*on hold* Until Callan moved in next door, Presley was one hundred percent, completely fine with how her life was turning out.
She never regretted dropping out of college or wasting her days working in a diner for minimum wage. Boredom never plagued...
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Presley went back and forth about whether to visit her parents when we made a trip to Brooks to do some shopping for the house.
Eventually, she decided she'd call to tell them we were coming, saying she missed her Dad. It was the longest she'd gone without seeing him and she felt bad for inadvertently punishing him just because her and her mom weren't seeing eye to eye.
It was hard not being nervous going into it, but Presley assured me that I shouldn't worry. She'd said her mom was tougher to win over and I'd already done that, so winning over her dad would be a breeze.
And so far, she was right. When we introduced ourselves, Roger Shaw instantly had me at ease with his disarming smile and a not-too-firm handshake. Natalie's dad had practically broken my hand the first time we met, his expression one of utter contempt.
This was a breath of fresh air.
"This isn't where I pictured you growing up," I whispered to Presley as we sat in her parent's modern dining room. I couldn't believe the glass tabletop didn't have a single fingerprint on it. But judging by how spotless the rest of the condo was, I shouldn't have been surprised.
"What did you picture?" Presley asked.
I gave it some thought. "Maybe a cottage or something. Surrounded by trees and flowers and shit. Oh, and a white picket fence."
"That's random and oddly specific. Would there also be cute little forest animals that greet us at the front door?" She laughed.
"Maybe." I smirked. "I always imagined close families like yours living in cozy houses with furniture covered in knick-knacks and family photos lining the walls. Maybe a pristinely mowed lawn for your golden retriever to run around on. A door trim with pencil lines marking your height as you got older. That sort of shit. Not a modern high-rise condo downtown - not that there's anything wrong with that."
I grew up in a trailer where the linoleum floor was peeling, the windows had aluminum foil instead of curtains, and there wasn't a single family photo on the wall. So I figured someone who actually had a loving family would have the polar opposite of what I did.
"That was really detailed," Presley said, her eyes lit with a mischievous glow. "But not quite. Mom would never support writing on the walls or having a dog - too much mess. And I should shame you for using the word knick-knack, but I won't because you're so cute." Presley ruffled my hair playfully. I stole her hand and held it in mine.
"What's your old bedroom like? Can I see it?" I asked.
My bedroom had consisted of a mattress on the floor, too-big Star Wars sheets, and an ancient TV I purchased at a garage sale. I was certain Presley's would be the exact opposite.
"Afraid not," Presley's mom, Marian, came in from the kitchen with a round tray of cookies and other delicious smelling baked goods. She set it down carefully on a woven mat in the center of the table. "We converted her room a few years ago."
