Contrastive

Chapter 3

We reach Jacques's house. It's pretty nice and I'm excited to see how it looks inside. Seeing other people's homes is always so interesting to me. Even when people tell me my house is nicer than theirs, I will always love other people's homes more than my own. That house is not a home.

I focus back into the real world. Damn, I was doing such a good job.

"Mon cœur!" exclaims Jacques's mother as she greets him as soon as he's in the door;she hugs him promptly,"Ça s'est bien passé votre journée?"

"Ouais," he replies tensing as if he is embarrassed his mother is showing affection; I, however, am trying to recall the last time my own mother and I had spoken or even made eye contact,when he speaks again,"Maman, I have un ami  with me," pulling from his mother's clutch.

Her face lights up as she meets the sight of me."Hi!" she exclaims,"What is your name?" she asks cheerfully, her poofy,shoulder length, brown hair bouncing as she turns to face me,examining.

"I'm Travis," I reply simply,suddenly losing my chattery mood.

"Nice to meet you. I'm glad my little Jacques has made a friend," she says baby-talking his name.

I smile a little. Jacques swallows nervously.

His mom is plump, like most women who don't quite lose the weight after childbirth. She has smooth skin with a mole near her eye and medium brown hair that waves on the ends and is styled like most mothers. Her straight white teeth offer a warm welcome as she smiles, apple of her cheeks adorned with soft peach blush. Her hands are clasped in front of her, resting on the lap of her black skirt tucked into her chestnut coloured turtleneck.

"We could order some pizza tonight. What kind do you prefer?" she asks politely.

My palms sweat slightly as excitement ripples through me. I bite my lower lip ; I love pizza.

"Sausage and mushroom with extra cheese," I reply trying not to sound as ecstatic as I feel.

She nods,"Alright," she replies simply. She looks like she's preparing to say something else when Jacques speaks up.

"We're gonna head upstairs," he says, taking a step towards the stairs.

"Oh, okay then. I'll tell you when the pizza arrives," she says, realizing she'll have to save chat for later,"I'm still going to make dessert though," she adds with a clap,turning and going into the kitchen.

"Where's you dad?" I ask.

"He's still at work,I suppose," answers Jacques shrugging and taking a small glance around.

He leads me up the stairs,and I grab the banister as I follow him up. There's still boxes throughout the hall with eggshell decorative wallpaper on the walls. It's bare besides a picture of a family portrait of Jacques, his parents, and an older boy I assume is his brother. I only glimpse at it and decide I'll study it later. Pictures intrigue me,especially of people. Lots of seemingly pointless things seem to.

We reach his room at the very end of the hallway; it too has a few boxes inside,pushed against the farthest wall.His bed is in disarray with the thick cream blanket still thrown back to reveal his sandstone-coloured sheets. I feel very tempted to flop down on it on my back and take a nap. I look up at the champagne curtains responsible for the soft lighting of the room. The floor is carpet, virgin white.

I decide to take off my Converse and put them by the door. I then sit on the bed, finding it even harder to resist the urge to lay back and sleep until the next millennium. I glance at the walls, a powder blue.