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Fifteen Years Later
Noah
“I hate you!” she screamed, slamming the door. I couldn’t help but think about how life changes. It was funny and somewhat scary.
Those three little words hurt me, but I’m sure they hurt her more.
“I can’t talk to her!” Amelia yelled, throwing up her hands as she stomped away from our daughter’s bedroom door and into our bedroom, where she proceeded to slam the door also. I couldn’t help but smile. She and Aurora were so similar, it was hard not to.
“Mom and Aurora fighting again?” Austin asked, coming up the stairs as he removed his headphones and ran his hand through his dark hair far too many times. He had the same blue eyes as his mother. “Why don’t you guys just let her act? She’s good at it.”
“THANK YOU!” Aurora yelled from inside the room.
“AUSTIN, GO TO YOUR ROOM!” Amelia hollered as well.
“What did I do?” Austin lifted his head up in disbelief. A house of screamers, that’s what we had here. I kind of loved it—when my ears weren’t ringing.
Amelia snatched open the door, glaring at him, and he dropped his head, muttering something as he walked past me.
“You should know better by now,” I told him when he opened his door.
“Thanks, Dad. You’re a big help!” He made a face at me, putting his headphones back on, and he glared, sighing loudly, “Ugh. Jeez, how am I the one getting in trouble? I didn’t do anything. Aurora, just let it go. I can’t take it anymore.”
He closed the door as well.
So dramatic. They’d both make good actors, but Austin was more into his music. He was only twelve, two years older then Aurora, and the only reason he wasn’t asking us to help him start his own career was because he was shy. He could really sing, but he didn’t have the confidence to do it in front of anyone outside of family yet, and we had banned him from posting anything on the Internet. For now, he was satisfied with the small recording studio we had built for him in the basement. But I knew with each passing year, this fight would only go on.
“Feeling better?” I said to Amelia when she came out of the room dressed in a pair of jeans and my white V-neck shirt. It was loose, but with the jacket she wore, it worked.
“It’s not funny,” she frowned, using my arm to balance herself as she stepped into her heels.
“It’s kind of funny,” I said.
“Noah—”
“I’ll take care of it. Just get to set.” I kissed her forehead. “I’m looking forward to this movie.”
“How can I play a television producer when I can’t even manage our kids?” she replied, kissing my cheek and then my lips quickly.
“We could put them on the payroll?” I suggested as she skipped down the stairs.
“You’re just full of jokes today, aren’t you?” She called up to me right by the door. “Call me, okay?”
“I will. Love you.”
“Love you, too.” She waved, then yelled, “And I love you Grumpy Pants and Radiohead!”
When she was gone, Austin stuck his head out the door. “What’s a Radiohead?”
Dear God, I’m old.
“Come here,” I said, holding out my hand out for him, and he came but didn’t take it, because twelve-year-olds were too cool to hold their father’s hands. “Aurora, come out here.”
“I don’t wanna.”
“Aurora Fiona Sloan, I will not ask again,” I stated, waiting. Grouchily, she opened the door, standing with her arms crossed. “Are you going to give me attitude, or are we going to eat the strawberry Nutella mini pies your Aunt Mayko made?”
“Definitely pie,” Austin answered for her, rushing down the stairs and pulling her along. I just watched, walking behind them.
