“Is that Leif?” a deep voice calls from the end of the hall, followed by a purposeful stride as my father enters the room.
“Hey, Dad.” He claps me on the shoulder with a firm squeeze.
“How are ya, sonny?”
“Good,” I say just as my mother says, “Something’s different.”
My dad furrows his brow, taking another look at me. I feel heat rise in my cheeks at the attention as understanding floods my dad’s face. “He met a woman.”
My mother gasps, whirling from her station at the stove to look at me. Droplets of red sauce drip onto the floor from the wooden spoon she wields in her hand.
“A woman?” Both hope and confusion lace her tone.
“It’s nothing.” I wave them off, not wanting to talk about the woman whose bed I’ve slept in for the last four weekends. Actually, not a lot of sleeping happens, and I can’t help the slight upward tug on the corner of my lips.
“Don’t deny it. She’s a bloodhound for these things,” Dad whispers before he meets my mother by the stove.
He wraps his arms around her and turns her back to the simmering pot, dipping the spoon back in before it creates further mess on the floor.
He nuzzles into her neck, and I blush at their easy affection, gripping behind my neck and pointing my gaze down.
My mother came here on a study visa when she was nineteen, pursuing her bachelor’s in horticulture. She met my father on campus when he and a bunch of his friends were called into the dean’s office for vandalising the student gardens on a drunken dare. She’s been keeping him on his toes ever since.
“Don’t be embarrassed, Leif. It’s healthy to show affection in relationships,” Mum says.
“I know. I just don’t need to see it from my parents as much as I do.”
Mum scoffs. “Big deal. We have a healthy sex life.”
My mouth parts on a grimace, bile rising in my throat. “Please, God. Don’t.”
“What? You’re no virgin. Don’t even try to fool me into thinking otherwise.”
“Dad,” I say, clasping my hands together, begging him to redirect the conversation to something that doesn’t have me wanting to hide under the table.
“I—” Dad starts before Mum cuts in.
“You’ll understand when you meet the right one. Affection is easy, practically undeniable.” She smiles up at my dad, patting his cheek.
Their easy love has always looked like sweet comfort. My mother could never do wrong in my father’s eyes. Even when she sasses him, it’s like he loves her more. He smiles at her fire, delighting in the burn.
I’ve always looked for a partner that complements me the way my parents seem to, someone to be easy with. But that fire has always been missing.
“He’s still young, sweetheart. There’s no rush.”
“I know. But I want grandbabies.” Dad and I groan in unison. “My mother was nineteen when she had my brother,” she continues, then turns back to her pot, stirring with an affirmed nod. “My grandmother was seventeen.”
“Oh yeah, let’s have babies before we can buy alcohol,” I say. “You need at least another ten years on that.”
She turns, a sparkle delighting the piercing blue of her eyes that match mine. “At twenty-seven? Yes, I agree. How old are you?”
My father hoots with his head inside the fridge. “Walked yourself into that one, son.”
“I’m onlyjusttwenty-seven,” I grumble. “Ten years sounded a lot longer in my head.”
“By your definition, the age to be producing my grandchildren.”
“Woah. Maybe I’ll get takeout tonight.” My cousin, Tristan, steps into the room, one foot still poised in the air as if he’s seriously considering bolting back out.