Chris' POV
I left the house with Zoey and Emma on their own, probably a bad decision but it's too late to turn back now. I can already feel my senses tingling at their diabolical discussions of ways to wreck the entire house simply because they know that I'll let them do so in a heartbeat.
Hell, it took me so much willpower to not succumb to Emma's watery eyes and not get her those chocolates and not show how happy I was to see Zoey and Emma interact like they've not just known each other for a few months, but a few years in fact.
Asking Seth to take Emma away from my mother all of a sudden is . . .
Not exactly the best idea?
Things can basically spiral out of control - things might happen - collateral damage will be induced - detrimental impacts - all those kind of stuff.
It basically sucks.
But it's the only healthy option I can think of, so.
Not that healthy after all, considering Zoey and Emma are shoving boxes after boxes of chocolates into their systems.
And my ears are ringing and the dull, persistent ache in my head that has been there since just now hasn't go away either. It's not going to go away any sooner too, I think.
Things are going to get complicated and I'm not going to like it.
-
After a few more minutes worth of drive, I got out of the car and standing right in front of me is the building that I've been dreading to visit, for like what, months? Years?
Okay, I get it, I might seem cruel, selfish, impudent, whatever, but I swear to bloody god that I'm not one of those immature teenagers that hates their parents and moves out because of some stupid reason.
I do have a reason but it's not a stupid one.
I enter the building to get into the apartment. I'm a coward to be very honest, when I need Emma to stay over at mine, I just can't find the courage to come over and pick her up myself. Most of the time, Seth would do the job for me. I think he gets it, he gets that I don't have the balls to do so, so he doesn't say anything when I call him in the middle of my drive here, to realise that I just don't want to face her just yet.
All it took was a light tap on before heavy but unsteady footsteps came barrelling from the other side of the door.
She flungs the door open and oh -
Oh.
Okay.
Why am I shocked.
I guess it just finally hits me that - right, Chris, you haven't seen your mom for a year or two already.
Grey hairs are peeking out at the sides of her midnight black hair, her eyes are tired but there's confusion, annoyance and shock in them. Faint wrinkles crowd around the corner of her eye when she blinks up at me.
"Hi mom."
"Fucking christ."
"Oh."
"Where is she?"
"At my place."
She snarls with animosity that I didn't know her frail body seems to be capable of. Then she grunts and slams the door wide open. She walks off and I take that as my cue to follow her in.
The place is well kept and - to be honest, I don't know what to expect out of this visit.
"When will she be back?"
"I'm not sure. She's with Zoey right now."
"That's your girlfriend." She spat like the idea is a disease.
"Yes."
"How pleasant."
She lays down on the couch, I remain standing at the end of it.
"I don't remember anything, but I think the previous me wouldn't approve of your little pathetic relationship."
I want to laugh. My little pathetic relationship? Words cloud my mind and I badly want to say, "Oh but Mom, her eyes are fucking gorgeous and I fell in love with her before I even realised it myself. The way she laughs at me makes me think of my future with her and I think I'm still going to be so whipped, so in love with her, ten years down the road. Her mind is prettier than poetry and her soul is so full of passion, it makes me wonder if she's going to be laughing or crying when she walks down the wedding aisle. I'm obsessed with how she is usually so proud of her work, she would be grinning the entire day. I love it when I would fuck up something and she would either start chasing after me with a knife or shrug and smiles that smile with a simple 'oops, you're an idiot'. Maybe she wasn't there during that period of my life when I needed someone the most, but she sure as hell was there when I needed her the most."
However, all I managed, was a pathetic, "It's not pathetic."
She laughs.
"You know, I remember. I remember that your dad left me."
I have no idea how to respond to that, so I don't.
"I was just like you, drunk in the deceiving idea of love and hope. And look at me now. This will be you in ten years' time."
I don't say anything.
"I don't remember giving birth to you, I don't remember what made me want to give birth to you, but I'm sure that I'm regretting all the decisions I've made."
"Your dad is a jerk, you know. He just left. Then, I wake up and - suddenly, I have a son and a fucking daughter?"
"I didn't sign up for this and I don't even know why is Emma living with me in the first place."
She covers her eyes and winces, as if the sunlight is hurting her. I cross the room to draw the curtains.
"Good. No light is good. Get out of my house now, you're making me think. You remind me of him. Get out. My head hurts."
I remain silent as I rummage through the kitchen to find some tablets. I hand them over to her with a glass of water.
"You know, Mom, in ten years' time, I think I can picture me and Zoey waking up on the same bed. I'll make the breakfast and she'll continue to sleep until the smell of food wakes her up and sends her tripping over sheets, into the kitchen. I'll send her to work and I'll kiss her hard everyday. I'll have dinner with her every night and I'll make sure she isn't bullied at work. I'll text her when I feel like it and I'll call her to hear her ramble about her day. I'll go to sleep knowing that, I'm contented with my life because I believe that everything that happened brought her to me and she is all I ever wanted as a lover and much more."
-
Zoey's POV
"Okay Emma, according to my calculations, your dear brother will be back in 8 minutes."
"Operation Prank-my-brother-and-your-boyfriend is going great!"
"Where are his shirts?"
"Should we use the maroon one or the white one?"
"The white one!"
"Okay! It's here!"
"Good. Should we add more barbecue sauce?"
"Yes! I'll do it!"
I hop into the bedroom and grab another one of Chris' grey shirts and tug it over my head.
"Okay, Emma, I'm done!"
"Me too."
"Okay, I'll be on the couch and you'll be in the kitchen, alright?"
"Yes!"
"Okay, according to my calculations again, he's going to be back in another 2 minutes."
"He's so slow."
"I know, right."
"Ugh."
"He takes hours to get ready."
"Ugh."
"He - "
The sound of footsteps followed by keys rattling shut us up.
"Oh my god."
"He's not so slow after all."
"Zoey, I'm so excited."
"Get into our positions!"
Emma screams silently as she run off.
The door creaks open as I peel off the foil around the chocolate.
I pretend to be unaware of his confused stare and begin to chew on the chocolate messily.
Very messily.
Like using Chris' precious grey shirt to clean the chocolate of my face kind of messy.
Like wiping my chocolate-stained fingers on the shirt kind of messy.
I turn around in utmost amusement as he stares on with abject horror.
"Oh hi, Chris."
Okay, this would be a great time for -
Emma bounces into the room with Chris' precious white shirt in her hand.
"Chris! You're back!"
And she begins to furiously wipe the puddle of barbecue sauce on the floor.
With his precious white shirt.
I can almost hear his choked gasp from a few metres away.
"Oh, you know. We made some burgers and Emma spilt some barbecue sauce, we couldn't find any rag or anything, so.
There's a moment of silence in which Chris takes to process everything, while Emma continues to swipe at the floor.
"What."
"Hmm?"
"What the fuck."
"What?"
"Did you really."
"What?"
"You know what!"
"I don't?"
"Is that my - "
"No? That's mine."
"Are you sure?"
"Yes. I'm sure that's my barbecue sauce that I bought last Thursday with my own money."
"No! I mean the shirt! Is that my shirt? That is my shirt. Fucking christ. That's my shirt!"
"Uh huh."
"I think I'm going to kick someone."
"Brother, you are so weird." Emma pipes in.
"Am not?"
"You are!"
"I'm not going to talk to guys anymore."
"Aw come on!"
He storms off into our bedroom.
"Is that how your brother usually behaves?"
"Is that how your boyfriend usually behaves?"
I sigh theatrically.
-
After giving our drama king 10 minutes to cool down, I brought the burgers that we really did make into the room.
He's on the bed, with his laptop. I peek over his shoulder and -
How to get barbecue sauce out of a white shirt
I almost burst out laughing.
"Peace offering?"
Chris glares at me but mumbles a "accepted, but you're not forgiven."
"Yay." He can't be that mad at us.
"You have like thirty pieces of the same shirt anyway."
"It's not the same!"
"Kay."
"How dare you."
"I'm trying to make peace! I'm sorry, I love you. Okay, you're not angry now. You're not angry. Are you?"
"No."
"Yay," so I shove the burger into his hands and kiss him on cheek.
In the name of peace.
-
Emma and Chris are having one of those siblings quarrel again.
And I think Emma has the upper hand right now - which is amusing, of course.
"So, Zoey -" Chris glares at me, "- who's side are you on?"
Instinctively, I would be supporting Emma, because, you know, it's just funny to make fun of Chris. But I still kinda feel bad for destroying his shirts so. . .
I'm sorry, Emma.
"I think - I think I'm with Chris?"
"Hah!"
"No!" They exclaim at the same time.
I stare on as they continue on with their bickering. And I thought - is this what I'm going to see for the rest of my life?
Cause, I think I'm pretty damn sure that I haven't been this contented continuously for a long time.
But - for the rest of my life?
Am I assuming too much or am I turning into an obsessive girlfriend?
A wave of appreciation and giddiness hits me and for a moment, all I can do is stare unwaveringly, fondly at Chris. I didn't realise that I've zoned out until I see Chris mouthing words at me. I blink for a moment and - okay, I'm back.
"- Emma, goddamn, stop talking. Hey, Zoey. Hey."
"Yeah?"
Chris smiles shyly, "Can you do that again?"
"Do what?"
"Look at me like that."
"Like what?"
"Look at me like I'm your everything."
"Jesus christ," I curse quietly and I'm not blushing, "Don't I always look at you like that?"
Chris grins and Emma groans, mumbling something about teenagers these days, making a hasty retreat to the kitchen.
"You're a sap, Zoey Summers."
"Kay. Says the one that thanked me for making you a happier person the first thing in the morning for like what, six consecutive days?"
"That's not counted as being a sap."
"Kay."
He scoffs, "Don't patronize me, Summers."
"Alright."
"Half the time, I have no idea what to say to you when you give me short answers."
"Then don't."
He seems to consider it for a moment, "You're right. I won't." He scoots closer to me and manhandles me so that I'm practically sprawled over his lap.
"What."
"I'll kiss you in response."
"What."
"I said, I'll kiss you, in response, to your, short answers."
"Yes. I know, and I said 'what.' "
I blink, just in time to feel, rather than see, lips crashing into mine. I melt into it, because it's a kiss from my boyfriend, goddamn.
We pull away and Chris runs his fingers through my hair with his eyes still closed and a dumb grin on his face.
Yeah, I can get used to this. Not that I'm not quite used to it already.
-FIN-