Three Years, Five Months and Eleven Days

Chapter Twenty-Five

Hey guys! I'm baaaack :D 

Here is the next chapter. I apologise that not much has been happening in the last few, and I hope I didn't lose any readers out of boredom, but this one is a big 'un. SERIOUSLY. 

The song on the side is Your Embrace by Shakira... The lyric 'Hope it isn't too late to say, I love you' is releavant to this chapter. The picture on the side is one of Beth and Debby :) 

Happy reading. Please vote and comment :D

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     ‘Mum and Dad are coming home tomorrow,’ Robert said two days later at dinner. I choked on my pasta.

     After coughing and spluttering for a few seconds, then gulping down some water I managed to say ‘Are you serious?’ He nodded at me, raising his eyebrows. ‘How long have you known this for?’ I asked him.

     He shrugged. ‘I dunno. Maybe a week.’

     ‘Why-why are you only telling me now?’

     ‘It never came up,’ Rob said. He was acting casual, continuing to eat. This was only fair, because for him it was completely normal: our parents had come home millions of times before. But for me it would be different: Michael was going to make me talk to my mother. About my feelings.

     I looked at Michael and he gave me a knowing look. He was thinking about the same thing, and it didn’t look like he would let me get away with not doing it.

     It wasn’t like I didn’t want to do it, he was absolutely right that I’d never talked to her about her leaving, about how I felt towards her and it was something I had to do. But that didn’t mean I was looking forward to it.

     ‘Will you try and be nice to her?’ Rob suggested.

     ‘She’ll be nicer then ever before,’ Michael told him. He turned to me and grinned. ‘I’ll make sure of it.’

     ‘I’m gonna hold you to that Michael,’ Rob warned him. I shook my head in wonder at them, the two men in my life, who worked so hard to make me a better person. They pissed me off so much, but I loved them anyway.

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     ‘What should I wear?’ I asked Michael the next morning. I was standing in front of my wardrobe, staring at my clothes and he was lounged on my bed, concentrating on Facebook more than me.

     ‘Whatever you want to,’ he replied.

     ‘Life is never that simple when you’re a girl,’ I told him, rubbing my eyes in frustration. ‘Well at least not for me.’

     ‘It’s your mum,’ he said, looking at me now. ‘Wear your pyjamas for all she cares.’

     ‘You don’t know my mum.’

     ‘I bet she’s wonderful,’ he muttered, eyes back on his laptop. I didn’t reply, I was long past the point where I could argue with him about my mum: he just did not listen, refusing to believe anything I told him about her.

     ‘Also, how do I tell her that I’ve got an eighteen-year-old boyfriend who is living with me for the summer?’ I asked.

     ‘Just like that,’ he said, shrugging as if it was obvious.