“Spider-Man!” Eggo yells.
There’s a sound like a herd of elephants stampeding down the stairs, and a few seconds later, a blonde-haired, five-foot-eleven almost teenager crashes into the kitchen.
“Did you choose a bedroom?” his father asks him.
“You got the house?” Logan says not answering the question.
“Yeah, we did!” He wraps his son in a hug and kisses the top of his head, though he hardly has to bend to reach him now.
Logan wriggles free. He’s reaching that age where all affection is revolting.
“Which room will be yours, then?” Eggo asks again.
“The middle one. Well, the one over the kitchen.”
“Ah, the one with the sea view,” says Chelsea. “Good choice.” She turns to the adults. “I need a few signatures from Finn, and then I can talk you through your next steps if you like.”
Eggo points his thumb at me. “That’s okay, I’ve got a mortgage adviser right here. Aiden explained all the stuff we have to do now, and I’ve been studying very hard.” He puffs out his chest in faux pride.
“Where shall we celebrate tonight?” I ask Logan as his dad is off signing the forms Chelsea’s brought.
Logan’s been showing me his new room. He’s explaining where all of his things will go, including his six tarantula terrariums, because“Mum said if she finds one more escaped cricket in the bathroom, she’s going to set all the spiders free in the woods by the skate park.”
“Food? Tonight? Where should we eat?” I remind him. Like me, Logan often gets lost in his own thoughts.
He shrugs. He’s only a few inches off my height now. Considering where his DNA comes from, it’s not surprising. He’s simply a gangly, unwrinkled, fair-haired version of Eggo.
“Dad said he was gonna book somewhere with Nan and Gramps too.”
“Okay, so where we going, then?”
If anything, Eggo’s offspring is fussier with food than I am. He’s vegan, with the exception of mozzarella for . . . reasons only fathomable to Logan’s brain.
“The burger place on the beach?” he suggests. In all fairness, they do serve a mean plant-based cheeseburger and veggie loaded fries, and the restaurant is literally on the sand.
“Sure. I’ll ring them now to reserve a table.” I get my phone out of my pocket. “Is your mum coming too, and Bran and the boys?”
Logan simply shrugs again.
“Well, go ask your dad if they’re gonna be there. I need to know how many to book it for. It’s Friday night, better make sure they’ve got space.”
“Okay,” he says. He doesn’t move or raise his voice. “Hey, Dad, are Mum and Bran coming tonight?”
I laugh and look over my shoulder expecting Eggo to have walked into the bedroom, but it’s still just the two of us.
Was it a slip of the tongue? Or did he mean . . .
“Are you asking me?” I say.
Logan nods.
“I said to go ask your dad.”
“I did.” He stares at me.
It clicks.
There’s a rushing sensation inside me, like every emotion I’ve ever experienced is trying to burst out of me at once.
