wanderlust (edited)

Chapter Four: (picture of Tara) Marvel Comics and Terrible Singing

Chapter Four:

Marvel Comics and Terrible Singing

(Picture of Tara to the side)

I'm a big morning person, so I was up at the crack of dawn the next morning. I get the trait from my Dad, and seemingly no one else in the family was much of a morning riser. Just before the sun comes up, I get out of my bed, and head downstairs to start the coffee pot. While it brews, I take a shower, and get some clothes on, letting my hair air-dry while I eat breakfast. There's an unspoken tradition that my dad and I do every morning. After I dress, and am raw from the shower, I go downstairs, and Dad has his coffee, that I started, in a mug, and a plate of breakfast for me a my regular spot at the table.

"So Dad," I address. He raises his eyes from his newspaper to my face. I continue, "I was wondering if it'd be alright if I went to a movie with a friend this afternoon? I'll be home for Steph's birthday dinner..."

Dad's eyes flick over to the paper, as if the Queensland Town Hall remodeling is more important than his own daughter. Finally, he replies: "Who is this friend?"

"Oh, you don't know him," I respond quickly, and immediately regret my words. Dad lowers his glasses, and his brows furrow in a serious look. I nervously chew on my lower lip.

"I don't know him? Are you sure, Tara? Does he go to DMC?" He's trying to give me an opening. I take it, happily.

"Actually yes, you could say he does." I answer, trying to craft my words to meet my father's expectations.

Dad brings his glasses back up to the bridge of his nose, "As long as he's just a friend. Is Noah going, too?"

I gulp. The right thing to do would be to tell him that Noah and I broke up. But, for some reason, I want to keep the illusion constant. So, I shake my head, and lie straight through my teeth, "No, Noah's not going. But, James is just a friend—don't worry. His, erm, uncle actually helps fund DMC."

This sparks Dad's interest a bit, but not enough to keep him from glancing back at the news. "Is that so?" he inquires softly.

I nod.

"Well," my dad lets out a big sigh, and straightens his glasses again, "it's fine with me. Just check with your mother."

I smile. If I've gotten Dad's approval, Mom won't dare to contradict.

"Thanks Dad."

But he's already immersed in the Queensland Town Hall article.

I'd just finished with my omelet when the sound of tires against pavement could be heard from outside. Dad perks up, but tries to act nonchalant about it. His ears rise slightly and he has a neutral expression on his face, replacing his usual concentrated frown.

The door opens quietly, and Kara tip-toes into the kitchen. When she sees us, a big grin spreads across her face. "Hi Daddy! Hi Tara!" She whispers, happily. As she hugs Dad, I study my twin quickly.

Her time in Del Vino had resulted in much sunshine, so her dark hair had more naturally blonde highlights than normal, and her skin seemed to be a bit darker.

She turned around and gave me a big hug, and I exchanged the embrace. She tried to keep the hug going longer, but I pulled away.

"So how was Del Vino?" Dad asked, neatly folding the newspaper, and turning his full attention to Kara (I noticed this because he didn't do the same for me just a few minutes earlier).