And at night, as I stared out at my pond or up at my ceiling, my mind would make up alternate universes in which I hadn’t stopped her. In which I’d taken her face in my hand and kissed her the way I wanted to. In which maybe she’d be next to me now, not on the other side of town thinking I wanted nothing to do with her.
But it was better for her to think that than for me to let it go any further. Because I knew what I was like in relationships, and what they brought to my life. And I wanted nothing to do that, for Morgan or for me.
Dad was not thrilled with my distraction levels, that much was clear. I was replaying that mountaintop moment yet again when I was supposed to be helping him with a site visit and quote for a conversion: turning one old house into two smaller semi-detached units. It was obvious I wasn’t on top form when I asked what colour of grout they wanted for the tiles, after they’d already said they wanted tile-effect vinyl. Dad gave me a look that probably didn’t even register to the client, but clearly communicated to me that he wanted to throttle me for my stupidity.
“You’re meant to be the future of this business,” he yelled on the drive home, “and you can’t even pay attention when quoting for work? How am I meant to trust you?”
“I’m so sorry it’s not my passion in life to keep flooring types straight,” I said with a sigh. Arguing with Dad always made me revert to my stroppy teenage self.
“Well it should be!” he bellowed, his voice far too big for the van, like it was trying to break out. I rolled the window down to get a bit of air. “Or at least it should look that way to your clients.Myclients. If you can’t even bother to pay attention in a meeting, no one will ever hire you again.”
“Then maybe I shouldn’t be the one doing this,” I muttered, my arm and head half hanging out the window.
“What was that, son?” Dad asked, in a tone that told me he’d heard me, but he was giving me a chance to revise what I’d said.
I sighed before I answered, speaking louder this time. “I said, I’ll do better next time.”
“Yeah, well, you’d better,” he said, sounding pacified for now. He switched on the stereo, and Behemoth came blasting through the speakers, which I took as permission to put on my noise-cancelling headphones. But instead of pressing play on my audiobook, I took advantage of the lack of Polish death metal and parental lecture to think instead about when I would next get to see Morgan.
* * *
As I climbedout of the van at home and started the walk up the drive towards my house, my phone buzzed with a text from Amy. It was another horoscope, this one laughably accurate:
Be a hot mess if you need to be a hot mess!
I smiled down at my phone as I tapped out a reply:
This better mean you’re on your way home for a visit?
But almost as soon as I’d pressed send, I crested the hill and looked down at my little house to find my sister Amy sitting on my front steps. She looked up from her phone and stood as my phone buzzed with her reply:
Nope.
“Good to see you,” she said, stepping towards me. She looked well; her golden hair was pulled back in a ponytail, but it looked longer than when I’d last seen her. Her denim cutoffs and cropped tee looked clean. She was wearing a bit of make-up. She certainly didn’t look like a depressed, heartbroken shell of a person like Mum had implied.
“Get over here,” I said, opening my arms as I closed the distance between us. She fell into them as I wrapped them around her.
Amy and I had always been close growing up, but then I’d moved away. I’d made a concerted effort to spend time with her when I’d come home, only for her to move to Manchester two years later. Now I hadn’t seen her in … three, four months maybe?
“How long are you here for?” I asked as she stepped back.
She shrugged. “Maybe a week?”
“You don’t have to work?” I asked, frowning. She shook her head.
“I’m between jobs.”
Nowthatwas a bit worrying. I’d helped move Amy into her place, and I knew it wasn’t cheap. I knew her first restaurant job hadn’t worked out, but I’d thought she’d been at a shop since then.
“Well, I’m glad to have you home,” I said, climbing the steps and unlocking the door. “You crashing with me or with Mum and Dad?”
She pulled a face. “Your sofa is horrible. I’ll stay in the guest room where I’m treated like the princess I am, thank you very much.”
“It is not! I spent good money on that sofa. It’s made of one hundred percent recycled materials.”
“Ooh, so comfy,” she said sarcastically as I dropped my bag down in the entryway.
“Whatever. But you’ll be wishing for that tencel fabric when Mum starts getting under your skin.”
