A World Alone

Chapter 8: Right to be wrong

We paint the living room and the kitchen during the week, starting around eight every morning and finishing at four or five in the afternoon, when our hands get so tired we get cramps second after second, and our clothes and hair are filled with paint, so filled than when I get home I need to spend sometimes ten minutes washing it.

I usually try to jump into the pool when we're pausing to have lunch, because I'm yet not entirely covered in paint, and covering the water in paint would probably embarrass me a lot. I've been helping Matt clean it anyway, and he's actually enjoying sitting in the sun, talking to me about life and listening to music... just random music, music that we pick and not the one we find on the radio, because you actually never know what they're gonna put there.

Matt's been getting more and more into the painting and decoration stuff as days go by, and he jokes about it being the only way he can stop thinking about... well, everything else that's going on with his life. And I know it's not actually a joke, and that it's actually good to keep your mind off-things for a while, but there's just... well, I'm afraid what might happen to him once the painting is done.

My dad's been insisting on meeting Matt a lot lately, because he suddenly realized there's this random guy who brings me home every single afternoon and decided to pay attention a little bit. Of course, there's no way he's meeting him, because every drop of my cool life outside of the house would get contaminated, and I wouldn't like that at all. And don't get me wrong here, I love my dad, I guess, but it's just that... well, I really don't want these two worlds to mix. How would I be able to take that, when I'm actually spending day after day in Matt's house because I don't wanna be on my own?

Matt doesn't know about it, by the way. I mean, of course he doesn't, how could he? He's too polite to refuse an invitation, so he'd probably say yes if I ever told him my dad wants to meet him, especially considering who my dad is, I mean... Matt's too polite to talk about it that way, but I'm sure he thinks about it... or at least he was.

We're moving back the sofa to its place the moment I feel my phone vibrate in my pocket. I don't even know what we're talking about, and even if I was just gonna let it ring, I see Matt stop doing what he was doing in order to give me the time to answer... so I do.

Mom.

That's nice. I mean, she never calls, but it's okay because she texts, and sends really long voice messages about her life in London, and family there... so maybe I should pick up the phone, I mean... she never calls, after all.

"I've got to pick it up," I say, "it's my mom, and, uh— she's filming something in South Africa, and I don't know, she never calls..." Matt nods.

"Yeah, absolutely, take your time," he says, sounding as if he actually means it. I smile and quickly pick up the phone, as I begin to walk in circles around the place.

"¡Hola!" I say, smiling big.

"Hi, sweetie," she says, "¿cómo estás?"

"Estoy bien, todo bien," I say, "¿cómo están ustedes?"

"Pues muy bien, ¿qué estabas haciendo?"

"Estoy en casa de un amigo, estamos pintando—"

"Could you make this a videocall?" she interrupts me, suddenly in English, as I frown.

"Uh, sí, yo... no tengo headphones ni..." I look at Matt, who softly smiles and mumbles something like 'it's alright', even if I don't need him to say that and he knows that, he's just doing it so I don't feel embarrassed or anything.