At the prime age of eighteen, Josephine was aching for something new. Something thrilling. Something electrifying.
That something was a someone, and his name was Harry.
Little did poor Josephine know, she was in for many things monumental when it...
A/N: For the purposes of hotness and just because the album fits the story, Nelly Furtado released Loose in the 90's
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★Tuesday 22th June, 1999★
"Josephine," My Father says from the head of the table, the roast my mother had cooked up sitting idly in the middle on a table cloth she had been gifted at christmas by one of the people in their church circle.
Every Monday is roast night. Most have a Sunday roast but in the Jones family, it's a Monday roast. That's how my mom's mother did it and hers before. ANd every Monday afternoon I am in the kitchen 'learning' how to prepare a roast dinner for my future husband, mother's words not mine.
We have assigned seating at the table, not officially but god forbid any of us were to sit anywhere else. Father is at the head of the table, shocking, my mother to his right and my brother to his left. I sit next to my mother, furthest away from my Father. Whether it was intentional or not, I honestly do not mind. I'd rather sit far away from his disgusting old man breath than getting a new whiff of it each time he decides to chime in on his all so godly opinion.
Most of the kids in the block's parents are all around the same age, in their early to mid forties. This isn't the case for my own. My mother is only thirty-nine while Father is fifty-four. That's a fifteen year age gap between them.
They both met at church, how romantic, and supposedly hit it off. I find that weird considering my mother was sixteen and my father was thirty-one. Their romantic relationship supposedly didn't exist until mom was eighteen which I still find oddly strange. But nonetheless, mother preached on how inlove she is with Father since she was seventeen and that he was a kind gentleman and would come around for iced tea every saturday lunch.
So while my mother is still young and youthful looking, Father has harsh wrinkled lines that spread all over him, sun spots already arising on his face, neck and hands, as well as small sections of light gray hair spread throughout his hair like a red wine stain on a carpet. It's more commonly known as salt and pepper hair but I feel that's being too kind in Father's case.
"Yes Father?" I timidly speak, usually at dinners, my Father never speaks to me, meaning I cannot speak. The whole you can't speak unless spoken to rule that seems pretty outdated in my eyes.
"Finley came around today asking for you but you weren't here when I called out. WHere were you?" Father's eyes narrow at my stiff body. I was hoping Father wasn't home today but I guess he came back after I had left.
After seeing Louis getting into Finn's car early this morning, I went to Barbie's house not really knowing who else to talk to. She had calmed me down from my conspiring mind and told me that I shouldn't jump to any conclusions just yet.
Quite hard Barbie when I see my brother get into my boyfriend's car at two in the morning, especially when one is covered up head to toe so as to not be spotted.
