Because You're Different ✔

7. Boiling water

Nathan

Things hadn't always been like this. Truthfully, I couldn't remember a lot about our parents from back when I was a kid. It was grandma and grandpa who had always been there, who'd taken us to school and picked us up, who went to the zoo and museums with us, who organized birthday parties and board game nights. Our parents had always been gone, on business trips or to their other house to concentrate on work, on spa retreats or holidays in European cities. Grandpa had frequently argued with his son whenever they'd finally return to Palo Alto, but it'd never helped. They would stay for a while, and then they'd grow bored and leave again.

But then grandpa had died, and grandma shortly after, and suddenly, Simon Jr. and Madeline had to look after their own kids. For a while, it went alright, even though I fought with them a lot. I had Lena, and Lena was a master at making up plans to annoy them, and with her as a friend, it wasn't hard to survive living under one roof with my own parents. Of course, at one point, they grew restless once more and hired a nanny for Sam, so they could disappear again whenever they wanted. First, only a few days. Then, it turned into weeks at the time, then a month, a couple of months — and even longer, like now.

They stayed for two weeks. Time always slowed down when they were home, and ever since Lena wasn't here anymore, it seemed to go even slower. Luckily, there was June. Sam mainly went to her place after school — Simon Jr. and Madeline were mostly busy anyway, entertaining their Californian friends and business associates.

The first night, they took Sam to the theater, as if he would enjoy that, under the false pretense of spending quality time with their son. In truth, they wanted to let everyone know they were back in town and that they were doing as fantastic as ever. I wondered if anyone ever fell for their little displays. After that, they felt like they'd devoted enough time to Sam and ignored him again, like they had done with me when I was his age.

June had tactically confessed she missed being at her own house, so for the duration of our parents' stay, Sam and she went to her place after school instead of ours. I made sure I remained at campus for as long as I could, even though I never really liked being there. I didn't deserve to go to Stanford, after all; if it hadn't been for Simon and Madeline, I would've never gotten in. But now, I voluntarily crashed in someone's dorm and even attended the obligatory party. They weren't as bad as they could've been: with a decent amount of booze in your system, it was alright, especially with the knowledge I was escaping my parents' nauseating dinner parties.

So, after two weeks of maneuvering through the depths of hell, I was sitting in the Mercedes-Benz, admittedly with large circles under my eyes, but smiling contently. It was over. It could be months until we had to endure them again.

June was the first to spot me. I liked to think she let her gaze travel over the waiting cars every single afternoon, seeing if I was there to get them. She smiled, and elbowed Sam. He clenched his jaw, but then she pointed at the car, and he smiled as well, immediately breaking into a run. For once, June copied him, ignoring all the kids who were staring at her legs.

"They're gone?" Sam asked, and when I nodded, he and June did a high five — twice, because she missed the first time.

"Well, I think I know the perfect way to celebrate," she said. At that moment, I would've loved to high five her as well, no matter how many times we had to try before we got it right.

She didn't want us watching her. She said it made her nervous. So, I pretended I was rewatching one of my lectures, and Sam was in the living room, putting the Xbox back where it belonged after Madeline had banned it to his room.

Sorry, but June was way more interesting than my lecture. Every time she almost caught me staring at her, I hastily focused on the screen again, making sure I looked profusely bored. She was cooking for us, her abuela's recipe with a complicated Spanish name. I hadn't even known she could cook, much less cook like this. The smell rising from the pots and pans on the stove was mouth-watering, and my stomach rumbled more furiously every time she lifted one of the lids to add another mysterious spice.