40. Awkward
AWKWARD
A light tap comes to the bedroom door. I rise from the bed, leaning away from Conner’s touch.
“Can I come in?” Conner’s dad asks.
“Yeah, Dad,” Conner calls.
The door opens, and he peeks inside cautiously. When he notices we are distant from each other, he steps in, looking much more comfortable. “Afternoon tea is ready.”
“We’ll be down in a minute,” Conner says.
His dad nods before leaving the room and closing the door behind him. Conner sits up, hops out of bed, and eyes me. “Aren’t you curious why I don’t look like my dad?”
I bite my top lip and say, “I didn’t want to come across as rude by mentioning it.”
“He’s not my dad,” Conner explains, fixing his bed.
“Brody—my biological dad—is a deadbeat. He didn’t want me.
I’d heard that every day since I was eight.
He hated me and compared me to my older sister, whom he adored.
I remember Mum and Brody arguing, and Brody pointed to me and said, ‘How could I ever love him more than her?’ Mum clocked him in the face, grabbed me by the arm, and we left.
I haven’t heard from him since, nor do I care for him. ”
Conner then smiles, and it reaches his eyes.
“Dad—Milo—came into the picture a few years later and never left. He loved me and treated me like a dad should treat his child. I was never a burden and was never in his way or annoying him. He showed me love and how intense love can be. Literally, I remember meeting him once, and then he was there, making breakfast in the morning and coming home to play football with me.” He grabs my arm and pulls me toward him.
“He showed me never to let go of something so intense out of fear that it would fade too quickly. And now here we are, preparing to move in together.”
“Conner,” I murmur before he kisses me passionately. “We should go downstairs.”
“In five minutes,” he says between kisses.
“One minute,” I declare.
“Three,” he breathes down the nape of my neck, making me shudder.
Letting my arms wrap around his neck, I breathe, “Three.”
He pushes brown hair away from my face, and our breathless mouths find each other. Our bodies press against each other as if we are shaping into one, yearning for each other’s touch and affection.
Then, the door opens unexpectedly.
I push Conner away forcefully, and he falls back onto the bed. Touching my hair, I smooth it down as a little girl steps through, oblivious to the fact that we were in a heated discussion… with our lips.
“Conner! Is this your girlfriend?” she asks.
“Yeah. Her name is Noya,” Conner replies as he fixes his bed again.
“That’s a pretty name,” she says.
Her features are breathtaking. Contrary to her hazel-green eyes, her dark skin glows a rich brown. She looks like a little doll. Her curly hair bounces as she walks.
“What does it mean?” I blink and turn to Conner.
“She’s really into the meanings of names and star signs,” he explains.
“Oh…” I frown. “I’m sorry, but I don’t think I know.”
“Don’t worry,” she says, nodding her head mysteriously. “I’ll find out and tell you later.”
I laugh. “I can’t wait.”
“Mum and Dad also told me to come and get you. Mum thinks you are keeping N-Noya from us.”
“Ah, we shouldn’t keep her waiting then.”
My feet feel solid as we go down the stairs. I met Conner’s dad briefly twice, but the thought of being the centre of attention in an environment I don’t know, with people who might hate me, frightens me.
If Conner and I are soulmates living together, this could be my new family if all goes well.
I wouldn’t want them not to like me. Family is a big deal to me.
If they don’t like me, I am unsure if our relationship can continue.
The negative thoughts that Conner must choose will hurt more because Conner loves his family.
So, I need to make a good impression once we get downstairs.
I need to wear my big girl pants and not be this awkward, sweaty, blinking, rapid mess.
The kitchen is attached to the dining room. There is a platter of food set up, glasses, a jug of water, a bottle of Fanta among the tableware, and a bottle of lemon and cola.
I eye Conner, and he smiles slyly at me.
“Noya, you like Fanta, right?” Conner’s dad asks as he pours a glass.
“Y-yes,” I answer.
Conner sits down, touches my arm, and gestures to the seat beside him. I sit stiffly in the chair and say my thanks when Conner’s dad hands me the glass of Fanta.
“Okay!” a chirpy voice comes from behind me, making me jolt. A lady comes into focus and slides gracefully into the seat between Noah and Conner’s dad. Her smile lights up, and her green eyes crinkle when she sees me. “Hey, Noya,” she says.
“Mrs Jones,” I breathe.
“It’s been a while, hasn’t it?”
Conner looks between us before he clicks. “My mum was your therapist?”
This is awkward.