Page 93 of Connectio
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After cleaning ourselves up,making toasted cheese sandwiches, and watching—you guessed it—Dirty Dancing while Casper sporadically jumped in the air around us, which I now know is called a binky, Will shows me the rest of his house. It belonged to his grandma before she passed away a couple of years ago and bequeathed it to him, her only grandson. His sister ended up with a beach house in Dromana.
“You’re very lucky,” I say, admiring the cathedral ceilings in the kitchen and living area. “This house is incredible.”
“I know. Ma always knew I loved her home.” He leans against the woodgrain kitchen cabinetry. “When I was a boy and my sister and I stayed with Ma and Pa on school holidays, we used to spend every daylight hour outside, pretending the house was enchanted and under threat of an evil sorcerer.”
I cock my head and smile, imagining their fun game. It’s definitely something I would’ve played.
“I also spent most weekends here as I grew older, clearing gutters, mowing the lawn, and fixing odd things Ma couldn’t after Pa died. It’s always felt like home and always will.”
Touching my hand to my heart, I say, “That’s really lovely, Will. It sounds like you had a special relationship with your grandparents.”
“I did. Mum and Dad were often away for work, so we stayed with Ma and Pa a lot.”
“What line of work were your parents in?”
“Dad’s a pilot for a commercial airline, and Mum’s an air hostess.”
“Oh. I guess they were away a lot then?”
“Yep.”
His quipped answer stirs my curiosity.
“Did it bother you?” I ask tentatively.
Will puts the glass of water he’s been holding down on the benchtop. “They were part-time parents, so, yeah, it bothered me sometimes.”
He pushes off from the bench, which is when my eyes land on a ball of wool and set of knitting needles jutting out from an empty fruit bowl near his hand.
“Are you kidding me!” I point to them then cover my mouth, laughing behind my hand. “You really do knit.”
One of his eyebrows hitches. “Yeah.”
“I thought that was a lie.”
“Why?”
“Because men like you don’t knit.”
“Who says?”
“I don’t know, the vast majority of society.”
He shrugs… as if the vast majority of society are wrong, and maybe they are. “Ma taught me and Faith.”
“Faith?”
“My sister.”
“Will and Faith?”
He shrugs again. “Yeah, part-time parents or not, they were both optimists.”
“Seems so,” I say as he takes my hand and leads me into the hallway.
“Want a tour?”
