Chapter 5
CHAPTER FIVE
Travis
7 YEARS AGO - ONE NEW YEAR
The air replenishes as time shifts to another season. One suffocated by snow and moments of pure delusion and anticipation I want to frame forever. I stand in front of the door, looking far into the distance, waiting for a sign I haven’t been plunging myself into a dream. The leaves on the tall, whitened tree ahead of me dance in unison, keeping me company.
After the— kiss— I completely melted in the arms of Isabella. Ten pure months of nothing but her beside me, and that was more than enough. I had gotten the girl, for goodness’ sake. That is far better than enough. Her life suddenly became mine, and just like that, I couldn’t get out of it. It was already too late. With every touch and whisper, she sends chills down my spine and makes me swoon like a child.
No matter how much I try to wrap my head around the times I’ve gotten to spend with her, it’s impossible to. The girl I had seen laugh her throat out in the school hallway a year ago is nothing like the girl I see today. She’s undefinable.
“So sorry, I’m late.” An out-of-breath Isabella jumps in front of me, drenched in flakes. My luck is here.
For the millionth time, she dons her wine-colored leather jacket, this time layering it over a black turtleneck and tight jeans to protect herself from the cold. An Isabella I had never seen before, but not as different. I love that I can still have some first times with her. Like our first kiss, our first date, our first public appearance, our first goodnight, our first good morning, our first meet up. Our firsts.
“It’s fine. We just finished setting up the table.” I reach for her hand and lock it with mine, fitting perfectly. They’re glacial and warm all at once.
After eight months of anticipation, today is finally the day. The day she gets to meet my mother and little brother. It could’ve happened earlier if only she hadn’t insisted on waiting for us to define our relationship, which is something she quickly abandoned.
We both graduated high school with marks she’d made me swear never to bring up ever again. Not that they were bad, but they weren’t one to gush on about—her words, not mine. After taking that single sheet of paper, closing six years of her life, she went on and left for spring break. And as for me… I stayed.
I had no idea it was even possible for an eighteen-year-old to go away on holiday alone with two fully functional and hormonal boys. Oblivious even. But she did it. She proved me wrong the second she entered Colin’s wine pickup truck two weeks after we had met, screaming for the entire town to envy. To think I was the boy pondering over a spontaneous kiss and she was the beauty escaping from it only made that moment more unpredictable.
Then she came back and never left my side ever since.
“Do they know I’m coming?” she asks, her breathing slowly catching up.
“Of course, why wouldn’t they? Simon’s eager to meet you, and so is my mother,” I answer, pushing the door open.
“Where is she?” she asks. Her grasp on my hand tightens the closer we get to the dining room down the hall, her body glued to mine in a way I would love if only I didn’t know why.
“There.” I point.
My mother pivots from one seat to another, arranging the forks and knives as if they weren’t already perfect. Her dark blue apron hangs around her neck, painting a perfect picture of what the last seven hours of her life have been like. Cooking, cleaning, blasting music, and panicking. Not necessarily in that order.
“Why am I so nervous? It’s just dinner,” she murmurs. “New Year family dinner.”
I shorten the little distance between us and pull her closer, wrapping my arm around her shoulders. “I’m here, remember?” I whisper to her and her alone. Right after, I stop, pulling Isabella back from walking away. I hold on to her cheeks, and together, we take deep breaths. I then lay a quick kiss on her forehead, hoping she feels my presence deep within, and not just by my words.
We walk into view, and immediately, my mother drops her activities and rushes towards us. “There you are. I’ve been calling for you,” she utters, her eyes focused on me. But then she notices. “Oh, you must be?—”
“Isabella, Travis’ girlfriend.” She frees herself from my grasp and quickly brings her hand forward towards my mother. Seeing her act like this only makes me believe there’s so much more I have to learn about her.
I’ve always pictured Isabella as someone who never shows her genuine emotions unless they’re valued. A person always in check and never astray, but today, she’s vulnerable. Not in a way to put her down, but in a sensible and adoring way, almost as if any wrong word from any of my family members could turn her around. And I can’t have that happening.
“It’s nice to finally meet you. I’m the mother.” She takes Isabella’s offering hand. “And this is my partner, Angelo.”
I look to where she’s pointing and finally acknowledge Angelo, my mother’s boyfriend. He sits at the edge of the table, pretending to be the true owner of the house. I remember the day it was my mother’s turn to introduce him to us. He came in four years ago with a dark suit barely holding onto his body, a newsboy cap over his shaved head, and an uneven Hollywoodian beard. A classic intruder.
I didn’t think much of it then, but deep inside, I believed he was just a passerby. The person to fill up the void Mom had in her after Dad had passed. I didn’t quite understand the depths of his entry, but fast forward now… he’s moved in with us in a new town, a new house, and with a new job. Claiming what he wishes could be his. I don’t mind him by her side, but I do mind the role he’s trying to partake in without even fighting to deserve it.
Isabella nods at him from where we’re standing since he doesn’t even feel the need to get up and greet her. I shoot a distasteful look at him and then at my mother.
It’s no secret I don’t like Angelo, nor is it a secret I’m not trying to. But sometimes, enough is enough.
“Okay now, why don’t we sit and get to know each other over some freshly prepared meal?” My mother ignores my message and puts her hands together, breaking the silence. “Travis, why don’t you help me in the kitchen while Isabella settles in?” she suggests.
I turn to Isabella and land on her eyes, already fixated on me. She slightly nods, assuring me to go. I don’t fancy leaving her here alone with no one else but Angelo and his chicken wings. Simon’s still upstairs doing God knows what, and Angelo could be a handful if you’re not used to him.
“I’ll be fine,” she mouths without a sound, grabbing onto my wrist. I lay kiss on her cheek before letting go, wishing she doesn’t get affected by whatever could come out of Angelo’s mouth.
“Are you coming?” my mother yells from the kitchen.
“Yes.” I walk over to her.
She no longer has the apron covering her over-the-top outfit. Her white oxford shirt, tucked in the beige pants and leather belt, brightens the room as I lay eyes on her. I’m aware it’s New Year and all, but for her to be wearing white attire while cooking is impressive. To top it all off, she thuds around the house in lengthy heels and blown-out blonde hair. No matter how many times I see her dressed as if she’s going to a golf club, it never gets old.
“So, what do you think?” I don’t waste time asking.
“She’s lovely honey, but?—”
“No buts, Mom. I really need you to like her.”
“And I’m sure I will. But Travis, you know the usual type of girl I want for you, right?”
“Don’t start again. I—” I stop and turn to see if Isabella is around us, and then back at my mom. “I love her. And before you say it’s too soon for me to know or for me to say that… it’s not. There’s nothing I’m better sure of than Isabella.” I pour the truth out as I approach her.
Her right hand lands on my cheek, caressing it. “And I’ll never deprive you of that love, honey. But you’re only eighteen, freshly into college, and she’s?—”
“No,” I interject.
She exhales. “Fine. Why don’t you head back and keep her company? I’ll follow.”
“Please, don’t say anything that’ll upset her,” I plead.
I know my mother very well, and her words even better. She’s sweet, sophisticated, and gentle as a person, but her words could be brutal, harmful, and biased. I trust Isabella could handle that, but not now, at least.
“I promise,” she says, a smile washing over her face. A smile I hope is genuine.
Returning to the dining table, I witness a perfect picture being captured in front of me. Isabella shoots back the same look I had done to Angelo a while ago, maybe even better. Her eyes roll back to every sinister word coming from his mouth.
“How did he seduce you?” I hear him ask. I don’t need context to know he’s been on a jerk rampage for the few minutes I’ve been away.
“Actually, he—” she begins.
“It doesn’t concern you, does it now?” I interject, pulling out the chair next to Isabella.
“Now, now, let’s not get over ourselves. We have a guest.” Mom walks in at the perfect time, a bowl of salad in her hands. “Where’s your brother?”
“Still upstairs.”
She yells his name as she stands behind the seat in front of Isabella. She still wears the same smile, plotting a skim I wish I wasn’t going to be here for. As she places the bowl on the table, she stares at my girl.
“Isabella, honey, I need to know your secret. What have you done to my boy? Because since you came into his life, he’s been acting like a fool at home, always smiling and laughing by himself,” she spurts out as she sits.
I close my eyes and sigh, internally praying for a chance to rewind back to the day I asked Isabella to join my family for dinner. I should’ve just put her on the phone and pushed back the meeting for another year or two, but my excitement took over, and now here we are, suffering to the textbook mom meeting son’s girlfriend.
Girlfriend . That word still makes my cheeks hurt every time I smile from it.
“Mom,” I hiss.
“Well, I guess I’m not the only one acting like a fool at home, then.” Isabella pushes through, her hands searching for mine under the table. I help out and find hers first, sharing our warmth. “There’s no secret at all. I just adore your son, ma’am.”
“Oh please, call me Libby. You’re now part of the family. Besides, anyone who adores my son is one I adore as well.”
I squint my eyes at her. If I were unaware of how she truly felt about Isabella and my relationship with her, I would easily be fooled as well.
Simon’s steps steal the attention. His tiny seven-year-old feet sprint behind Mom and he sits next to her.
“What were you still doing upstairs? The food is getting cold,” Mom scolds him.
I turn to catch a glance of Isabella fondly smiling at the interaction. Her eyes light up in admiration, and it makes me want to know what could be going on in her head. This moment alone is highhandedly melting my heart and showing me how perfectly she could fit into this family. Not that we’re anywhere near talking about an everlasting future together, but close enough for me to think about it.
“Still nervous?” I ask Isabella while my hands plunge into the dishwater and with her by my side.
“Sweating buckets,” she admits.
“Why? You were amazing. And my mother seems to like you, so…”
She picks up a freshly rinsed plate to dry. After dinner, she insisted on helping me out with the dishes, and though I undauntedly opposed it, she still won.
“I hope so. I really want her to.” She arranges the plates on top of each other on the counter.
“I know you do.”
“No, you don’t understand.” She puts down the towel. “I need her to like me, Trav. More than anything.”
I do the opposite and pick it up to dry my hands. I knew she was nervous about the whole thing, but for her to be desperate to this level is something I didn’t think could be possible. Maybe I really should’ve chosen the easy way out and picked up the phone.
“And she does,” I say, my hands softly landing on her waist, pulling her towards me. “What’s not to love about you, huh?” Our eyes meet, inches away from each other. “I know I love every single part of you,” I murmur. This is between her and me. The two of us.
“I love your hands.” I slide my finger up her hands, leading to her shoulders. For a second, she flinches. “Your eyes.” I stare at them as I speak, and she blinks. “Your lips.” Then down at those, pursed and calling for mine. “The sound of your voice,” I continue.
She exhales, her eyes shutting in leisure. I want her to feel every letter coming from my mouth and every touch I trace. Everything. “The way you fight to reach for things you want,”
“Travis!” my name breathes out of her, enchanted and hypnotizing.
“And you,” I whisper. Just as quickly as it comes out, it reaches her.
Her eyes open wide, and my words slowly sink in. I didn’t mean to say it this early, but it’s true. It was never a doubt my heart belonged to her, not even once. Though those are nothing but words, they’re words that frame my heart in the warmest way possible, and I hope they do the same to hers.
“Trav.”
“I love you, Isabella. I know it’s crazy to say this now, but I do. And it’s important for me to let you know before you think otherwise. I love you.”
She looks up at me, her eyes glistening in tears. “You don’t have to say it back. I just had to let you know how important you are. Not only to me, a mere boy completely in awe of you, but to this world. Without you, it would be dark, empty, lonely, and suffocating,” I continue, cupping her cheeks as if I’m lecturing her. “I love the shit out of you.” My emotions betray me as I follow her into a bath of tears, but I fight it from showing itself. She fails and a watered line draws on her cheek, dropping on the floor.
In an instant that I barely notice, she wraps her arms around me, resting her cheeks flat on my chest. She sinks. And from then on, I knew I couldn’t let go of her. No matter the circumstances we might find ourselves in, I’ll always hold on to her, because she held onto me. In a moment when I felt the most naked and vulnerable, she held me.
I love her. I love her. I love her. And I’ll shout it to the mountains and rivers—I love Isabella Kirby.