Darkness in Me [Fight the Fade]
Human [Krewella]
Bad Child [Tones and I]
Things Are Gonna Get Better [NEFFEX]
From seeingConner’s car and knowing that his parents bought him an apartment, I know his house would also be lovely to look at. Extravagant.
Conner lives on a street where all the homes are nice, with well-groomed yards, and it’s quiet. Until Conner winds down his window, the music pumping, and he sings along. My heart jumps out of my chest, and I smile apologetically when I see a lady watering her garden.
Conner turns into a long driveway. There are already two other cars there: a nice, flashy emerald Mazda and a black Nissan. Conner parks behind the Mazda, switches off the car, and hops out. I want to melt into the ground and vanish. We arrived in record time, and I didn’t have time to hype myself up and ease the anxiety. We talked the entire time, which helped meavoid getting so nervous, but as soon as we entered the driveway, the knots in my stomach resurfaced.
Conner opens the door. As I step out, I ask, “Are your parents home?”
“Yes. They both took half days today to come home and cook dinner,” he says, making my stomach drop. “They really want to meet you.”
“Why?”
“I speak highly of you.”
That’s an immense amount of pressure.
I step out of the car and follow Conner down the cobblestone path. On my left, there are vibrant, well-tended rose bushes, even in this summer heat rippling down on us. But now that I look at it, the grass is green, straight, and perhaps even fake. Above the roses, large, crystal-clear windows dominate most of the first floor, but I can’t see through the glass-tinted windows. Now I’m worried his family is in there, noticing me gawking at their garden.
I quicken my pace, keeping up with Conner’s long strides. There is an arched doorway, and to the right of the archway is a stone bench with flowers hanging on the wall. Conner opens the screen door and then the wooden one with a glass stripe down the window. Cool air smacks me in the face, which, strangely enough, makes me feel at ease.
Conner takes off his shoes, tossing them where the other shoes are on a rack. I bend down, slide mine off, and place them beside the rack. Then, embarrassed, I take off my odd black and green striped sock and plain white sock, stuffing them into my shoes. Conner laughs, finding my flustered self amusing.
We are in a hallway, and a double staircase leads upward. The hallway continues on the right side of the staircase until it reaches a double glass door leading out to the backyard. On the left side, an oval-shaped doorway leads into a room at theentrance. Cream carpet covers the floor, and there is a long, L-shaped, dark coffee-coloured lounge with a wooden coffee table. A massive flat-screen television is stationed above a long display cabinet on the wall, with many awards and medals between scented candles and flowers.
Curious, I walk towards it when I notice no one is in the room. The display cabinet has so many awards. I lean in closer, seeing Conner’s name on many of them: running, swimming, art, drama, singing, and one for high jump—although I’m not that surprised, considering he’s tall.
“Admiring all my achievements,” Conner murmurs from behind me.
I jump, step to the side, and ensure there is enough distance between us if his parents come into the living room. “Stop,” I whisper.
Conner points to another display cabinet. “Charlotte and Noah’s achievements are in there. They aren’t as flashy as mine, though.”
I giggle when I see an award for best colouring for Charlotte. Noah has one for soccer, which reminds me that Noah is older than Charlotte. Conner says Noah is eleven while Charlotte is seven… I think.
“Is my son showing off?” a deep voice asks from the living room entryway.
I stiffen and turn. A man with dark brown skin, dark brown eyes, short black hair, casual clothes, and fluffy grey and blue plaid slippers stands in the entryway. He isn’t exactly what I expected. And as soon as I think about it, there’s guilt. People can look different from their parents…
“Hey, Dad, this is Noya,” Conner says as his dad moves towards us.
“Ah.” He smiles, flashing pearly white teeth. “Conner has spoken so much of you these past weeks. Sometimes, we can’t get him to be quiet at dinner.”
“Dad.” Conner rubs his forehead.
I smile and stiffly raise my hand and say, “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Mr…” I glance up at Conner, hoping he will tell me his last name.
“Milo,” Conner’s dad speaks before Conner can. “Please call me Milo.”
“Milo,” I murmur, feeling uncomfortable addressing Conner’s dad by his first name.
“My wife, Hazel, and I are in the kitchen preparing a little snack before dinner. Show Noya around, and we will call you once we’re ready, Conner.”