Book III of UNC Series
While it's known that there are five stages of grief, did you know that there are also five stages of love?
Bailey Nicholson dreamed of finishing her Master's degree and settling in Boston while working alongside her boyfriend...
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November
The cool crisp winter air curls in through the sliver of the open window to dance in the small but spacious car. Despite the heat blasting through the vents, it's the cold that consumes me, nipping at my nose and cheekbones. I can smell the impending winter season, the briskness in the air, as the trees lay barren before me.
It's such a contrast to Elmwood, where even on the coldest days, I barely need a jacket to keep warm. But it seems like Elmwood still gets to enjoy its beach days while Cardill is on the verge of a harsh winter.
Jittery nerves seize me as I curl my fingers around the leather material of the steering wheel in a vice grip. Stretching and pulling the fabric apart. My Porsche 911 Turbo S purrs under me despite only idling in my dad's paved driveway.
I puff out an exhale, my knees bouncing—occasionally hitting the steering wheel, but the pain does nothing to deter the nerves curdling in my stomach, the fluttering of my chest and the sweat pulses of my palms.
A soft, delicate hand startles me as she slides her hand into my cold ones. Her skin is so warm against mine as I guide my gaze up along her wool-covered arm to her shoulder before meeting her brightly lit green eyes. Her wide smile surprises me. Her blonde hair, neatly tugged under a knitted hat, does nothing to hide the soft flush of her cheeks.
"Are you nervous?" She asks, arching a brow in a comical manner.
Ironic that we have our roles reversed. Shouldn't the partner meeting the parents for the first time be nervous, not the partner whose parents it is?
Blondie sits calmly next to me in the passenger seat, and she's an exquisite sight sitting in my favourite car.
Unfortunately, I couldn't take my car to Elmwood when I moved, considering how little I spent there driving—since everything was within walking distance and with all the travelling. So Blondie didn't have a chance to see my pride and joy. But when she did, she begged me to let her drive it around. And despite my rule about letting no one drive this car, I was almost tempted to let her. Almost being the keyword.
With my nerves and anxiety getting the best of me, I knew I had to be the one behind the wheel. I couldn't idly sit in the passenger seat, conjuring up scenarios of what would happen when Blondie finally met my dad and stepmum. I needed to be distracted, and the only way I knew how was to drive.
"No," I pause, noting how that one word, one syllable, sounded like a lie, "Maybe," I groan, "Aren't you?" I ask, throwing my head back against the headrest with a thud. I sink farther down into the seat, hoping to mask my nervousness.
"No, should I be?" She sounds so confident, whereas my voice rings like a mess.
"Aren't people typically nervous about meeting their boyfriend's parents?"
She shrugs nonchalantly before facing forward to stare at the large two-storey colonial-style house, "I'm anything but typical."
I envy her casualness, needing to channel wherever she's getting this confidence from for myself. I take a deep breath, exhaling audibly, the sound filling the small, compact car.
