9. Megan
Chapter 9
Megan
Two days ago, I thought I had my whole life figured out. I was going to eat well, sleep well, take care of my brain and my body, and fill my year with joy, adventure, and love.
Somehow, in less than 72 hours, my best friend has abandoned me, I’ve been physically assaulted, and my dad has moved one of his employees into my spare bedroom.
He didn’t even have the decency to consult me about his decision. Mum broke the news over breakfast, telling me Dad and Ollie had already left to pack up his things and he’d be moving in this afternoon.
Monday is my first day back at work and I should be spending the weekend relaxing, pampering myself, eating a nutritious meal and heading to bed early with a good book. I might have even treated myself to a bit of audio erotica and a couple of orgasms, but that’s totally off the table now.
Instead, Mum and I are deep cleaning Hattie’s room to prepare for a guest I know absolutely nothing about. I scrub harder at what I think is a smear of eyeliner on the windowsill and wonder how I ended up like this.
“You should probably go and have a lie down, love,” Mum says, spraying the mirrored wardrobe doors and buffing them to a pristine shine. “Your head.”
“I would be lying down if you hadn’t sprung this on me.”
Part of me thinks he should clean the room himself, but I pride myself on being a good hostess, so even though this is not what I want at all, I’d never let anyone come over without making the place immaculate for them.
“Do you think I should get him some new bedding?”
“Why? He’s not your son. The bedding here is fine.”
“Oh, but he’s like a son to your Dad, though.”
Ah, now it’s all clicking into place.
“Well, that’s extremely unprofessional. Your staff and colleagues are not your family.”
“Don’t let your Dad hear you say that,” she warns.
Throughout my childhood, Dad was always going on about ‘the family business’ as if it was a 150-year-old empire that I, his only child, was destined to take over, and not a construction company he’d built by himself. My grandad was a pharmacist who hated going outside.
When I was eight, Dad told me he had visions of rebranding the business as Porter and Daughter , which, while being extremely cute, was simply never going to happen.
In most of my childhood photos, I’m holding a book. I’ve always loved language and words. The way literature moves you. The power, the emotion, the pure escapism. You’re never alone with a book, and all I ever wanted was to learn more about words, no matter how often Dad tried to put a power tool in my hands.
He never outright told me I was a disappointment, but I often had the feeling he wished I’d been a boy.
Through the window, I spot Ollie’s van pulling into the carpark at the rear of our building, and watch as he and Dad chat away and begin unloading. Dad looks happy, like he’s finally found someone to take under his wing. I should probably be grateful it takes the pressure off of me, but I don’t like it one bit.
I hover by the front door to welcome them in, and Dad pushes past with a load of bags, leaving Ollie on the doorstep.
“Hey, hi Megan.” He sticks out his hand, then pulls it away and fusses with his hair before finally shoving it in his pocket.
Great, this isn’t awkward at all.
“Hi. Welcome to your new home.” I force a friendly smile, and he returns it, his shoulders visibly dropping.
He certainly looks better than he did yesterday. More rested, and in his own clothes; dark jeans and a grey hoodie. It wasn’t until halfway through dinner I spotted he was wearing one of my dad’s old jumpers, but I didn’t want to put him on the spot and ask why.
Mum told me about Ollie’s living situation and that he’d spent two nights sleeping in his van. I’m not completely heartless, and I feel sorry for him, but I’m thirty-two years old. I’m surrounded by teenagers all week at school, and my home is my sanctuary. I don’t want to be looking after someone, quite the opposite, in fact.
While they get the rest of his stuff, I hide in my room, peering out from behind my curtain like a creep. My heart sinks when he throws a guitar case over his shoulder.
Fantastic. Now I’ll be subjected to him strumming away when I’m trying to concentrate on marking schoolwork. I hope he doesn’t sing, too.
“That’s the last of the stuff,” I hear Dad say a while later. “Do you want a hand unpacking?”
“No, I can take it from here. Thank you, though. This place is really amazing. I’m so grateful. I won’t let you down.”
“I know you won’t, lad.”
Well, isn’t that sweet.
I come out to say goodbye and the four of us stand there awkwardly in the narrow hallway.
“Right,” Mum says, clapping her hands together. “We’ll leave you two to it, then. I’ve put lasagna in the fridge for your dinner.”
Mum’s love language is acts of service, she’s always taking care of people in subtle ways. I wouldn’t be surprised if she left chocolates on Ollie’s pillowcase.
I hug my parents goodbye at the door, with even more reassurances that I’ll call them if I feel dizzy or sick.
“See you on Monday, boss,” Ollie says, and only when the door closes does it finally sink in. There’s a stranger in my house. A man who I know nothing about, and will now have to spend my days making small talk with.
Dropping my forehead against the back of the door, I take a deep breath. I don’t know if I’ll ever be able to relax in my home again.
“So, this is pretty weird, right?” Ollie says behind me, somehow making the situation even more uncomfortable.
“Weird, strange, surprising, unexpected, bizarre.”
Ollie scoffs a little. “You swallow a thesaurus or something?”
I turn away, stung that he’s honed straight in on my tendency to vomit verbally when I’m nervous.
“I’m an English teacher.”
“Cool. So, what do we do now?”
“Just because we live together doesn’t mean we have to hang out or anything.”
“What would you be doing if I weren’t here? Please don’t act differently on my account.”
My cheeks flush when I remember my previous thoughts about spending the evening riding my Satisfyer Pro and concocting dirty fantasies about men I have no chance of ever meeting. No chance of that now.
“I’ll just be in my room. Make yourself at home.”