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# invitation
garadinervi · 3 days
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Antoni Tàpies, encres et collages, (exhibition invitation), Galerie Maeght, Paris, 1968 [Solomon R. Guggenheim Museum Archives, Solomon R. Guggenheim Museum / Foundation, New York, NY. Art: © Fundació Antoni Tàpies, Barcelona]
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kaalbela · 1 year
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- Mary Oliver⁩, "Invitation".
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1d1195 · 2 months
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Invitation
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~3.5k words
From me: I mentioned I had a kinda rough weekend. This just sort of wrote itself. Def a stand alone. Second chance at love. I wrote it mostly in the drafts page and didn't do a whole lot of editing for continuity so it's probs not very realistic nor will it make a ton of sense. But anyway.
Warnings: MC parent death; funeral, angst, angst angst. But I'm hoping if you read it you'll see some cathartic, comforting fluff.
Summary: She and Harry broke up years ago and it was completely fine. But seeing her again, even under sad circumstances has his heart pulling him closer to her.
It had been eight years since he had last laid eyes on her. But when he read the piece on her mum off a mutual friend’s Facebook page he was transported back to one of those moments he spent so totally in love with her.
The idea that her best friend was gone made him terrified for her well being. It was the reason he was in a hotel room, straightening his tie in the mirror. Double checking he didn't miss any spots while shaving. He looked simultaneously presentable yet solemn. Her mum was special, beautiful. She made Harry feel at home the entire time they dated. Bought him thoughtful gifts for his birthday and Christmas. Made sure she bought his favorite snacks and always inquired about school, work, or his favorite show. She joked with her that Harry was too good for her and she didn’t treat him well enough (which was inherently false). She was the perfect girlfriend and had the perfect mum.
He couldn’t imagine how she was feeling.
Harry didn’t want to make his appearance about his arrival at the funeral home at all. He stepped in line silently, tried not to make eye contact with anyone and slowly made his way through toward the front, pretending he was invisible. He looked at the picture boards as he walked along his favorite girl and her mother in so many of them. Both were beautiful and Harry thought she was going to look just like her mother when she was older and so he was really lucky that he would know she was beautiful for the rest of his life. But he would have predicted that anyway.
Their relationship ended amicably enough. They were changing, time moving on, and quite frankly it felt like they couldn't spend enough time together so it didn't seem fair. "Shouldn't we want t'spend time with each other, beautiful? Shouldn't we feel feel bad we're not spending time together? It shouldn't be forced. You're m'favorite person in the world, kitten. S'not fair."
He was right of course. She agreed. So they went their separate ways. Since they were still in university at the time, they saw each other frequently. Their friend groups overlapped a bit so they weren't rid of each other all that much until after graduation. There was even a picture of the pair of them together on that day--her mum's suggestion. It was apparent more so then, that they were changing and moving on but Harry was grateful for that picture. When he saw the notice of her mum's passing, he looked at it fondly and felt something in the pit of his stomach. Wanting and wishing he had made more time for her. That she wasn't so busy and their time apart hadn't lasted as long.
But that was eight years ago. Harry was thirty now. He had a few girlfriends during that time and maybe it wasn't a surprise they didn't work out. When he inquired of his friends if he should go to support her, they said it was up to him. Louis and Eleanor were out of the country so they would send flowers. Mitch and Sarah were waiting for Sarah to give birth at any moment so they too, would send flowers.
"I'll be at the funeral," Niall assured him. "I can't make the visiting hours, sorry, Harry," Harry could hear his frown as they spoke on the phone.
"S'okay, s'nice y'can make it t'any of it. She'll appreciate it."
"I hope," a frown in his voice, a sigh in his tone.
"No, she will," Harry was confident. She would never make Niall feel bad--anyone feel bad. It was just the way she was.
Harry was in front of the urn containing the ashes of her mother and he knelt and said a short prayer for her and her sweet daughter. He tried not to think about his own mother at such a sad time and how he would feel if this was her. He shook his head, blessed himself automatically, and stood to greet the receiving line. It was filled with aunts and uncles who were surprised to see him. He didn't fully understand their surprise (of course he would be there for her--even if things were different now) but moved to each one, quietly apologizing for the loss of their sister and only answering how work, life, and everything was with as few words as possible. It was just her and her mom. Dad was out of the picture before she was even born. It wasn't a bad thing because she was her mum's whole life and she never made her want for anything. "Where is she?" Harry asked quietly. Usually the children were first in the line but she wasn't there.
"Another spat with the boyfriend," her aunt rolled her eyes. "You are by far our favorite," she smiled at him encouragingly. "Don't leave till she gets back, if you can. She deserves to see someone who will make her happy right now," she winked.
Harry felt his eyebrows crawl up his forehead in surprise. He nodded. Pride bloomed inside him for being the favorite. It wasn't the time but he couldn't help it. His heart felt heavy, worried she was with someone horrible. "Yeah, sure. Of course."
So Harry stayed in the little seating area, watching people walk through the receiving line, looking at the slideshow of pictures that somehow managed to boil down to one person's life. There was even a picture or two of him. It made sense, he was in her life for nearly four years and they were inseparable until they weren't.
Harry smiled fondly at the memories within the pictures and wondered where she could be right now. He had seen the full slideshow twice.
"Harry, you're still here?"
He cleared his throat, stood, and shook one of her uncle's hands again. "Yeah... um... haven't seen her yet."
"She went outside with the boyfriend ages ago. I'm assuming they're still arguing or she's trying to calm herself down enough to come in and fake that everything's fine."
Harry frowned. "Maybe I'll go check then," he suggested and headed for the door.
Why was she dating someone if it was clear no one in her family liked him?
The men at the door, let Harry through and he quietly walked to the side of the building wondering where she could be having a private conversation at a funeral home. The side was dark except for a flood light that perfectly illuminated the couple. Harry stepped out of sight but strained to listen.
"What do you mean, 'you have to go'? You're seriously joking right?"
Harry didn't know her voice could take on a tone that sounded so angry like that. They never fought that way. No more than who's pizza topping was better or if they had to pick which dinner place to go to on a busy Saturday night.
"Babe, you know with my work--"
"This is my mother," she croaked. It felt like a bullet through Harry's chest to hear her choked up like that. All that grief wrapping in her throat and pulling on her vocal cords.
"I know, but don't you think she would want me to continue living my life and doing what I need to do so--"
"She's my best friend," her voice cracked because she was crying so hard. Harry wanted to run over, unceremoniously knock him to the ground, and comfort her. "You're supposed to be here to support me!"
"Well you know death kind of freaks me out, babe. I'm trying to support our future. I've been here all day."
Her tone was so biting, he truly couldn't believe it. "You've been here for an hour."
Harry winced and shook his head. No one liked death. Everyone was freaked out by it to some degree. But he was supposed to love her; be there for her.
"If you leave, we're done," Harry felt intrusive for listening in but he couldn't move.
"You don't mean that."
"I do, mean that. I really, really, really, really mean that," she sniffed. Good girl. Harry thought. "I have put up with your bullshit like this for way too long and you're unsupportive and if you leave this is it," she assured him. "Work cannot be more important than me."
"It's important for us, babe. So when we get married--"
"And when will that be?" She shouted.
"For the love of God, we're going to do this now?"
"It's been three years. I'm thirty and wanted kids and you are just..." she trailed off. "Fine. Go. We're done anyway."
"Babe, you don't mean that--"
"I will pack my stuff up when I get home."
"And where are you going to go? You don't have a job right now--"
"BECAUSE I WAS TAKING CARE OF MY DYING MOTHER."
Why was she even with this guy? Harry couldn't fathom it. It was so unlike her to date someone so crass and careless. Or maybe Harry was just filled with rage and envy of a man that couldn't help her the way she deserved.
"Well..." he cleared his throat. "I'm sorry you feel that way. I have a plane to catch. Maybe after you've calmed down and aren't grieving we can have a more pleasant conversation."
A silent moment passed between them. Surely he heard it as he said it. It couldn't have been just her and Harry that heard what he implied. "Do... do you... do you think I'm supposed to be done grieving?" She hissed.
He sighed, mumbled something about calling her when he landed, and walked away. He didn't even notice Harry pressed to the building.
Harry watched him get in his car and pull away as if this wasn't the worst day of her life. Harry took several deep breaths to calm himself. This wasn't about him or how he wanted to strangle him. This was about her, her grief.
She was leaning against the wall. She was heaving, sobbing into one hand. For what, at that point, Harry didn't know. He could only see her from behind, the same figure he could have picked out in a lineup and if he was blind. But she seemed smaller. Withdrawn of course. Her free arm wrapped around her stomach like she was trying to hold herself together.
"Hey beautiful," he murmured softly. She sniveled, spun around. Harry was met with her face grief stricken, heartbroken, and tear soaked. But yeah, she was still as beautiful as he remembered. "Aw, kitten," he cooed gently. "C'mon s'cold outside. Let's get you--"
She threw herself against him as he approached. Her arms around his neck and she continued her sobbing against his shoulder. Sighing, he wrapped his arms wrapped around her waist and back, she fit effortlessly into his embrace even after eight or so years since he last saw her. It felt natural to hold her like this. "I know," he murmured comfortingly. "I know, kitten," he kissed the side of her head, soothingly rubbing his hand up and down her spine.
"Please don't let go of me," she cried. "I can't--"
"Shh," he hushed. "M'here. M'not letting go until you do," he promised softly. He hoped she wouldn't pull away because he wanted to take care of her the way that asshole couldn't. It didn't matter what the past was it only mattered that her sweet self could find some sort of contentment.
"Please don't leave me," she begged. "I can't do this alone."
It felt like a switch changed in him. Or maybe it was the anger he felt for her ex-boyfriend. Or perhaps a combination of missing her when he didn't really know he had been missing her and all the frustration he felt for the reasons she was so distraught. He would do anything for her. "No way, beautiful. M'not going anywhere," he assured her pressing his lips instinctively to the top of her hair. Patiently he listened to her cries, held her tightly, and lightly brought a hand to the side of her neck. He carefully pressed his fingertips against her skin, hoping that if she was aching (which he assumed every part of her was) it relieved the smallest bit of tension.
"How much did you hear?" She sniveled pulling away enough to glance into his eyes. Her face was blotchy and red, she was sure. Harry looked like he just left his modeling job for ties and cologne. She wanted to look more beautiful--so it would have at least made sense that Harry had ever decided to date her--even if it was years ago. But she was so overwhelmed with sadness, she couldn't feel anything but that and not even her horrendous look could deter her long enough to utter more than a quick apology for snotting all over him. "M'sorry. I look--"
"Shh," he hushed immediately. Harry pulled a handkerchief from his pocket--Mum was always insistent he have one when he wore a suit. Someone is always crying when you need to wear a suit and it's not to work. Carefully, he dabbed under her eyes, and swiped the fabric across her delicate cheeks. "You look beautiful," he assured her a kind, small smile made his lips curl up just enough to get the dimple in his cheek to appear. The one she had told him she was going to stick her tongue in back when they laid on a mattress that was too small for two people and resulted in a giggling tickle fight between two people who were much too old for tickle fights.
What he would have given to make her laugh now.
Harry kept one arm around her waist taking over her own job to hold herself together. "How much did you hear?" She repeated.
He shrugged, nonchalantly. "Too much, probably."
She frowned; if she could muster an emotion other than sadness and grief, she probably would have been embarrassed. "I'm sorry."
"I'm sorry. I was waiting inside, but then your uncle said y'were out here and I wanted t'see you and--"
"Do you need to leave?" She asked quickly. "I'm sorry I'm holding--"
"Kitten," he said gently pinching her chin between his fingers so she had no choice but to look in his eyes and process what he was saying. "M'staying here until y'tell me t'leave."
She sighed. For the first time in what felt like months she felt relief. "Okay."
*
She dragged him alongside her to the front of the receiving line. Harry felt slightly embarrassed and out of place but the rest of her family paid no attention to it. Like he was supposed to be there. She hugged and cried a lot over the next two hours. Harry handed her tissues and water.
“What if I don’t tell you to leave?” She whispered. Harry was standing so close to her that no one else could hear. Like it was just the two of them. She was sipping from a water bottle and Harry was stroking her hair back with his fingers while wiping below her eyes with a tissue.
“Then I’ll never go," his voice was quiet, like hers. He kissed her forehead softly.
"You don't have to obviously, you have no obligation... but is there any chance you were planning to be here tomorrow?" She asked.
He nodded hurriedly. "Course, kitten," he smiled gently, almost sad that she thought he wouldn't. "Niall's going t'come too. He's really sorry he couldn't make it tonight," he explained. "I have a hotel room right nearby so I can stay s'long as y'need me. Do anything y'need, too. And Niall m'sure would be happy t'help if y'need anything requiring two people, as well."
"Really?" A fresh well of tears filled her eyes and Harry's grin grew even if it was sad she was so surprised.
"Of course, beautiful. We... we want t'be here for you," he assured her.
She pressed her face against his shoulder again and sniveled against him. "I owe you a new suit," she mumbled into the fabric.
"Shh..." he hushed. "M'here," he promised. "Don't worry 'bout anything else."
*
His hotel room was dark when they entered. Harry didn’t want anything to happen that could be misconstrued due to her grief but she seemed adamant and sure that she wanted to spend the night. Harry was planning to sleep on the floor but instead they chatted way too much. Much later than a girl who had her mum’s funeral the following morning should have chatted. She giggled the way Harry loved and smiled despite how sad she was. Harry told her all about the last eight years, his job, his mum, their old friends and everything in between.
When he looked at the clock, his phone said it was well past one in the morning and she needed to be up early. “Think y’need t’sleep, kitten,” he was lying beside her, fully clothed except he lost the tie. He was brushing her hair away from her face watching her eyes droop.
“Mom didn’t like him,” she whispered. “She didn’t like anyone that wasn’t you,” she told him.
Harry swallowed nervously. Not because he was worried about her sentiment but because her grief was fresh and the tire tracks of where her stupid ex peeled out of the parking lot were still warm. Her mind had to be jumbled and as much as he wanted to kiss her and make promises, it wasn’t the time. Harry was older and more mature now. The way he wasn’t but wished he had been when they broke up. “After that performance, beautiful,” he sighed with a shake of his head. “M’surprised she didn’t poison him.”
“He didn’t even like her oatmeal raisin and white chocolate chip cookies,” she grumbled bitterly.
“Kitten,” he tutted. “How could you let that continue?” He joked, nudging her playfully.
She turned on her side, their faces inches apart on the same pillow. “Thank you for being here for me,” she whispered.
“There’s no where else I want t’be, beautiful,” he promised.
“I didn’t realize how much I missed you. It’s sad this is what it took.”
He leaned forward, pressed his lips to her forehead and let the kiss linger there. “Do y’want me t’sleep on the floor?”
“No,” she shook her head. “This is the first night I’ve felt tired in months. You have to stay here if you want me to sleep through the night.”
“If you’re sure,” he reached for the bedside lamp and turned it off. He didn’t want to change into different clothes or anything. He just wanted to be there for her.
“This is also your hotel room that I invited myself into," she reminded him.
He grinned at her in the dark. “You’ve always had an open invitation, t’me, kitten,” he brought her closer toward him, kissing the top of her head.
There would be about a thousand and one things to discuss after the funeral. But right then it was late, and they needed to sleep because the day was going to bring more exhaustion and sadness that was inevitable. “Did you mean it?” She whispered quietly after Harry thought she had fallen asleep.
“Mean what, beautiful?” He murmured.
“You’ll never go?”
He nodded. “Mmm,” he hummed inhaling the scent of her shampoo. “I meant it,” his words were slurred with sleep and she knew it because she had heard it in his voice hundreds of times in their time together. He was on the brink of dreaming and her mind was reeling.
“Mom wanted us to get back together,” she whispered. “For ages. She had our graduation picture on the fridge,” she explained. “When I was taking care of her these last few months and he was useless, she kept mentioning you. Told me it wasn’t too late to start over. I guess... I guess this was one way she thought she could bring us back together.”
There was no response because Harry had fallen asleep, and she was close behind. She brought the hand that held his to her lips and kissed his fingers inhaling the comforting smell of him as she finally felt like sleep.
“Your mum was the best,” he mumbled. “She brought you into this world, just for me t’find you.”
The words were lost in her mind, her throat, and her aching heart. But she liked to believe that Harry knew already because he was there, and he wasn’t planning on leaving again.
“We can start over, beautiful. M’not going anywhere,” he whispered one more time as sleep overtook her tired mind.
--
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zegalba · 5 months
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Runway invitations from SS97 and AW97 scanned from Hi Fashion no.255 and no.277.
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bebemoon · 7 months
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paloma wool's invite for their first show in paris, s/s 2o23 collection .
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classycookiexo · 16 days
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thatsbelievable · 4 months
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maxxxam · 9 months
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slaterinc · 10 months
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maison margiela autumn / winter 2007 show invitation
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cinematicjourney · 2 months
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Invitation (2020) | dir. Kim In Shik
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garadinervi · 3 days
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Antoni Tàpies, (exhibition invitation), Galerie Maeght, 1969 [Solomon R. Guggenheim Museum Archives, Solomon R. Guggenheim Museum / Foundation, New York, NY. Art: © Fundació Antoni Tàpies, Barcelona]
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libraryofva · 2 months
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Recent Acquisition - Ephemera Collection
A Party for Someone Who's Sweet Sixteen ... Invitation, 1960
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zegalba · 1 year
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Betsey Johnson: Pill Bottle Runway Invitation spring/summer 2014
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weirdlookindog · 7 months
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classycookiexo · 16 days
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I live by this and people always go “you’re more than welcome to come” but I always let them know that if I was, they’d have invited me initially, not after the fact.
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