Tiring Mornings

chapter eighteen

Stiles had called a couple of more times, but we went our seperate ways when we reached Amber's house, Stiles having a thirty second longer drive than us. Now, we're here, with me trudging my bag up with me, watching as Amber carries her suitcase to the top of the steps- which I really don't get, considering we're here for two days and it's her own house. 

Amber lifts her fist to knock, but before she gets the chance, the door is thrown open and Amber is being embraced by Mrs. Johnson so tightly she squeaks. She let's go of her daughter abruptly when she sees me, pushing her aside to engulf me in just as tight of a hug. When my hug lasts twice as long as Amber's, Amber scoffs, mutters something about being unloved, and rolls her suitcase inside.

Mrs. Johnson pulls back and grabs my face in her hands, examining me. "Terrance, sweetie, how are you?"

I can tell by the way her eyebrows furrow at my appearance she knows what I'm about to say is a lie. "I'm great, Mrs. Johnson. It's good to see you again."

Amber's mom let's it slide. She releases my face and reaches for my bag. "Oh, let me get that for you, honey. A young man like you shouldn't need the extra weight."

I laugh. "It's alright, Mrs. Johnson. I got it."

Mrs. Johnson looks ready to protest, but I slip past her, easily carrying the bag in my grasp. Once inside, I'm met with heavy footsteps and Mr. Johnson hugging Amber, who complains when he messes up her hair. 

When his attention reaches me, Mr. Johnson gives me a broading smile and a fist bump. He laughs a deep, healthy laugh, and places a hand on my back. Amber and I are led to the kitchen, where Mrs. Johnson begins to shuffle around right away.

"Oh, dear, you two must be so hungry," she says, already pulling out some pans, but then second guessing herself. "Or should I order pizza?"

"It's fine, Mrs. Johnson," I laugh. "We got lunch on the way here."

"Yeah, mom, chill," Amber agrees. She thinks about it. "Actually, get pizza. Pizza is good."

I offer to pay, but Mrs. Johnson shoots it down right away, claiming I'm a guest. I don't argue, either; there's no point. Amber's mother is not a woman to be argued with. While the pizza is ordered, Mr. Johnson leads us upstairs. I drop my bags off in the guest room, and follow Amber into her room, where she's unpacking. Once in there, I jump onto the bed and crawl under her covers.

"Get out of my bed, loser," she says, throwing one of her old teddy bears she has lying around at me.

"It's comfortable," I tell her, voice muffled by the glory that is her pillow. I close my eyes, stretching out the muscles of my back and promptly relaxing into the sheets. The sweet bliss doesn't last long, though; soon enough, Amber is jumping on the bed, hitting me with the teddy bear. I grab her by the waist and pull her down, yanking the pillow from underneath me and hitting it with her. She attempts to deflect my hits with the teddy bear, but I end up swatting it right out of her grasp.

Amber gasps. "You didn't."

She grabs the other pillow on the bed, hitting my head with it so hard I have to blink to regain focus. It takes me too long, though, because when I do, Amber has another hit placed at my arm. i regain composure and aim a swing at her head, but she ducks. Before she can aim another swing at me, I hear a deep clear of the throat, and almost fall off the bed.

Mr. Johnson looks weirded out, which is understandable, because his daughter is in University and is having a pillow fight after being home for less than an hour. He looks at Amber, then at me, then back at Amber, and simply states, "Pizza's here."