The most complicated day of the week was now partway through, the anxiety forming a pit in my stomach and sapping my appetite away, much to Violet’s worry. And the rest of the group.

“Are not feeling well?” Mathilda asked.

I was very unwell. I hadn’t felt this nervous since before I knew that Violet liked me back.

Still, I couldn’t complain much. Violet did invite Sophie—or rather, told her to join us—so it’s not like my sister was going to be caught unprepared, sparing me also that whole mess of anxiety of a conversation.

“Have you ever had a big argument with Claire?” I asked Mathilda after telling her I was ok.

“Hmm… can’t say that I ever did.”

“You did actually. When you were six or seven?” Stephen corrected.

“Ah! Right, I did! Can’t remember what it was about though.”

Stephen mused if it hadn’t been about a boyfriend her sister got then. As far as he could remember, Mathilda came crying to them, sobbing incoherently about her sister now hating her. What he could recall was Claire coming to pick her little sister and have a heart to heart.

“Oh, just drop the subject already!” she told him, now showing her embarrassment. “Anyway, why do you ask?”

I wasn’t not too sure if I should tell the other three about it, so I looked at my girlfriend in search of guidance or advice. She looked at me, calmly smiling, and offered a shrug. Not one of those “I don’t care” ones, but one that assured me it would be ok to open up to them.

Luckily, what I had to tell them was brief, otherwise I might have started crying in public.

“If she was so against you two, do you think she’d talk so freely with Violet and have accepted the invitation?” Mathew asked bluntly when I was done.

Violet had pointed that out to me before, but—and I’m ashamed to admit it—I took it as her trying to make me feel better and get out of a depressing spiral. Now that I had someone else saying the same, and the others agreeing with him, I was more confident in the truthfulness of her words. They certainly did a better job in that than my therapist. She was good at making me put out what I had pent up inside, but kinda failed in this regard.

I was noticing more and more how frustrating my sessions with her were getting. Maybe I should search for a different one since I was now better at figuring out how I felt on the inside? More and more I felt like what I needed was guidance every so often. However, with Violet and other people in my life, wouldn’t that be redundant? With Violet, I could talk about almost everything, and if I couldn’t, there were my dad, Papa Stan, and now, my new friends. I was no longer alone. That was… enlightening. Not in the sense of unlocking hidden knowledge, but in the sense that, there was now a bright light casting away the darkness around me and taking a weight out of my shoulders. I was still feeling some weight, but now it was like a heavy bag instead of wearing a lead suit at the deepest bottom of the ocean.

“Do you want to go home now, or should we go for a walk at the park?” Violet asked as we left the classroom.

Papa Stan was in charge of making the food today so there was no point rushing home. She could also have meant going to my place, but my sister was there and it would make me feel even more anxious.

A walk around the park sounded nice, and there was an ice cream stand we liked there. Something cold and sweet would do well to my nerves.

And as fate would have it, we arrived at her place at the same time my dad and sister did.

As was usual, my sister and I said hi to each other, but never keeping eye contact for more than half a second.

On the other hand, Violet didn’t seem too unfazed and engaged in conversation with my sister, telling her she forgot to leave the advice of wearing lighter clothing due to the lack of AC in the house.

As far as I remember, Sophie was like me, generally unbothered by the weather so she shouldn’t have it too bad. She did however put on clothes that were a bit too nice for what this was. A t-shirt and jeans would have sufficed, although she was looking as pretty as always. Then again, beautiful as she was, even a potato sack would look good on her.

“You have a kitten!?” my sister fawned in a baby voice over the sight of Oliver sitting in front of the door and greeting us with a sweet cry. “It’s so cute!”

Oliver, the sly and shameless cat that he is, flops over, stretching his small body and rolling on his back, exposing his fluffy tummy for pets that my sister dove right in to provide, giggling like crazy.

Violet leaned forward, telling her his name and explaining that it was actually our cat, he lived here due to the apartment rules and that I was the one mostly responsible for taking care of it.

“Fufu, she must be doing a great job. Just look how shiny and soft his fur is!”

My mouth hanged open from hearing my sister’s proud voice.

Violet peeks at me and offers a small smile. “See? She still likes you a lot”, her demeanour told me.

I took a deep breath and crouched down by my sister, finally gathering some courage to talk with her.

“He always tries to get away when it’s bath time, but once I get him, he seems to enjoy it.”

“Fufu, I see. He likes to play hard to get, huh?” my sister hummed, still rubbing Oliver’s tummy.

I thought about what to say next, but my dad loomed over the living room threshold to call us to the table.

Well, the first step had been taken, so I was satisfied for now.

My sister took her shoes off and followed Violet to the oven to get some slippers she could wear around the house. Violet did offer her the choice of keeping her shoes on, but my sister would play by Violet’s house rules.

The narrative has been taken without permission. Report any sightings.

“Meow,” I heard as I made my way to the living room.

I looking back to Oliver, he sat behind me. He had this air of an uncanny intelligence as he appeared to smile at me, his voice having sounded like a question.

“…Good kitty,” I tell him.

He let out a purr and walked by me, his tail curling around my leg as he passed by.

It’s probably me giving him too much credit, but it felt like he had understood all the conversations I’ve had had with Violet about my sister and this had been his way of helping out. It certainly was feeling like he had just asked if he had managed to be of help.

Intentional or not, my words still stand, he was a good kitty. A very good kitty.

I’ll give him an extra treat before going home.

The table was set and the food was served. Although simple, it was tasty, just like Stan’s personality would make you expect. I thought he would go for take-away, but no, today was home cooking. Maybe it was because my sister was going to have her first family dinner with the whole gang.

Sophie was trying to be discreet, but I noticed her looking around as if searching for something. Probably a Mrs. Miller. I doubt dad told her about Stan being a widower.

“You have a nice house, sir,” she tells her host with practiced politeness when she noticed his glance.

Papa Stan looked at her with his typical smile and thanked her complement, telling her next to act like she was at home.

He wasn’t aware, but that was going against twenty-one years of behavioural programming. It was easier for me because… well, I’m me. My sister, she’s too serious. It would take her some time to be able to unwind, if ever at all.

My father started another conversation, asking me and Violet how school had been during this week. He was particularly interested about a certain teacher.

“Humph, good riddance,” he huffed when we told him that man had retired.

Sophie appeared to want to join in the conversation, but was having a hard time finding the right moment. Honestly, I had forgotten how complicated that was. In our household, talking during a meal simply wasn’t a thing, and when at other people’s places, we young people should only talk when adults talked to us. We were also expected to show interest by making some questions about the current conversation they were having so… damned if we did, damned if we didn’t.

“Maybe he went back to his pyramid,” Stan joked.

“Or cave,” I heard Violet grumble to my side.

The tone of the conversation turned to a more playful one, everyone exchanging jokes and light topics. On occasion I’d check on my sister. She was with a gloomy expression as she quietly ate. It must have been hard for her, not being able to join in the cheer we were having.

That only lasted until dessert. That was when my sister’s head snapped to the side and down when Papa Stan placed on the table the melon he had previously sliced and stored in the fridge to cool down.

“I could swear I just heard him talk” my sister said while starring wide eyed at the furball sitting by her side.

“Oh yeah, he sometimes does that,” I said, still laughing at a joke Stan said before getting up.

“No, I mean it! It just sounded like he said ‘melon’!”

“Yup, he sometimes does that,” Violet said, noticing half-way through how strange it was that it happened at all and that she had gotten used to it, although maybe to Sophie it sounded like she was questioning my sister’s sanity in finding that strange.

“Ah! He did it again!” Sophie cried out, this time catching him red-handed. “I just saw him speak right now!”

◊◊◊

All in all, I’d say this family dinner was being a success. The two sisters managed to exchange a few words normally, Sophie seemed to have lowered her guard after some trepidation—all thanks to Oliver’s appetite for melon—and soon enough, the night would reach its end. Really, what more could I ask for?

“…”

Abby stood quietly by my side, drying plates as I handed them to her, her face being hard to get a read on. I think she was in deep thought and feeling perhaps a tad tired. It had been an emotional day for her.

It wasn’t much, but after handing her the last plate, I put a hand around her waist and stepped closer to her, our bodies meeting gently.

“Don’t worry, I’m fine,” she moaningly sighed as she rubbed her cheek on me. “I’m just a bit tired. It went well, wouldn’t you say?”

“Oliver, no! You’ll leave fur all over her pants!” my dad scolded, drawing our attention to the living room.

“I don’t mind it,” Sophie said, sounding very affectionate as she looked down. “I should have brought different clothes after all.”

“Why? I think you look great.”

Indeed she did. Abby had said a few times before that I look like a model, but when I’m with Sophie, I feel like a badly put together sack of potatoes. Not that I think I’m ugly or anything, those kinds of thoughts are long gone. I’m fairly beautiful, but what I mean is, Sophie’s beauty was at a whole other level. If we were to go out, just the two of us, I’d be invisible beside her to the rest of the world.

…That’s oddly reassuring.

Instead of jealousy, what came to me was that sense of calmness an introvert would get if given the power of turning invisible at will in a world with no privacy. There is only one person I wish to attract attention, and that person right now was tugging my shirt, asking me to give her some.

“Your dad is surprisingly the lady killer, huh?” she told me in a deadpan way.

“My dad?” I asked, sounding unwillingly sarcastic. It’s not that I didn’t think he could be successful with female attention, quite the contrary. After Abby and I got together, I started noticing how some women we met looked and acted around him. Those looks and smiles they threw at him, I had seen similar coming from Abby towards me. What made me sound dubious about him being a lady killer was the fact that I believed there should be some sort of intent in being one. You know, like James Bond? My dad wasn’t suave like that fictional character and interacted with everybody in the exact same way: as if he didn’t have a care in the world.

“See? Look at my sister.”

I looked, and it was kinda painful. She looked like I think I look like when I get embarrassed and happy at the same time.

My father didn’t notice any of that, of course. He merely kept talking with Will about them going fishing this weekend after obliterating her with his casual compliment.

“Doesn’t she think he’s too old?”

“Babe, my parents are thirteen years apart. Do you think another three on top of that would make any difference?”

As a matter of fact, I do. And I do remember a rule I read, back in my lonely days, about what minimum age someone should be for you to date them. Divide your age by two and add seven. My dad was thirty-seven, so that would make…

“…Remind me again, how old is Sophie?”

“She’ll be twenty-two this year.”

Yup, she was still too young. Three and a half years too young.

…Ultimately, they are both adults, so I guess it’s up to them.

Not that anything would come out of it. I mean, what are the chances, right?

You mean, “about the same than you being gay, meeting another girl who also is gay and you two fall in love” kind of low?

Yeah, I had been incredibly lucky, no doubt about it.

I did tell dad to maybe consider start dating, but Sophie? I don’t know about that.

“Hmm… if they got together… wouldn’t our family tree get all screwy?” Abby hummed.

I hadn’t even thought about that! If they got together, then… then wouldn’t I be dating my step-aunt?! And if Abby and I got married… my dad would be dating or married to my sister-in-law!? What kind of Ancient Egyptian arrangements were these!?

Abby just barely held a full-on cackle as she saw my face contort along with the mental gymnastics I was having to figure out what each of us would be relative to the others.

“It’s not funny!”

“You gotta admit, it kinda is,” she snickered. In a kinda messed up way, she mumbled under her breath and giggles.

“What are you two arguing about?” my dad interjected from his seat.

“Nothing,” Abby singsonged while hopping in place. “I’m just pestering your daughter, as usual.”

He shook his head with a growing smile and turned back to talking with William. Sophie, on the other hand, held her glance on us for a bit longer. Again, I saw no hostility nor disgust in the way she regarded us. It almost felt like she was wondering about something. Would she tell me what it was if I asked?

“I’ve been thinking… you two seem to be getting along pretty well.”

“Huh? Oh, me and Sophie? I… I guess we kinda do?”

“…Well, no point in getting jealous. I’ll just have to catch on.”

She said that, but she was still pouting as she left me to join the rest of the group. That and saying “jealous” instead of “jelly”. It was a given that she was bothered by it. But it’s as she said, she just has to catch up. It could take some time and there might be some bumps in the way, but that’s what I’m here for.