I Do What I Do » John Taylor

IX

ERIN

I open my eyes and look around. It takes a brief moment to process where I am, but then I remember: I'm at John's parents's house.

I rub my eyes and stand up, then walk over to the dresser to grab my brush and brush my hair. I yawn as I put it up with a hair tie. I put on slippers and walk downstairs.

"Oh..hello Mrs. Taylor!" I say to John's mom, who's sitting in the living room.

She turns around to face me. "Good morning, dear. Please— call me Jean."

"You sure? I don't want to be rude," I ask.

"Oh, please! Don't worry about it," she reassures me.

I smile. "Alright then." I look around. "Have you seen John?"

"Janine just left a little while ago. I'm sure he's somewhere up and about," she answers. "Just look around. You'll find him."

I nod. "Okay. Thanks, Mrs-" I stop. "Jean."

She smiles at me. "Of course. If you need anything let me know!"

I walk out of the living room and start to wander about. I go through the kitchen and circle back through the entryway. I admire the pictures and decorations on the walls. Sprawled all over are photos of John, some with his parents, from when he was small to more recent ones. It's sweet.

"Morning."

I jump and my hand flies to my chest. I turn around to see John standing behind me. His hair is wet. He must've showered. Hm. I clear my throat. "Yeah. Morning."

He chuckles. "Aw, come on. Lighten up!"

"Whatever."

He inches closer to me. "Ah. I see you've found the embarrassing family photos! What a pleasure..."

I swat his arm. "Shut up! They're cute."

"They are not."

"Are too!" I correct him. "Look at this one right here. Adorable."

He squints his eyes and palms his face. "Oh god. That one's dreadful! I thought I told mum to take it down..."

"Oh, but it's so cute! Little Nigel at the beach with his parents!" I tease.

"Oh wow. Nigel?"

I giggle. "Mhhhmm."

"I hate you," he jokes.

"Yeah, yeah. Whatever, pal." Pal?

He rolls his eyes. "God, look at my hair. I'm never letting that happen again. Ew."

"I think you should. Bring back the 70s rockstar look," I suggest. "Yeah. I think we have a winner."

"Pfffttt. Yeah, right."

I gasp. "Ohhhh my god! You can grow a mustache too, and get glasses, and then-"

"That's enough!" he pleads. "No more! Please!"

I sigh. "Fine. You're no fun!"

"I'm not the one making fun of my friend's childhood photos!" he shouts.

"I'm not making fun of them! It's so cute," I correct him.

"Well...whatever!"

I place my hand on his shoulder and pat it. "I think you'll survive."

"I suppose." He looks down. "This doesn't even compare to the ones in my nightstand," he mumbles.

"In your WHAT?" I gasp.