I refuse to admit how long I've been parked in the street where Annabelle's parents live and just staring at their perfect little suburban house that oddly reminds me of mine.

I don't trust the suburbs.

At first, I was just sitting in my car and staring in front of me, while mentally preparing myself. For God's sake, the last (and the only!) parents that I met were Patty's, and that was in high school! I eventually killed the engine and relied on the cold late October weather to convince me to leave the cooling car and resort to the warmth of her parents' house instead. I'm not sure if that's working yet, I'm still waiting for it to kick in, and by spying the clock, I still have approximately seven minutes to get my ass out of here.

The thing is I'm not worried if they're gonna approve of me. I know that as a man I bring to the table everything that parents possibly have to ask for - I have a respectable university degree, a really good job, my own place in a nice neighbourhood, the charm and good looks, and most importantly, feelings for their daughter.

And yet!

I remember how it was meeting them very briefly once before, and they looked like genuinely nice and caring people, I don't imagine myself being interrogated by her father like a prisoner of war. They also seemed very happy that Annabelle met and hung out with somebody who wasn't Mason or wasn't related to him.

Thank God because Mason fucking sucks.

Regardless though, I was just a guy who they perceived as somebody Annabelle was interested in thanks to Caitlin being a tattler. This now? Slightly different. It's the first time me meeting them after officially getting together with her, so they're not meeting a handsome guy Annabelle occasionally sees and is getting to know, but her boyfriend.

It still feels odd saying that, me being a boyfriend. Annabelle's boyfriend. It's been such a long time since I was last a boyfriend that my name and that word seem like distant relatives that don't want to speak to each other at family functions. To be honest, though, my life hasn't changed that much. Sure, I don't really go around the city picking up chicks, but the rest... The rest is surprisingly very good. Perhaps my view of these things is askew because of how I viewed having a relationship and by the previous relationship I've been in, which was Patty. So, you know... Psychotic, yet passionately erotic.

Two minutes. Two goddamn minutes.

I take a deep breath and mentally kick my ass out of the car. Except I don't move. And I take another deep breath. And another one. And one more. And after that one, I just feel like I'm a woman giving birth and waiting for the epidural to kick in.

Then I properly kick my ass out and am, after taking out flowers and a ridiculously expensive bottle of whiskey, I start marching towards the Taylor lawn.

Annabelle's pale yellow Renault Clio is parked next to a dark blue Volkswagen, and I pray to the universe, the gods of all religions, the fairies in Ireland and the laws of nature to have Annabelle welcome me into the house.

Argh, fine... Let's do this.

The moment I press the doorbell button, my heart drops down into my stomach acid, even though things are fine! Annabelle and I are fine, Devon is fine, everything is just fine.

When I hear footsteps on the other side coming closer to the door, it's when it hits me like a train. Once the door opens, there's no going back, regardless of who's on the other side and welcoming me into the house.

I'll more than officially be her boyfriend. Not just that, I will officially be the man she wants to build a life with. I haven't even taken Annabelle to Patty and Daniel's place and they know what surpassed between us.

I get a quick feverish feeling right before the doorknob turns and a person happily peeks outside.

Thank God, it's my person.

"Nathan!" Annabelle squeals quietly and gives me the biggest bubbly smile I've ever seen.

Ya know what... Worth it.

"Hi," I whisper back and stand there like an awkward snowman.

She chuckles and opens the door slightly ajar, which is clearly an invitation for me to walk in. "Do I dare ask how you're doing?"

The warmth envelopes me so gracefully once I'm inside that I forget I was actually freezing outside. "I'm doing fine. Just fine. It's why we're doing this because we're fine."

She takes my jacket and distrustingly peers up at me before she runs her fingers over my collar straightening out any bumps. "You sure? This isn't too fast?"

"No, not at all. We've been going steady for a good couple of months, haven't we?"

Of course, it's too fast!

She smiles reassuringly, "There's nothing to be afraid of. They liked you when they first met you." She spies the delivery goods in my hands and points those out, "What is all this? Anything for me?"

I look down at the bottle of whiskey, then flowers and back up at her. "Well, this fancy bottle's for your father, and-" I swiftly evade her hands with the bouquet. "-these are for your mother."

Annabelle beams up at me a little and tilts her head to the side, "And where's something for me?"

Annabelle... Just... Let me be!

"You get me behind the dinner table with your parents." Annabelle rolls her eyes at that. "And if you're lucky, I've got something else I can give to you later. Preferably without your parents sitting around the corner."

She opens her eyes widely in shock and playfully gives my chest a slap. "You are awful!"

I snake my free hand around her hips over the tight black jeans she's wearing, the ones that accentuate her figure so nicely that I always want to follow her, instead of her following me, and gently pull her closer. "And you're an awful liar. Admit that you can't wait to get me all alone."

She bites her lower lip to try and conceal a smile. "I have no idea what you're talking about."

I lightly trace my fingers up and down her back, and then plant a kiss on her lips, which she graciously accepts. When I pull away, I whisper, "You can lie all you want, but your body betrays you."

Annabelle shakes her head, a small smile always ever present on her lips. "What is up with you lately, all seductive and arrogant in my parents' house!"

I grin widely and lift a brow, "Annabelle, it's Scorpio season. This is my domain." And I lean in again for another kiss, a deeper one this time.

She places her hand on my cheek where it rests while we're busy kissing. She breaks the kiss and whispers with her eyes still closed, "I swore I'd never date another one ever again."

"Who was the first one?"

She opens her eyes and grins accusingly, "You."

"Annabelle!" I feign crying out silently and squeeze her shoulder with the hand that's wrapped around her. "You wound me!"

"No, you do that yourself, poking around with that tail of yours!"

"You wish I poked you with something." I silence her giggle with another smothering kiss.

Of course, right when my tongue is in his daughter's throat, Mr Taylor walks out to the hallway looking for Annabelle. "Annie, all good?" Needless to say, his voice traces off a little bit when he sees us.

Annabelle wiggles her way out of my arms and away from my pursed lips. She wipes her mouth with her slim fingers, and, completely red in the face, all over her neck and upper chest, points at me, "Uh, yeah, dad, uhm... This is Nathan."

He nods. "I assumed so, yes."

Ah. Absolutely delightful.

She smiles nervously, which makes me think that this is the first time that her parents caught her kissing or canoodling with someone. Huh... Makes me think about what different lives Annabelle and I lived.

I put on a brave face and suppress the uncomfortable panic that's slowly gathering strength.

Nah, time to shine.

So, I confidently walk past Annabelle and right up to him, stretching my hand towards him and smiling in such a relaxed manner that even I start to believe I'm not bothered about things. "Mr Taylor, it's great seeing you again."

He shows a snippet of him being taken aback by my showinistic confidence. No doubt Mason was cooing like a dove and hiding behind Annabelle. Given that she's wearing those jeans, even I should've considered doing the same for a nice view.

"Oh, likewise," he shakes my hand and I notice immediately that the grip from the previous time he met me was not even remotely as firm as now. Interesting. Very fatherly. "I'm really glad you could join us tonight."

I bring that whiskey that I got for this occasion forward and smile, "This b-" And... I can't get a sound out of me. The b is desperately trying to stay back and not make its way outside of my throat, and I almost severely stutter with numerous repetitions of b-b-b-b-bottle. Somehow, thank fuck, I brute force that shit. "-ottle is for you."

He either didn't notice it or he just pretends he didn't. Either way, he carefully takes it into his hands and inspects it. "Wow, how thoughtful of you. That's a really nice bottle."

Okay, note to self: no bottles, pleasures or anything with plosives. There are only so many times that I can prevent a stumble.

"And a very good one too. Given that it's Irish whiskey, I thought it ap... fitting for this occasion."

He ignores that little stumble as well. Thankfully, I switched the two words fast enough. He looks up when I mention 'Irish whiskey'. "Did Annie suggest it or mention anything about that?"

Without looking at Annabelle, who walks over to my side, I trace my fingers around her wrist and up her forearm. Yes, in front of her father, and no, I'm not trying to hide it, just trying to make it look like that. "No, sir. I just know my whiskeys."

His eyes momentarily shoot right down to our hands and then immediately back to us, but his gaze is very kind and warm. I knew he'd notice and I knew he'd like it. "Well, in that case, we should have a glass after dinner just the two of us, yeah?"

I nod with a smile and he walks to the kitchen area that's right around the corner to tell his wife that he's got a new bottle of whiskey now.

I want to follow, but Annabelle pulls me back. "My dad notices things like that, you know?" Of course, that refers to me caressing her forearm.

"Of course, I know. That was the whole point

Now, he is not worried if I show you affection. What's more, he knows you get more of it when he's not present."

She stares at me a little bit. "You strategically planned all of this out?"

"I'm trying to impress them! And I'll resort to all kinds of feigning tricks to get that result. It's not like I'm lying about any of it."

"You can just be yourself without a script or any cards up your sleeve, you know?" She says gently and wraps her hands around my free arm.

I scoff and caress her jaw quickly. She looks up at me with adoring eyes, and then I flick her nose lightly, which immediately pisses her off. "I am. Scorpio season, baby."

She pushes my arm towards the dining area and kitchen area where her dad went just a few seconds ago. She does so begrudgingly because she probably wishes she could've elbowed me instead.

I don't even fully walk through the doorframe when Annabelle's mother greets me excitedly. "Nathan! It's such a pleasure to see you."

She rushes over and gives me her hand. The major difference between her and Annabelle's father, she squeezes very tightly. So, either she's one feisty lady or she's really excited.

"The pleasure's all mine, Mrs Taylor," I say and smile. That pleasure really rolled off nicely, thankfully. "Oh, and these are for you," I add and present her with the bouquet of pink tulips and white daisies.

Mrs Taylor stares at the flowers completely bewildered, and as she takes them in her hands, she peers up with nothing but gratitude in her eyes. "That's so... That's so sweet. Thank you, Nathan." She turns around towards her husband and lifts up the bouquet, "Finn, look what wonderful flowers Nathan got for me."

Her husband nods, smiles and murmurs something about the flowers being very beautiful, and then Annabelle's mother rushes away and makes an excuse of putting the flowers in some water.

Annabelle's father invites both of us to sit down and announces that the dinner will be served in a second, so when Annabelle and I choose our seats and are sitting down, I nudge her a little bit: "It's going well, right?"

She covers my hand with hers and gives it a soft squeeze. "Really well."

***

Both of her parents don't drill into me, they actually make this dinner incredibly comforting. It's all just a fun and regular conversation.

Mrs Taylor, who has throughout dinner vigorously insisted that I call her Amelia, has mostly asked me about my family and background, and she was incredibly delighted to hear from Annabelle that all my nephews adore me. Mr Taylor, who has throughout never hinted that he'd like to be called Finn, has pretty much kept silent, assuming the role of a silent observer. He would occasionally tune in to comment on something, but nothing major.

"So, you are very close with your family?" That's one of the things that he additionally asks me.

Annabelle looks at me from the side as she's inconspicuously eating her dinner. To her parents, it probably looks like she's just waiting to hear what I'll have to say, but I know she is curious and a bit tense to find out how far I'll go with it, which is something she should never be worried about. I had slept with her numerous times before I told her that things in my family were not at all stellar.

"Very close with my siblings. Well, closer with my brother's family than my sister's, but still." Mrs Taylor, Amelia, smiles at that very happily. "After the divorce, my father moved to a different state and remarried, so we saw less of him."

I look over at Annabelle, who gives me a soft and reassuring smile, and I give her one back in return. I'm not here to ruin things, I want this to work.

I take the glass of wine in my hand and take a sip, which is when he asks me: "So, I can assume that with an absent father, you are pretty close with your mother?"

I cough into the glass and luckily for me, the glass is almost empty, so there's no wine flying up at my face. I set the glass down and sorely cough once more. "Agh, ahmm.. N-no, not really."

Amelia's eyes grow bigger, the exact same way that Annabelle's do when she notices something is off or unjust. "Oh, dear, why not?"

I use a napkin to wipe the specky wine stains. "Err.. My mother and I don't, ehmm.. We just don't get along too well."

Her mother wants to ask more like she's holding a therapy session here for me, but Annabelle jumps in and tries to make the situation a bit less awkward. "They disagree on a few things, but they still see each other at family functions and everything."

Yeah, without my fucking consent!

Mrs Taylor seems to sympathise and then continues the conversation by steering it in another direction, which is sharing a sibling story from Annabelle's childhood. I try to listen to it and I catch a few glimpses of Annabelle insisting that she wanted to live in a tree house when she grew up, but then she and Caitlin had a major fight over it. What's throwing me off is trying to catch a snippet of Mr Taylor's thoughts on the whole mother thing, but he either remains closed off or he doesn't want to dig into what's clearly a sensitive topic.

After Mrs Taylor's done with her story, Annabelle, smiling slightly embarrassed, expectantly looks over at me. "Nathan has interesting sibling stories. Being the terrorising big brother and all."

Both of her parents already smile in advance and then proceed to laugh when I fight Annabelle back on her bold claim. "I wasn't terrorising them, my sister was just being an annoying brat."

"Whiiiich," she playfully drags the word out, "means that you have plenty of stories to tell!" Then she nudges me lightly with her elbow.

I don't really know if they'd find any of it funny because I was so sick of May constantly yapping about this or that that I resorted to many things to make her life hell. From lies to physical means, I spared her with nothing.

"Well," I begin when I remember a story that isn't complete childhood trauma. "I really really didn't like my sister. Even nowadays our communication is more based on being annoyed with each other. In our house, there was this big calendar and our parents wrote all the big events and special days in it, including our birthday. So, when I was around eight or something like that, I brought my sister to that calendar, took a corrector and convinced her that she is never going to have another birthday again because I deleted it out of existence."

Mr Taylor erupts in laughter way harder than I thought he would, and Amelia, though very amused by my story, glances at him quite accusingly, then at Annabelle who is also chuckling.

"That's damn brilliant," is what Annabelle's father says still mid-laugh.

I look over at Annabelle slightly confused, but incredibly pleased. Finally, somebody who recognises my talents!

"My husband," Amelia tunes in and begins to explain, "is also an older brother. He probably finds your story inspiring."

Annabelle adds: "I remember when my cousin Jodi had a birthday party, I walked in on my dad and my aunt bickering about something, then I don't know exactly what happened, but the next thing I heard is my dad saying: 'Lisa, don't you dare tell mum about this.'"

Mrs Taylor tries to look disappointed like Annabelle sometimes tries to do the same with me, but they both fail miserably at it, while Mr Taylor is very pleased with himself. Like I am. At that moment, I remember a very specific conversation Annabelle and I had regarding dating and how she said she wants what her parents have, and a slight spark in my chest says that that's probably what happened here. I ignore the screaming voice in my head that's saying she'll leave me when I'm at my lowest and then proceed to completely destroy my life.

"It's a lifelong thing, yeah," Annabelle's father adds to that when his giggle fit calms down.

"Oh, I urge my sister to go tell someone," I interject.

"Because you're both adults?" Annabelle asks.

"No, because I know she's a coward," I respond, honestly shocked that Annabelle's experience is way more timid. Then again, she's told me before that she and Caitlin were more like roommates with an occasional fight.

Mr Taylor, again, laughs and points at me like I'm the messiah of truth over here. "Now, that's one hundred per cent true."

Mrs Taylor, though laughing, shakes her head, "You two are both as bad as each other."

"Don't worry, mum," says Annabelle, "Nathan, despite his reign of terror, was good to his siblings. They always stuck together, no matter what."

I look down at my empty plate when she says that because I'd just rather not. Sure, it's admirable, but that one thing comes with one huge can of worms. I don't care if her parents notice the change in my demeanour.

Mr Taylor simply says: "Like regular siblings. We're the only ones who are allowed to make each other's life hell."

I look up at him slowly and I see him warmly gazing at me like he has turned mellow. "Yes, exactly that." Even if hell was our very own mother.

***

Sharing a couple of more stories and the conversation leading into the topic of my job, university degree and ambitions, introduced, of course, by her father.

That's a topic that I was the least worried about. I mean, come on, wedding band versus engineering, isn't it fucking obvious?

Mr Taylor asks: "How come you went down the solar route? That must have been a relatively new field when you were in college?"

At that point, we've all finished our main course plates and the dessert that Annabelle's mother prepared additionally, so the conversation isn't exactly as lively as before, all of us being full and all, but it's calm and comforting.

At first, I don't realise that that question is meant for me, so it takes me a second. "Oh, me? Sorry, I was disassociating a little bit. Always happens after a good meal." I very clearly see the way that Mrs Taylor smiles at that and looks over at Mr Taylor like: He's so sweet! "But yes, it was relatively new. I didn't even know about it first, I transferred to that uni programme later on."

"Oh?" Says Annabelle a bit sleepily, but genuinely surprised. I guess as far as she knows I've always been solely interested in solar engineering. "Where did you transfer from?"

"I wanted to be a pilot," I smile at her and see her eyes grow a little bit wider, but not shyly like before. I'd look so damn good in a pilot uniform, and she knows it and probably imagines it very clearly. "I was in the process of getting my aeroplane license, actually."

As I'm looking at her, I know there's a lot of desire building up in her. Maybe that's the result of this whole evening, maybe the result of me wanting to become a pilot, or the most plausible explanation, maybe it's just me being around her. If her parents weren't in the room, which I consciously have to remind myself of, otherwise Annabelle's gaze would just hypnotise me, I'm one hundred per cent sure she would've made our kind of a remark on it.

At last, she says silently as if trying not to ruin the moment, which is fucking bold of her to do, this is how she continually successfully seduces me! "So, what happened? That was a noble pursuit."

I have an inner fight of a few possible answers to that question, some among them being: 'Because I'm a mystic man and I work in mysterious ways' and 'I found a different way of taking you for a ride', but I don't think anyone behind this table would appreciate either of the two. Except me. I think they're hilarious.

So, I settle for something else entirely. "Because I'm a trailblazer." Then I, oh so, fakely carefully caress her upper arm right where the blouse's short sleeves end. "And I'd probably very rarely be at home."

Annabelle smiles like she could not love me more than in that very moment. Mrs Taylor, Amelia, is glowing with happiness that I'm not a complete nutjob, and Mr Taylor is keeping it to himself, but nonetheless looking like he's happy seeing his daughter happy.

Oh, and me? I call that: a homerun!

"Nathan," says Mr Taylor and I pretend as if my attention hasn't been on them this entire time and I just happened to get lost in the moment with Annabelle. Well... I did... For a moment. "How about we try that whiskey you brought with you, hm?"

Remember that homerun? My heart just made a homerun down to my guts and it's staying there.

"Yes, sir," I say and follow his lead of getting up from the table.

Mrs Taylor asks Annabelle if she'd like some more wine and is busy with that. So, when I look back at her before Mr Finn over here locks me in a room with him, Annabelle gives me an excited wave like she's my mum and this is my first day at school.

Annabelle, help!

I quickly shake with my head and she in return quickly nods back my way. I don't think she is getting what I'm trying to tell her! She's got to come with! The last time I was one-on-one with a father was with Patty's and... Well... Mr Kensington wasn't too fond of me. Called me too entrepreneur-y and intense. He only put up with me because I could tinker my way around stuff and because Patty liked me.

"Would you mind closing the door?" Says Mr Taylor and I shoot Annabelle back another glance, and her reply to that? She lifts up two thumbs-ups.

Thumbs-ups.

That's the moment when something in me dies. I'm like a cornered animal! I don't have Annabelle to bounce off of during conversation. It's just me. My entrepreneur-y, intense and whoreish ass!

Once I close the door, I accept my fate. I only pray that he won't ask me to open the bottle because that shit's gonna slip right through my hands. I also pray like I've never prayed before that my speech won't be affected by my nervousness and jittery hands and legs.

While I'm praying, he already passes me a glass, so I might be really good at that shit because how were my prayers heard that fast!

"Please, sit," offers Mr Taylor and like a good-natured puppy, I plop down, even though I try to look as confident about it as I can. I guess that really says a lot about how confident I actually feel.

I resist the urge to down that glass of whiskey, pour myself another, down that one as well and then ask him if he's enjoyed this evening.

"You know, it really shows that you are a- how should I say, a whiskey enthusiast? This is a fantastic bottle."

Yeah, can I have the whole, please?

I take a sip and ignore the ice cubes he threw in there. I prefer just whiskey because I like to be hit with its strength, but maybe it's for the best that I am given the cold diluted version.

"Is this your preferred whiskey?"

Man, you do not want me to start talking about whiskeys.

"Yes, Irish whiskey's my, so to say, poison of choice. I like the smoothness that scotch doesn't have." I reply with a short answer and smile. Can we just keep talking about whiskeys, that I can do really well!

Mr Taylor looks at his glass with a smile on his face. "I thought it was a funny joke, at first, given that our family is of Irish descent." He then looks up and I feel like his eyes are ultra-sounding me. "I'm pleasantly surprised."

I scoff and twirl the ice in the glass, mentally crying out: No! My whiskey! "I think that joke must've been done to death?"

"You wouldn't believe it," he rolls his eyes. "I always thought it was a shame. Irish whiskey's too good to be used for a pun."

"Well..." I say quietly and then add: "Some."

He is probably surprised by this sudden assertiveness of me basically screaming out: You are wrong! "Care to elaborate?"

"Some Irish whiskeys are good. With some... Let's just say I'd rather switch to scotch. It's the same with any alcohol, except that generally people make it a big deal when it comes to wine and forget about the rest."

He just stares at me astonished. Is it really so surprising that I like whiskey, or is the weird thing here the fact that I know so much about this topic? Honestly, I wouldn't mind surviving this conversation by just talking about this specific alcoholic drink. "You really know your whiskeys, huh?"

"Just like I said, sir," I grin there almost cockily. Maybe I go full ham on that, I just lost my touch with the scale.

"Do you go to various events or do you like to try things yourself at home? How do you go about such a specific thing?"

Oh, I see you now!

What a nicely sugarcoated question! I read right between the lines here, he's not really asking me how I developed such knowledge and how I explore it further. He's asking me if I drink often and if I'm an alcoholic!

"I'm not that deep in any of it. I only went to one event like that, and I tried enough to know what I like. I have an occasional glass during the weekend or something after dinner. Just for a taste." Or if Devon's driving me nuts.

Oh, boy, he loves that answer. For him, I know enough not to be ignorant, like it enough to enthuse about it with him and drink little enough not to be deemed a drunk.

"Whiskey after dinner, it hits the right spot, doesn't it?" He grins and takes a sip, almost finishing his glass. That was apparently a rhetorical question because then he continues: "My Annie seemed happy this evening."

I, before I speak, take another little sip. "I hope so." Then a tiny voice, the one that told me to go back and tell her how I feel and the one that pushed me to go to that performance, that very tiny voice tells me that this is not the time to be mystical and that I should bring out the big guns. "I'd like to make her happy."

Mr Taylor smiles very slowly. "I think you already do. I think you two make each other very happy. And I see that you care about her."

I nod and take another sip, but apparently, I've already emptied the glass. I'm too nervous to ask for me, but he offers it immediately.

Thank fuck.

"That is essentially all that matters to me," he adds and then absent-mindedly takes a sip. I do not absent-mindedly take a sip, I relish every drop of it. "But as you probably know, Annie got her heart broken all of a sudden not too long ago."

I almost hiss out Mason's name. The fucking boy next door. "Yes, she told me about her fiance and what happened."

"Yes, that. I'd rather not see my daughter heartbroken again if you understand what I'm trying to say?"

I want to reply like I'm in the military. No whoring around, sir, no, sir! "Of course. I understand."

Mr Taylor nods, but I feel like something is missing. Okay, so he gave me a talk and I nodded obediently and accepted the terms and conditions, great. Why doesn't it seem like it's enough? Did the wedding band man fish out a serenade he wrote for Annabelle and then perform it to her father or something? Because this man, right now, is just strangely calm, and I. Don't. Like it.

"Sir, if I may be completely honest," I start and I immediately catch his attention. "I wouldn't dare trifle with your daughter."

He lets out a chuckle and taps with his fingers on the armrest. "She gets that from her mother, yes. She doesn't look the type until it happens. Though, I would say you're up to a good start."

"And, s-s-sir," I say again and unconveniently let out a stutter that just got the best of me. I cannot fucking tame it if I'm under so much goddamn pressure! "Sorry, uhm..."

He empties his glass and inspects me from afar like I'm a new puzzle piece. The same way that everybody used to look at me whenever I stuttered. 'Oh, is he gonna do it? Isn't he? Who knows!' "Nathan, do you... excuse the question, stutter sometimes?"

Oooh... mother... fuuuuuck.

My lower lip trembles a little and my first reaction is to look towards the door like I'm trying to bolt out of here as fast as possible, which I wouldn't fucking mind! This is going terribly!

My breathing is gradually increasing as I'm beginning to panic. All words just freeze in my mouth all of a sudden and my head becomes so full of noise that I can't hear my own goddamn thoughts.

It's pretty clear to me what happened here. This fancy middle-aged man caught onto everything, everything about me that he could. One slip with 'bottle', a tiny hesitation during conversation, and now 's-s-sir'. He caught on to all of that like a shrink terminator, meaning he also must've noticed the dislike of my mother, a quickly patched-up conversation to avoid talking about her and the sudden and different changes of mood talking about my siblings, which means he's been looking and seeing right through me this entire time.

I pull myself together as best as I can. I remember the feeling of confidence of walking into a club like I own everything, and I try to recreate that feeling right now right here in this chair. I start rhythmically lightly tapping the glass with my index finger, something one can easily interpret to be an absent-minded activity, like the way some women twirl their hair around the finger when talking about something. I hope to him it looks like I'm at my leisure, while I am actually focusing on the created rhythm.

One... Two... Three... One... Two... Three...

One - Some... Two - Times... Three - I... Four - Do...

"Sometimes I do." I gradually speed up the rhythm so it doesn't look like I'm moving in slow motion or that this whiskey's already gone up in my head. One - It's... Two - Just... Three - A... "It's just a thing from my childhood. I grew out of it, though."

And yet, here I am counting syllables.

Mr Taylor observes me and eventually nods. It doesn't look like he caught on to any of that, but maybe I'll realise that waaay later like it happened just before. "When does it resurface? Is there a pattern to it?"

Well, I'd prefer it if we didn't talk about this because it has been nicely tucked and suppressed for 20 years, and I liked it that way!

I am contemplating what to even tell him. I don't know why he's interested in these things, does he actually work in some psychological field or something? I'd rather not have my words dissected by him here.

Should I mention that it's when I've had something to drink? Or do I take a different route and say there is no clear pattern, that sometimes plosives and fricatives and other fuckeroos just suck ass? Should I tell the truth and say it happens very rarely and only when I'm in new situations? What the fuck do I do? What kind of a person do I want to paint myself as in his eyes - confident, a little bit broken, or humbled?

I guess I'm all of those things.

"Only when I'm nervous, sir." And I say that with style, with confidence! Mr Taylor?! Feel that love for Annabelle!

"I would never say you're nervous. You seem to be very at ease." I almost collapse when he says that because I deserve an Oscar for this performance, holy fucking shit.

Now, this part... This part hurts. Because when I give him a small soft smile, the first thing that I see is myself smiling like that wedding band boy next door loser. I don't do cute, but this has to be done. The goal justifies the means. "That's why the stutter is there. It breaks through the mask."

"Ah, well, in that case," he says supportively, no judgement whatsoever present, and gets ready to pour me one more. "Something for the nerves?"

Yeah, the whole bottle.

"No, thank you. It's good and I enjoy it, but I shouldn't." I then hammer that shit in with: "I'm driving."

"I'm not," he says and pours himself another glass. You know what, if I can't drink, I can at least get him drunk enough for him to stop analysing me. "I gotta say, you've been very honest and straightforward. Boys that our girls bring home usually keep a strong unbreakable facade, but you... You're not afraid of looking vulnerable."

Man, you could not be more fucking wrong.

Annabelle and I danced around each other for months in the most intimate way possible because I refused to let her in even by an inch.

I almost start feeling bad that that's the impression he got of me because that just means that in his eyes, I'm a completely different person than he thinks Annabelle is dating. Then, he adds another remark: "Perhaps I wouldn't say that, but... Maybe that you opened up for the sake of this, in which case, I appreciate it even more."

Uh-huh, I know it's not. It's why I've been kind of struggling and shutting down all the alarms going off in my head. I don't really know what to say to any of that, I just got read. Again! Clearly, all I really have to do is just sit here and talk about something completely random because this man will extract everything that he needs to know from it.

He adds: "It's not an easy thing to do. But, I have to say, it's about time Annie found someone willing to do that for her."

Yeah, all it required was me begging my mother to choose me over a hard dick to ride, and then not be chosen over it. And then my ex to roll in and give me a love lecture. And then, like now, ignoring all the blaring alarms in my head that are screaming at me how Annabelle will just leave me shattered.

The funny thing is that as I'm thinking about how fucking terribly the beginning has gone, I realise that I went directly through the storm to navigate my way to her. For at least a decade I have refused to talk to my mother and directly address her shitty mother behaviour, and for over a decade, I ignored the good parts that a loving relationship brings, only focusing on the bad parts to avoid ending up in one. And what happened then? Annabelle walked in with a baseball bat and wrecked everything. All of the things that followed, all the confrontation, I did that for her.

Wow...

I swallow down a feeling of unease as I recall back all those moments and the turbulence that I experienced time and time again. I'm sure that if I spoke now, with all those things going through my head, my voice would crack and break and tremble. I've stuttered multiple times already, I can't afford puberty no. 2 to hit me as well, for fuck's sake.

When I get to the final chapter, though, which always revolves around Annabelle, things somehow fall into place. Even though things were messy and all over the place, they all settled down like sand settles in the ocean when kids stop kicking around the ocean floor.

"She's worth all of it," I murmur, gazing at the pattern woven into the side part of Mr Taylor's armrest. I look up at him and set down the empty glass, which I so desperately wish was filled to the brink. "It's the least that she deserves."

"She wouldn't blindly put her faith in someone either," he says and after a brief pause, continues, "I'm glad you two found each other."

So am I.

He tips the glass all the way up and finishes the rest of the smaller portion he poured himself just earlier. "How about we join the ladies, now? I've kept you occupied long enough, I believe."

I smile and agree with his proposition. We're on our way out and I have never been more happy to see Annabelle. You know La Sylphide? Yeah, fuck that! This right now is so much better. She smiles widely when she sees me, and I want to run into her arms like a little boy who misses his mother. I will also stop making mother comparisons with Annabelle because it's really been rubbing me the wrong way.

I oddly feel like I got rewired during that conversation, and now I am absolutely convinced that he has a psychology background. I can read people really well, and the way he casually drilled into me under the pretence of getting to know me is beyond what I could ever do. Thinking back on the things Annabelle and I have been through, that I alone have been through, that I put Annabelle through... It wrecked my brain with a sledgehammer.

This guy's really damn good, holy shit.

I feel like I should pay him for this. How much does therapy cost nowadays?

"How was it?" Annabelle gives me her bubbly smile when I sit down behind the table next to her.

Before I can say anything, Mrs Taylor gently pinches her husband's cheek that's slightly redder than before he dragged me in for an interview and says, "Oh, I see how it went."

I suppress the urge to chuckle, but I can finally see what Annabelle loves about their dynamic. I mean, it's a healthy dynamic, it must've been fantastic growing up with that.

"Don't worry, Mrs Taylor. It was only two glasses," I say and keep Mr Taylor's third one a secret. You know, bro code, something I never thought I'd have with my girlfriend's father. He's probably thinking the exact same thing given the knowing smile that he gives me.

***

That's pretty much where both her parents and Annabelle and I decided to wrap up this evening. Mrs Taylor was desperate to keep us around for a while longer, but I think that both Annabelle and I were severely burnt out from all the socialisation at that point.

On our way out, Mrs Taylor gave me a big hug that lasted a good thirty seconds before she finally let me go. As they both escorted us out, Annabelle's mother proposed another dinner, lunch or even brunch together, the woman really wanted to cover all the bases, and though Annabelle was kind of trying to dodge something like that coming to fruition that soon, I indulged her wishes, recommended a restaurant in SoHo and a potential date, and made Mrs Taylor a very happy woman.

Annabelle's father again kept his sneaky distance, and right before Annabelle and I headed for our cars, he said one more thing after me wishing him a goodnight and him bidding me the same. "Oh, Nathan, by all means, call me Finn."

Is that... the first-name basis that I hear?! Or am I imagining shit?

One can only begin to imagine how I liquified in my car seat after all of this. This was a hard-earned win!

Instead of going home, I drive over to Annabelle's. This whole separate car thing seems more like a ploy to me, a performance put up for her parents to make it look like I'm this nice boy who wouldn't even dare imagine their daughter naked. Well, in reality, this boy isn't just imagining it, he's gonna be the one undressing her tonight!

Annabelle probably arrived a couple of minutes before me because I took some time to breathe in my car and calm down. I know this evening went well, but holy fuckerooney, it was stressful nonetheless.

"Well, you just keep showing up at my doorstep," she says playfully and tiredly leans on her apartment's front door when she opens it for me.

"Move," I say, stride right in, let the door close itself, and immediately tackle Annabelle by pushing and pressing her against the wall, kissing her deeply, like I have been deprived of all touch and affection for all thirty years of my life.

There's the initial grunt of surprise that I get from her, but then she completely melts into the kiss and accepts me deep into her embrace. It's not like she really has any choice, it's either me or the wall, but she still chooses me over the latter.

It's only when I can no longer breathe that I pull away and both she and I inhale sharply at that moment. She leans her head back against the wall and I press my forehead against hers as I pant heavily.

"What was that?" She asks between breaths.

I plant a swift feathery kiss on her upper lip and whisper, "That was something for you."

Annabelle laughs playfully, but a bit in disbelief. "You are unbelievable."

"Honestly, Annabelle, what did you expect? Not only was I straightforward with you at your parents' place already, but this," I make a pause and press my body closer to her, so all crevices of our bodies are intertwined and touching each other, "is kinda my whole personality."

"Your whole personality, huh? Is that why you and my dad were locked in that room for so long? Were you showing him your whole sterling personality?"

Oh, she's heading right in there, isn't she!

"All I can say and that I'm allowed to say is that your father is one freaky man," I say and let go of her, which I'm not too sure she's entirely happy about. I pat my pockets for my keys, wallet and other essentials that I carry with me, and I leave them out on Annabelle's table. "And I mean that he freaked me out."

She crosses her arms as she's watching me emptying my pockets. "What? My dad is harmless."

"Annabelle, your father is like an X-ray, but... for people... I guess?" I feel the narrowing look that she gives me when a pack of cigarettes lands on the table, but you know what, it's one cigarette per two weeks maybe. And I've earned it today.

"You mean that his experience as the school's psychologist is useful for meeting people?"

I put a cigarette in my mouth and look her way. "He's a psychologist?"

She disapprovingly presses her lips together when she sees me with the cigarette. "Yeah, he works with kids in the primary school downtown. He helps them deal with problems, like learning difficulties, arguments that they have, or if a kid is found smoking behind the school's gym. Things like that."

I take out a lighter and she, without saying a word, points at her balcony, so that's where I head. She wants me to freeze to death. "Funny that he specialises in smoking, conveniently for you."

"He specialises in kids. Conveniently for you. Being a manchild." Her eyes follow me outside and when I look at her through the window and light a cigarette, she pokes out her tongue at me.

Damn, I love her.

"Oh, yeah, so mature of you," I say loud enough that she can hear me. She just smiles at that and then I watch her walk around the kitchen and make herself a cup of tea.

Now that's something that is insane to me, that woman drinks so much tea throughout the day that China's gonna completely drain its tea plantation fields.

I take a drag and then another one, then the balcony's door opens, and out walks Annabelle wrapped in a blanket and holding two cups of tea. I'd love to assume one is for me, but with the quantity that she usually drinks, I dare not hope.

"Thought you were gonna wait for me inside?"

She heats up her hands on a cup when she hands on to me. "Eh, I'd be bored, and I wanna know what's your beef with my dad now."

See, I was never an avid tea drinker of any kind. I'm not into real teas, I don't like fruity ones, and herbals also aren't my thing. Either I drink straight-up whiskey, the blackest of the black coffees, or water. I don't know if she knows any of that, to be honest, because since she's started making tea for me as well, I just drink it because she makes it for me.

"I don't have any beef with him. I was just thrown off guard." I puff out cigarette smoke and flick the burnt ashes off the cig.

"I think you did really well. I think the whole evening went great. What's the part that worries you?" She tosses the tea infuser around the mug like she's impatient to get her tea fill of the evening once she sits down on her tiny balcony bench.

"Nothing, I also think it was all fine. Even got to the first name basis and all."

She watches me for a bit, analysing me just like her father did like an hour ago. "But?"

I inhale and shake my head before I puff out the smoke. "There is no 'but'."

"Yeah, and I'm the wrong ginger sister, yeah?"

I stare down at the balcony's floor, keeping the cigarette away from all the plants she has around the fence like this is a small flowery jungle. "I stuttered," I quickly mutter and take a long, loooong drag from the cigarette. I want it to burn my throat till there's nothing left of it.

Annabelle nods and something in the atmosphere considerably drops. "Yeah, I noticed. But nobody cared, Nathan, and you were under a lot of pressure. I think you pulled it off great. I'll bet you that next time, there will be none of the stutter present."

It's like her words just kind of fly right by me, I don't hear or understand what she's saying to me. It's just like it's all a bit of a mess. The difference is that I never used to stutter after going away to college, it was very, very, very rarely. The thing that kind of brought it all back was the whole shebang with Annabelle, which is a very scary thought and a very tempting one to lose yourself in indefinitely. I have to consciously remind myself that the reason for the stutter going away is also her when things got fixed.

She then adds: "Plus, I think my dad was relieved when he saw you have a weakness."

"What, because he's like a bloodhound for these things?"

Annabelle laughs and immediately shuts down that idea. "No. No, it's because he said you are dangerously charming."

I quickly puff out the last inhale of smoke. "The hell does that mean?"

"Oh, don't pretend like you don't know! You even fit into that role a bit too well!" She protests and then gathers the courage to take a sip of her hot tea. It burns her lip.

Hah!

"No, I don't know what you mean. What, me sleeping around was being dangerously charming?" And then this sort of an idea kind of sits in.

"Basically, he was afraid of me becoming one of many for you, with me being completely invested and you caring zilch about me, which... I don't think he was in any way wrong being worried about that."

It's then that it strikes me how Annabelle's actually seen our development, and it's when I realise that she has no idea what she did to me not just towards the time of my great confession, but ever before during the cat-and-mouse play.

I keep my eyes on her and she holds the eye contact very persuasively until she drops her look down at her tea. I blow out smoke that I kept in my lungs for a couple of seconds longer than usual. "You really have no idea of what things were like for me, do you?"

Annabelle just blankly stares at me for a good second or two, then proceeds to say nothing and only shrugs, something that she only does if she finds this to be a sensitive topic where ignorance might indeed be bliss.

"You think I didn't care?" I ask.

Annabelle sighs a bit like she always does when conversation turns a bit awkward or unsettling. "I don't know when you started to care." She then changes her mind and tries to steer it in another direction. "Look, it doesn't matter anymore because where we're at right now is very different from where we started at the very beginning. That's good enough for me."

Like I'm ever going to believe that. That's exactly the kind of thought that weighs on your mind until it pulls you down and along with it the whole relationship.

I take one last inhale, then put the cigarette out and exhale the smoke as I move over by her side. I draw a caress up from her temples, along her jawline and down to her neck. "I cared early on." She looks up like she's a bit afraid of letting herself believe that, so I give her a reassuring smile. "A lot."

To that, she leans her cheek into my hand, which finds its way to the nape of her delicate neck. "You promise?"

A whirlwind of the past events unravels in my mind and I'm taken back to all those places in the past all at the same time. How I reacted when she went on a date, how I felt when I saw those photos, how I wanted to bring her with me to Aidan's birthday party, how I legitimately screwed Marie just to have a bit of sense of revenge and control over myself. How I stormed Mason's (if it can be called that) office, how I lusted not only for her body but actually for her. How I masked and hid all of that behind a wall, which she broke down with a sledgehammer, then trampled on the defensive wall of anger, and hit me in the sorest part of myself. And how I wanted to tell her things and trust her with my fears and sorrows.

I hesitate for a moment because sharing parts of me like that has been hidden for a really long time, and fear deeply rooted in me is urging me to say, not something stupid, but hurtful and dubious. If she's not a part of your life and your vulnerabilities, then you can't get hurt, can you?

Then I look down at her and see her in her own surrendered state of being exposed and vulnerable, and I kind of realise that we are in a way both at each other's mercy at this point. Not exactly holding each other hostage, but investing everything that we have in the other person, one of us simply makes it look easier, and it's not me.

"Yes," I finally say. "And I want to go the distance with you.

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~Blackie