Pretty Please Don't Pinch Me

38. Famous

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Upstairs, the washing machine beeps, and in a daydream like state, I walk towards the machine to grab my things to add to the dryer. Before I reach the laundry, my mother calls out to me,

"Darling do you want these things placed in the dryer?"

Oh God. She's already beat me to it.

"Woah, someone's in a rush," my mum points out, "and since when did you become so keen to do your washing? Today isn't linen day."

"I - uh... well, it needed to be done, and I felt like fresh sheets," I quickly recover. Though I really do wish Harry was here to answer for me. He seemed to have a handle on this kind of thing.

"Ava," my mother turns to me, "I wasn't born yesterday."

"I don't know what you're talking ab-"

She raises her hand to stop me, "Ava, you don't need to lie to me. You're an adult, and you probably don't want to be having this conversation with your mother, just as much as I would at your age," she says in a motherly way, before smiling warmly.

She knows. She actually knows! Dear God.

"You're quite serious about him, aren't you dear?" she adds.

I can't say anything, so I just nod, keeping my eyes firmly on the floor.

"I can tell," she starts, as she turns the dryer on. "I knew from the minute you brought him home that-" and she suddenly cuts herself off. "Darling, what's wrong?" she consoles, bringing me into one of her motherly hugs.

Without my knowledge, tears have begun falling down my cheeks, and I'm now sobbing. My mother soothes me by rubbing my back while I pull myself together.

Why am I even crying?

"I'm just being silly," I sniffle, "I don't even know why I'm crying. Everything is almost perfect between us."

The word 'almost' hangs in the air, and reverberates around the room.

"I just really like him," I tell her. "But it's like this is all too good to be true. That I'm thinking of how and when it's going to end before it's even really started."

"Sweetheart, this isn't your typical boy meets girl situation. Not by any means at all. But if you two just work together, you can get through this."

"But what about when we're not together. Like when he's off in some fabulous country on tour? My mind is obviously going to question the relationship. I don't know if I can put myself through that and still remain sane."

"Well let me tell you something about your father and I. When we first started going out, we had all odds stacked against us. He was attending university in Sydney, while I had my schooling and work here, in Melbourne. My parents absolutely couldn't stand him, which is the understatement of the century. We had to date in secret."

"How did you even make that work though?" I ask, impressed at how they could now have a happy marriage with what originally started out as an awfully challenging situation.

"Trust," she answers firmly, "And a lot of it, might I add."

"Yeah, but Dad didn't have millions of hormonally infused girls lusting after him," I smirk.

"You didn't see your father back then," she admits, smiling back in her daydream, while I pretend to gag.

"You both just need to talk things through, and be open and honest with each other honey."