The Misunderstanding of Fate

Chapter 17 - Meeting the Friends

The next morning the amount of snow on the ground is indescribable, even George stares despite being used to the weather here. Honestly, we haven't moved very far since waking up. With his blanket wrapped around us both, we sit by his window simply looking out at the empty street. As I bring a spoon full of cereal to my mouth I wonder if my dad is still stuck in work. At that thought I pick up my phone, clicking on the closest contact and lifting it to my ear. George raises an eyebrow, watching me, while devouring his breakfast.

"Hey, honey."

A small smile grows on my face at his voice, "Hey, are you home?"

His sigh is audible, "Nope. All the roads are blocked so we're being warned not to drive."

My eyebrows furrow, "So, what, you just sit in work and wait?"

"We're living it up," I can hear the amusement in his tone, "They've set us up with sleeping bags—"

"Are you in one right now?"

Despite the situation, dad actually chuckles, "Yes. Let me tell you these things are not comfortable. Sleeping in it tonight is going to be tough."

"What? You're staying overnight, again?"

He sighs again. It's strange, he's switching between sounding fed up and sounding amused, "Unless you want to clear the road for me to get home, Luna."

An image of him laying on a cold, grey floor in work freezing inside a small sleeping bag pops into my head and it makes me wince. Here I was wrapped up in a warm blanket with great company where my dad was on a random floor somewhere.

"Are you in the house?"

I shake my head before realising he can't see me, "I'm at George's."

"Oh," he sounds surprised but his tone has lightened, "You guys made up?

For some reason, an overwhelming feeling of embarrassment washes over me and I know my cheeks have reddened. How did he know we had a falling out? Am I that transparent? Or had George spoken to him?

"Made up?"

My voice is higher, I know that, and I'm trying to sound innocent but seeing George smirk in response lets me know that I suck at trying to sound nonchalant.

"Okay, fine, I'll pretend I don't know," dad replies, which I am more than thankful for, "Right, I'm going to get some sleep. I'll call you later. Goodnight sweetie."

I smile, "Good morning."

I throw my phone on the bed after that, watching it bound a few times before it rests on the white sheet.

"Dad?" George asks.

I nod, "Dad."

"Stuck in work?"

"Stuck in work."

George laughs a laugh I'm not sure I've heard before. It's not forced, sarcastic, or flirtatious. Gosh, he actually found something I did funny. Before we even get a chance to speak, a phone goes off. We both turn to look at mine but it's blank meaning it has to be George's. Now that I think about it, I don't think I've ever seen George speaking on the phone. When we're together, he barely looks at it while I'm usually scrolling while we chill.

George reaches over onto the wooden table to pick up his phone before a frown settles on his face. As I go to ask him what is wrong, he lifts the phone to his ear and answers.

"Elliot..."

Despite my efforts to eavesdrop the conversation, all I can hear is George's grunting as a response. Plus, anything he does say makes no sense because I don't know what on earth the other person is saying.