39. My Songs
MY SONGS
Darkness in Me [Fight the Fade]
Human [Krewella]
Bad Child [Tones and I]
Things Are Gonna Get Better [NEFFEX]
From seeing Conner’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 me avoid 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 the entrance.
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.”
Conner reaches for my hand as I step further away. Conner’s dad notices, smiles, and heads into the room across from the living room. I tilt my head to the side and see a woman, her back turned towards me, her brown hair in a high ponytail, placing food on a platter beside her.
I follow Conner down the rest of the hallway.
He points to his dad’s office, and beside it is his mum’s office.
We don’t go in, for the doors are locked and restricted because of their jobs.
I can understand this when it comes to Conner’s mum.
I wouldn’t want my old therapist’s kids snooping around, reading my file.
On the other side is the downstairs bathroom.
It glistens with a sizable diamond-shaped chandelier, a long marble bathtub, stone benches, a shiny golden basin, and a glass shower sparkling in the light.
There is a smaller room with a toilet next to the bathroom.
He asks if I need to go, making me think of Renee’s conversation. My cheeks flush, and I shake my head.
The last room is the laundry room. He doesn’t take me outside.
Instead, we head back the way we came and up the wooden staircase with a steel rose petal railing.
At the top of the stairs, there is a storage room.
Conner says they’re thinking of making a small library, but haven’t done the renovations yet, so it’s messy.
The first room on the right is Charlotte’s, and Noah’s is beside it.
I overhear a young, boyish voice yelling out.
Conner opens the door and leans against the doorframe.
A dark-skinned boy wearing a soccer jersey crouches on an office chair, glaring at the TV hanging on the wall.
His thumbs smack against the joysticks on the controller.
He is playing a soccer game, and his eyes dilate as he yells at the TV.
“Hey,” Conner calls.
“What’s up, bro?” Noah speaks without looking away from the TV.
“I’m showing Noya around,” Conner replies.
“Oh, your girlfriend—Dog! What was that? Pass the ball! Dog, what are you doing?!”
Conner chuckles. “That’s what you get for trusting AI.”
I have no idea what they’re talking about. The only games I’ve ever played were the snake game on my phone and imaginative games when I was younger. I used to have dolls, but they never lasted in my house.
“I’ll leave you to it,” Conner says, closing the door on his brother. He then turns to me and smiles apologetically. “He likes games.”
I giggle while saying, “I can tell.” I then turn to Charlotte’s door again. There is a picture hanging on it of a princess, I think. She has a colossal head and a triangular body, but I see a crown. “Where’s your younger sister?”
“More than likely at her friend’s home across the road. She will be home no later than four, or else she will get in trouble,” Conner replies.
He points to a door across from Noah’s.
“That’s Mum and Dad’s bedroom, the rumpus room beside it, and the upstairs bathroom.” He turns the corner, revealing another hallway, but this one is shorter. “This used to be Mum and Dad’s room, but when they had Charlotte, they wanted to be closer, so they wanted me to swap rooms with them.”
“Oh… why?” I ask curiously.
“Charlotte was premature when she was born,” Conner answers. “She was hospitalised for months, and we thought she wouldn’t make it. She had to undergo a lot of therapy because her growth was stagnant.”
“I’m sorry…”
“She’s all good now. You wouldn’t think anything was wrong with her,” Conner eases my worries. “Mum and Dad never wanted to swap back after that. I offered, trust me, but they wanted to be closer to Noah and Charlotte since then.”
Conner stands before the door, a grin on his face as he leans into me.
My eyes widen, and I take a step back when he wraps his arms around me and leans in for a kiss.
My breath hitches, but my focus drifts to the entryway before the kiss becomes too intense.
My hands are on his chest, and I push him away gently. “Conner,” I whisper.
“Sorry,” he says as he brushes his thumb across my cheek, “seeing you so flustered kind of turned me on.”
“Stop,” I hiss. “Now, I don’t want to enter your room if you have ulterior motives.”
“Oh, says the one who jumped my bones as soon as she woke at her Nan’s place.”
“Please,” I say, my face growing red. “Don’t remind me.”
Conner pushes down on the handle and opens the door.
His room is bright… brighter than I expected.
Cream-coloured walls, white floorboards, and a wall that is all windows overlooking the side yard.
I notice a long pool with a silver fence around it.
Then, tearing my eyes away from the window, I inspect Conner’s room.
A king-sized bed in the far back corner has fitted green and white bedsheets.
Across the wall with the bed, there is a collage of paintings and drawings.
I gape at all the drawings, and there, framed in the centre of them all, is the one he drew of me in the oval.
It’s completed and coloured. My brown hair is twisted in a bun, with pieces falling messily.
I then grimace, wondering if my hair is that messy. The tree, though… I touch the frame and feel my throat tighten as I touch the flourishing green leaves on one side, while the other side is dead.
“I’m not very good at drawing fantasy art, but I gave it a shot,” Conner says as we both overlook the piece of art.
“Why?” I ask.
“Because this is your reality, right?” He smiles warmly. “I wanted a piece of your reality with me.”
Conner goes to the computer propped on the L-shaped desk, stacked with art books, folders, and a pencil case. I move towards him when I notice the blotches of paint staining the floorboards. I smile at the sight, realising that he draws in here. He is messy. An artist at work.
He fires up the computer, goes into Spotify, and scrolls through the songs when I notice one of his playlists. My eyes widen, and my mouth is dry at my name displayed on the side. “Um… did you make that playlist?” I ask.
“That’s yours,” he answers. “You should put your Spotify on private if you don’t want me to peek into the life of Noya Dawn Taylor.”
My breaths come out a lot harsher. All my songs. All my dark, torturous songs are a piece of my soul. He’s been listening to them this entire time and… and…
“It brought me closer to you,” he says. “There’s one that resonates with me. Well, three, but here, this one first.” He enters my Spotify, and I internalise my scream at the songs he scrolls past. “Here. ‘Darkness in Me’ by Fight the Fade.”
My throat tightens at the song I’ve been listening to recently, repeatedly, since meeting Conner.
He raises his hand and says, “Dance with me.”
“I’ve… what?”
“Here,” he whispers, taking hold of my waist and pulling me to him. My body presses against his, and we move around in circles. “Place your hands on my shoulders as if you’re going to kiss me.”
I blush but raise my arms, locking my hands behind his head. His hands rest on my hips, and I step when he steps. His hazel eyes are soft and adoring. He sings the lyrics, soft, slow, and alluring. I lean in, rest my head on his chest, and close my eyes while we dance.
After the song finishes, he goes over to the Spotify list. He reaches for me, dragging me onto his lap while scouring my Spotify.
“Here’s the second,” he announces, playing “Human” by Krewella.
I press my lips inwards while listening to the lyrics.
“I remember you told me Andy was never there when you needed him, and that’s when your feelings for him faded. When I listen to this song, I see you thinking of Andy and how he failed you as a friend in some ways.”
“It’s just a song,” I whisper.
“I know when you’re lying,” he responds, scrolling through the playlist more. “Even when I’m not looking at you.”
I sigh, “You’re right. What’s the last song, then?”
“This one is the darkest of the three, even if the song is a little more upbeat.” He hovers over a song, and my heart feels like it rips out of my chest. “‘Bad Child’ by Tones and I,” he declares. “Now, I’ve listened to this song on repeat. And from our conversation Monday, it makes sense.”
‘It feels like you’re airing my dirty laundry,” I say, laughing bitterly.
“Well, if it makes you feel better, there’s a song I repeat when my parents don’t understand why I don’t want to go to university. Did you want me to air out my dirty laundry, too?”
“I think that will make me feel better,” I whisper.
He breathes a laugh and kisses my shoulder before returning to his playlist. “‘Things Are Gonna Get Better’ by NEFFEX,” he announces.
We sit there for twenty minutes, pointing out songs and discussing their meaning in our lives. The more Conner speaks, the more I feel comfortable expressing parts of my childhood through the songs on my playlist.