night with nothing more than a packed suitcase and a note left behind to her husband and only daughter. Evan Sr. lied to his daughter about her mother’s whereabouts until age twenty-three, twenty years after she’d left. He had told her that her mother was really a mermaid, and that she had to go back to the ocean for a little while, but she’d eventually be back. It seemed stupid, but in a way it helped him heal as well.

 But Elizabeth Highwater did not come back. At least not until her new husband had called Evan up a year or so ago to tell her that her mother had died. Evan remembers feeling a whole lot of nothing and then a whole lot of something seemingly all at once. She always harbored resentment for the woman like an anchor inside of her. She hated her mother for leaving her, and even more for breaking her father’s heart. She saw it it in the crinkles in the corners of his eyes and in the way the world seemed to always rest on his shoulders.

 Evan had flown out to her parent’s hometown of Columbus, Ohio and met her step father for the first time and saw the house they’d lived in together and the evidence of her mother’s life without her child over the last twenty years. It was a good life, by the looks of it; big house but not too big, nice car, a boat trailered in the backyard. Evan’s time in Ohio had been summed up by something that Niall had dubbed the “Ohio Incident”.

 But we’ll get to that later.

 “As long as you’re happy, Pumpkin, so am I.”

 Evan Sr. feigns a smile, pressing his lips together so tightly they turn white.

 She takes a step closer to her father and places a single hand on his shoulder, “dad, you’re a terrible liar.”

 He raises a brow and finishes off his beer before walking away into the living room.

 Evan paces around the kitchen, occupying herself with setting their places at the kitchen island that took the place of a dining room table. She pours a glass of the wine she had brought over and sits on the counter while the last of their dinner cooks.

 Why did he seem surprised? She thinks to herself. Aren’t boyfriend’s supposed to ask permission from the father of their girlfriend for their hand in marriage? Perhaps she’s thinking too much about it. Perhaps Huck had mentioned it in passing and her father had forgotten, or chosen to forget about it. Huck knew how close Evan was to her father, he wouldn’t overlook such a tradition.

 Would he?

 Monday, March 26, 2018

185 Bleecker Street, Apartment 11A, New York, NY

 “Jordan for the last time I’m not going to your fucking parent’s house for the weekend! I have too much to do here. Just please drop it,” Harry throws himself onto the couch while his girlfriend stomps around the edges of the living room, circling him like prey.

 They’d gotten into another argument, shocker, at first in the early afternoon when Jordan had called Harry complaining as to why he didn’t spend the night with her, nursing her through her vomit inducing hangover. By the time she’d laid it all into him it was half past five and he was starting to get hungry. Knowing Evan would be at her father’s, he invited her over to order some take away and could maybe make out with her. If for, at the very least, to get her to shut the fuck up.

 “I just don’t understand you! One second you’re here and the next I feel like you’re on the other side of the world. I can’t keep doing this - “

 “Stop, stop, stop.”

 Harry leaps up and puts a palm over Jordan’s mouth, “for the love of God, stop complicating things. I just really don’t have the time to go upstate this weekend!”

 He removes his hand slowly.

 “It’s much more than that, Harry,” there’s a flicker in her wet eyes. She’s about to cry. Shit. “I can’t do this right now. I think we need to have some time apart, And I’m not talking our usual time apart. I’m thinking this may have to be permanent.”

 She sits on the edge of the couch and Harry follows. She wipes just below her right eye with the back of her hand and sniffs, “I see all these happy couples and I always wonder why we can’t be them. I know you just think I’m a brat that nags at you all the time,” she’s crying more now and Harry starts to feel terribly, “but I do love you, and I do want a future with you. But if you can’t even spend a weekend with my family...for something I told you about months ago and suddenly you don’t have time? That’s not normal Harry.”

 Harry stares at his hands, “I don’t want to hurt you, Jordy.”

 “Yeah well, you’re a little late for that,” she replies, and the sting hits him square in the chest, “I just want to be happy. I want to celebrate each other. I want what Evan and Jake have! I want to get married one day and spend the rest of my life with someone who loves me just as much as I love them.”

 That was all it took, and Harry didn’t feel so bad about her tears anymore. Deep down, he knew it wasn’t her fault. How was she supposed to her her boyfriend was in love with his best friend? He resented her statement. The wound was still fresh and the hangover in trying to forget the whole thing was still lingering.

 “I don’t think you can be that for me right now, Harry.” Jordan says.

 She stands and kisses the top of his head, “I’ll let myself out.”

 Harry doesn’t reply to anything. It takes him ten minutes after the front door shuts to take a deep breath again. Usually when this happened, he knows Jordan would be back soon; in a couple days, a week, a month tops. But something about this time feels different.

 It’s not long after Jordan leaves that Evan arrives back home. She smells like wine and Spanish food and her father’s cologne. She can sense the tension in his face the moment she lays eyes on him.

 “Everything alright?” She questions.

 “I feel like you’re asking me that a lot lately.”

 “It’s because you’re incredibly transparent. I know you better than you know yourself, you know,” she grins.

 Harry falls silent and looks to the floor, “Jordan dumped me again.”

 Evan fails to act surprised, “please remind me how this is new news?” She says, hanging up her coat and kicking off her boots.

 Harry huffs and stands, picking her boots up off the floor and places them on the shoe rack next to the door, “she said she wants to be with someone who loves her just as much as she loves them.”

 There’s attitude in his voice and Evan can sense it, “yeah, still failing to see the big shocker here, Harriet. What do you expect from the poor girl? You guys break up like every other week for some stupid shit and then get back together without ever working anything out. Of course she’s going to realize you don’t love her back.”

 Harry’s breath catches for a moment, “I do love her.”

 Evan rolls her eyes.

 “Okay maybe not like that, in that way,” Harry defends, “but I do have love for her…I’m just not in love with her.”

 “Ding ding we have a winner! Only took you how long to figure it out?”

 Harry lets out a breathy laugh and swings an arm around Evan, “yeah, yeah. So how did Papa Bosco take your big engagement news?”

 She pauses before answering, “strangely. I don’t know. It’s like he wanted to say something but didn’t. But not something like ‘oh I think this is a terrible idea’ but like he, I don’t know, like he’s waiting for me to figure something out.”

 Oh if she only knew.

HELLOOOOOO!!!! Thank you again everyone for the kind words of encouragement and how you’re feeling about this fic! Please let me know! Just a note for the next update, it will come a day late as the 5th I’m throwing a party for my mom’s 60th birthday and I won’t be able to post, so the next chapter will arrive on May 6th.

For any questions/comments/concerns, please do not hesitate to take advantage of my ask!