“Yeah, but it’s going to be packed with people,” I groan as I crouch down next to her, batting my eyelashes at her. “Don’t you want to go out somewhere nice? Somewhere where we can eat good food. Just us. Just one night, Wren.”
“Jesus, you’re so fucking dramatic,” she groans before standing up.
I'm feeling giddy as I go into one of the large bathrooms to get ready. I’m lucky I packed a nice outfit in case something like this was to happen. Okay, nice might be stretching it but it’s decent.
I try to brush out my hair, but it still looks wild. I’ve never known how to deal with my curly hair, so it just does its own thing. I put on a white button down and black pants, trying to look smart casual. I’m sure Wren is sick of seeing me in jeans and hoodie and honestly, so am I.
I wait in the kitchen for her to finish getting ready because, as always, she takes hours to get ready. I stick my head into the fridge to find something but they’re only tiny bottles of tequila which doesn’t seem like a smart idea right now. This feels like a night I want to remember.
“Ready to go?” a breathy voice from behind me calls.
I turn and the wind is knocked out of me. Literally. I think I’ve died and come back to life.
Wren is dressed in a silky black evening gown with tiny straps. She holds a silver purse in her right hand which matches with her stilettos and earrings.
Her hair is slicked behind her ear as it falls onto her back. I have to back myself up into the counter for stability, so I don’t fall over. I swear fucking music starts playing as she walks towards me, painfully slowly.
Jesus fucking Christ she is incredible.
‘Cocktails for two’ by Betty Carter instantly comes to mind when she gets closer to me. I blame Wren for her stupid headphones that meant I could hear her jazz playlist on the whole flight.
“You look so beautiful,” I whisper, my voice sounding breathy and almost unsure. She blinks up at me and I wrap my arms around her waist, pulling her into me as if it’s the most natural thing in the world. My hands feel so at home on her body. As if they just belong.
“So do you,” she murmurs. Watching her try to fight herself just makes me want her even more. She stares at me as she takes in my outfit, her eyes roaming all over me. God, I could sit down and let her look at me all day. “Like, really,reallygood.”
“You know, for someone who complains about my ego, you sure do feed it a lot,” I coo, and she throws me a funny look. She rolls her eyes as she presses a kiss to my cheek before turning around and slipping out of my grasp.
I got us a table at the hotel we’re staying at, so we only have to walk down past the lobby, but I still hold her hand even though we don’t have to pretend out here.
“What are you doing?” she asks, looking at our linked hands and then at me.
“I just want to hold your hand,” I admit, squeezing her small hand in mine. “That a problem?”
“No,” she says quietly and doesn’t bring it up again, latching onto my fingers.
The restaurant is built to hover just over the LED pool with a cosy cabin vibe. Our seats are on the patio outside, giving us a perfect view of the live band who play smooth blues music. People gather around them, glasses in their hands as they sway to the music under the sunset.
When we sit down, we both order steak and fries and a cherry blossom lemonade. I’m starting to think that my bad eating habits have rubbed off on her. We go through the never-ending list of questions to ask each other as we eat.
“Okay,” she says, popping a fry into her mouth before scrolling through my phone. “These are getting a lot deeper than the other ones. Is that okay?”
“Sure. These are my favourite type of questions.” I grin at her, but she frowns a little as she locks my phone and slides it over to me.
“What’s one thing you would change about your family if you could?” She bites her bottom lip as if she’s regretting asking the question. I chew on my steak for a few bites to think it over before answering.
“I wish my family were more upfront with each other. Instead of being too scared to say things, y’know?”
She shakes her head gently. “Hm. What do you mean?”
“Like, I’ve always been a pretty dramatic kid. I would get really attached to things. To people. And I wasn’t afraid to express that, but my family have always been weird about it. My dad ignores things that he can move on from, my mom pretends like they don’t exist and Clara… She always finds some way to diminish my problems and to make them seem smaller than they are. I don’t know, I think they just feel better hiding things,” I admit.
As I said it out loud, my stomach twists as if I’ve just finished binging McDonalds. I hate how uncomfortable it makes me. I hate how whenever I talk about them, I can feel my chest tightening. That's why at the Christmas dinner, I kept quiet.
Even when my dad and I were alone, we stuck to talking about sports and boring things instead of what we were really thinking. I knew that if I tried to say anything, I’d ruin the night. Or they’d back me up into a corner and tell me to calm down. That I was overreacting. Wren’s quiet as she waits for me to continue.
“I think they just find it easier to ignore problems. They’ve been treading on eggshells around me since I found out about mom and since Carter died. You know how much I talk. I can’t just do that. I can’t move on easily and I can’t just ignore things that are clearly there. I know my parents love each other but sometimes that doesn't feel like enough. They're nothappy.It's worse to be unhappy with somebody and still stay with them.”
“I’m sorry,” Wren says quietly. I shrug, smiling. “But you know you can always talk to me, right? Even if it’s utter nonsense. I like hearing you talk.”
