You twist your phone nervously in your hands, frowning down at it. Madison has gone back to her house, and as much as you really want to call her and invite her back to spend the night again, you know she can’t do that. She has to spend time with her family as well, and she does seem to be genuinely enjoying learning how to cook with her father. You can’t call her up and demand she sleeps with you again just to help assuage your own anxieties.
But there’s a twisting knot growing in your stomach, and you can’t let it grow and fester. If you leave it alone, all you’re going to do is make yourself feel even worse about this whole thing.
Shaking your head, you lift your phone and tap it until your contacts list is revealed. For half a second, your thumb hovers over Amy’s contact details, before you shake your head. No—Amy might be aware of your proclivities now, but it’s still probably not a good idea to call her up and ask her to distract you from your girl problems.
Instead, you slide your thumb further down, until it lands on Emma’s contact details. You hesitate briefly, pondering on it—but really, there’s no choice. Charlotte’s most likely away with her family right now, and you definitely don’t know Aisha well enough to call her up and ask her for girl advice. And Sophia… You do genuinely enjoy Sophia’s company, but somehow, you’re pretty sure that she’s not exactly an expert at dealing with relationships like this.
You bite your lip, building up your courage for a moment, before tapping out a text. “Can you come over to dinner tonight?” Then, after a moment’s hesitation; “And your mom and dad, too.” It’s been a long time since you’ve seen Emma’s mother. She has never been as close to your family as Alan is.
Alan met your mother while she was studying in college, and the two of them used to be close friends, from what you overheard from Mom and Dad saying when you were younger. After Mom started working and married Dad, the two drifted apart a little
, but after Alan got married to his new wife, all of them got together for… something. Watching the football, probably. Anyway, that was around the time you met Emma—and the rest, as they say, is history.
You’re not quite sure if Emma’s mom will really want to come around now. It’s possible that she was never really Dad’s friend all that much. Still, it’s polite to extend the invitation.
Your phone buzzes a few minutes later with a response from Emma. “Mom is out of town, but Dad and I can come over. Do you want us to bring anything?”
Quickly, you pad out to the living room. You’re surprised to find it empty for a moment, until you remember—oh yeah, Dad was going to be installing that window for you today. You backtrack quickly and make your way to the basement, where you open the door to reveal the scent of concrete dust and the low murmuring sound of two voices. You don’t much feel like walking down in there in all the dust, so you just call down from the top of the stairs, “Dad, I invited Emma and her dad over for dinner. Is that okay?”
There’s a short pause before Dad responds, his voice pitched high. “That’s fine,” he calls out. “Ask them what they’d like. We might have to make a trip down to the grocery store, though.”
“Okay!” You quickly close the door before sending a reply to Emma. “You don’t need to bring anything. What would you like for dinner?”
It takes a frustratingly long time for her to respond, well over three minutes. When your phone buzzes again, you quickly open the door again even as you read through the text. “Anything’s fine. Dad hasn’t had chicken in a while.”
Once again, you call out into the basement, “Dad, they want chicken. Do we have any of that?”
“We have some frozen chicken breasts,” he yells back. “I’ll make some potatoes and beans to go with it.”
You nod, looking back to your phone so you can type furiously on it—or as furiously as you can, given how frustratingly tiny the phone’s keyboard is. A message that would have taken ten seconds to write on paper takes what feels like ten minutes on the phone. “Okay, we’ll make some chicken and vegetables. See you at five
”
Dinner probably won’t be until closer to seven or eight, but you’re not sure you can occupy yourself for that long with this anxiety gnawing at you. It’s already nearly four, though, so giving yourself an hour to set your room in order should be enough.
For once, your room does need a little bit of a clean-up. Madison took her clothing home with her, but she didn’t take everything, choosing to leave her small pair of panties behind. Your own clothing has been left on the floor too, where you discarded it last night with Madison.
You need to change your bed linens, too. It’s been a little over two weeks since the last time you’ve changed them, and you did just have sex on them. It’s not like they’re gross or anything, but it could get a bit unhygienic if you leave them unwashed. In future, it might be best if you got a towel, but that’s fairly unsexy. Then again, cleanliness should come before sexiness, at least in your opinion.
Doing all that occupies you for a good twenty minutes. Then you set about with a duster and cloth, quickly wiping over your furniture and bedroom windows to give them a little bit of polish. There’s only a faint layer of dust coating everything, but it’s there. You make a mental note to go over the rest of the house when you have some time, since Dad always neglects the dusting when doing housework himself.
By the time you’ve finished that, it’s only a few minutes before five, and you can already hear the crunching of Alan’s car on your driveway. You hurry back out to the bathroom so you can quickly put the duster back in the cabinet beneath the sink and toss the dirty cloth in the wash, then make your way downstairs.
Alan and Emma are already standing inside by the time you make it down, each standing loosely in the hall. Dad is standing in front of the two of them, his white shirt stained with streaks of concrete dust and green paint. You’re worried for a moment— should there really have been that much concrete dust anyway?— but dismiss your concerns after a moment when you see the string of a ventilation mask poking out from his pocket.
You greet Emma with a small smile and a wave, which she timidly returns. Beside her, Alan gently pats her on the shoulder, then pushes her towards you. She stumbles a little, then turns and gives him a scowl.
“Now, now,” he chides her. “Your face will get stuck that way, you know.”
It won’t. Dad used to tell you that too, so you went and looked up the science behind it a while back. It is possible to paralyze the muscles in your face, but it generally takes a lot more trauma than just scowling at someone will inflict. You’ve always been careful not to scowl for too long while travelling in a car or near a road though, just in case. It would be bad enough to be hit by a car; you don’t need to have a scowl permanently engraved on your face as well.
Maybe you could get plastic surgery to get rid of the scowl, though?
It’s probably easier to just avoid being hit by a car or anything like that.
Emma, meanwhile, has got in an argument with her Dad. She’s scowling furiously at him, having seemingly forgotten your presence for a second. You’re a little surprised at the vehemence in her voice as she says, “You shouldn’t push people, Dad! Ever! Even if they’re your children.”
He raises an eyebrow for a fraction of a moment, and you can feel confusion rising over him like a thin fog before a cold wave of comprehension crashes down over him, contrasting strongly with the hot waves of frustration waving from Emma. After a moment, he nods a little. “You’re right,” he agrees. “I’m sorry, Emma.” Stepping forward, he pulls her into a loose hug, which she hesitantly returns after a moment. Twin tones of comprehension and what feels like understanding wash out for him, quickly dousing the heat of Emma’s anger, leaving behind only the dull tones of sadness in her.
Dad looks just as confused as you do when you glance at him. Emma never seemed to have a problem with Sophia pushing you around while the three of you were at Winslow, so you’re not quite sure why she was so willing to scold her father about it now. Unless— something icy grips you in the gut.
That was a very strong reaction to a silly little action on Alan’s part, a simple push meant to get her to go to you so the two of you could go and do whatever it was. You wouldn’t expect her to care about that kind of thing, unless she has a personal stake in it—and you’re fairly certain that Alan doesn’t make a habit of pushing Emma around, or her anger wouldn’t die so quickly. But Emma isn’t the kind of person who gets upset at theoreticals. No, she’s the kind of person who would only get that riled up if she feels that someone she knows has been personally affected by that kind of thing.
Dad certainly doesn’t push you around, and so far as you’re aware, Emma only really hangs out with two people.
You really, really hope that you’re somehow misreading the signs here, but it really would explain a lot about Sophia.
You try to push it down as best as you can when Emma turns back to you, sighing softly in irritation. You instinctively step forwards, opening your arms just enough to signal to her that you want her to step forwards into a hug. She plays her part, allowing you to slide your arms around her as you wrap your power over her, already searching for her happiness. It responds almost… eagerly, the tendrils of it buried within her rising with minimal provocation as you run your power over her emotions.
“Hi,” you murmur to her, almost directly into her ear. She shivers a little, tightening her arms around you. “Are you okay?”
She nods, her hair tickling your neck a little. “Yeah, I’m fine,” she mutters. “A little tired, but I’m good. How are you?”
You shrug awkwardly within the hug. “I’m doing good,” you reply back. After a moment’s consideration, you retreat from the hug, but make sure to grab on to one of her wrists as she follows suit, allowing you to pull her towards your bedroom, ignoring the murmured conversation Alan and Dad begin as the two of you make your way into your room. Once you’re in there, you make your way to your bed, pulling Emma until she sits beside you.
She raises a delicate eyebrow as she sees the panties Madison left behind folded neatly on your pillow, but doesn’t comment on them. Instead, she lets out a little sigh. Then, abruptly, she speaks. “Thanks for inviting us over for dinner.”
Happily nodding, you lean over and give her another quick hug, which turns into more of a lingering embrace when Emma unconsciously leans into it. “You don’t need to thank me,” you hum. “I wanted to see you.”
A faint red flush spreads over her cheeks at that, and she ducks her head, hiding her gaze from you. When she speaks again, her voice is soft, almost whispered. “I’m glad to hear that,” she replies, giving you a shy smile. “I—“ And then, just as quickly as her smile had arrived, it disappears. Instinctively, you tug on her happiness again before it can begin sliding away from her. She leans further into your hug, letting out a little sound of approval.
You just give her a small grin after that, but you let the topic drop. You’ve already dealt with Victoria’s anxieties today, and as selfish as you feel just thinking it, you don’t feel up to dealing with Emma’s today. Instead, you squeeze her against you, silently reassuring her that you’re there. Then you change the topic. “So, do you have any plans over the holidays?”
She lets out a soft hum. “Well, I was going to ask you if you wanted to go looking for furniture still,” she says with a cheeky smile. It fades after a moment. “But not much beyond that. We were going to go to Boston for a week, but…” She tugs weakly at her sleeve, giving you a pathetic grin. “Well, um, I asked Dad to set up an appointment with a therapist, a couple of weeks ago.” Shock floods through you, an icy yet not unpleasant feeling. “And, um, he can only see me on Thursdays, which is when I would be gone. So we had to cancel that.”
You open your mouth, then close it again. She gives you a nervous look, but can’t seem to look at you for long, because she just looks away again. Nervousness floods through her, strong enough that you have to tighten your grip on her happiness to prevent it being washed away by the tide.
You—you had not expected that. You knew she’d changed lately, that she’d stopped bullying at school, had retreated into herself—but you had definitely not expected to hear that she had, voluntarily and of her own initiative (because of course it was of her own initiative—who else would encourage her to go, Sophia?), gone into therapy.
(A small part of you notes that a small spool of worry in your gut unravels at the thought, but the rest of you is too busy to pay it any attention.)
“I—“ You lick your lips, thinking furiously. “That’s, that’s a very big step, Emma.”
You can’t help the wonder that stains your voice, and Emma seems to notice, because she looks up at you with a wan smile. “Yeah?” she asks quietly.
“Yeah,” you confirm. A smile touches your lips, just a small one. “I’m proud of you.”
She practically melts at the statement, shifting sidewards on the bed so she can press herself against you and lay her head on your shoulder, looking up at you. “Yeah?” she asks, naked vulnerability on her voice. “S—That’s nice. That’s really nice.” A faint flush steals over her features, the heat warm enough for you to feel through your shirt. The nervousness in her recedes, revealing beneath it an expanse of nervousness—and within it, a core of almost solid pride. Within your grasp, her happiness swells.
