Walking inside Anthony's childhood home I was hit with an unexpected homie feeling. I had expected a few things coming into the house. First, that is was big and grand, befitting that of a family owning a generations old profitable business. The second, was that it was kept and proper, everything in an ordered place. And the third, for it to smell like they had a professional chef hidden in their state of the art kitchen – which I suspected they did.
In reality however, only one of these expectations were met. The house was big, not as big as the mansion I was expecting, but a spacious four-bedroom home that made for far too much room for a family of three. The house was most certainly not kept and proper. Things were everywhere. Every single wall was covered in bright and colourful artwork that didn't seem to blend together, while the small wall spaces between each painting was cluttered in family photos. The entire sitting room basically displayed every single day in Anthony's life, from a small photo on the wall where he appeared to be a little toddler, pouting with his arms crossed as a bowl of spaghetti was seated on his head. To a more recent photo of Anthony with his arm around his mother's shoulders in front of a birthday cake.
My third expectation was, well... I think it was safe to say whoever was cooking was far worse than me. The house smelled like they were only seconds away from bringing out the fire extinguisher.
I crinkled my nose up and turned to see Anthony closing the door behind us. "Oh god, Mum let Dad cook again." He pinched his nose and shook his head. "Don't worry, we'll get take-out on the way home."
"Why does your Dad cook if he can't?"
"I could ask the same thing about you." He playfully nudged me with his elbow. "He likes cooking, well, he likes trying. I think he likes to make things for Mum; he was always making little things for her when I was kid. Too bad the guy's terrible at it."
I watched Anthony chuckle a little and followed him into the sitting room.
"It looks your life just threw up all over the walls."
"How poetic of you Babe."
"Seriously though, I think every single day of your life is captured in this very room." I spread my arms out and gestured to all the photos.
"Only child, and Mum likes art and photography so it was kind of inevitable."
"Not many baby photos?" I asked observing most of the photos were from when Anthony was five or older. Strange since babies are far cuter." In my own experiences, there was a photo of when I was a cute baby with a pink bow hanging on the wall, and then one when I graduated - that was it.
"Mum's photography got worse when she was told she wouldn't have any more kids." He said it so casually.
"Oh, I'm sorry I shouldn't have..."
"It's okay," he cut me off. "Just don't bring up that kind of thing with Mum in the room. She's okay with it now, we spent years going to one of those support groups which is actually where I met Jordan and his brother. Been friends since we were five."
"Oh well, silver linings." I smiled trying to lift the mood. My heart ached for his mother. I couldn't imagine what it would be like to crave another child but be unable to have one. But, I suppose she was lucky to at least have one.
He chuckled. "It all works out in the end."
We walked through the rest of the house until we made it to the dining room where the food was being set on the table.
Food might be a bit of a stretch.
True.
More like rocks and coal, with a light sprinkle of dust.
YOU ARE READING
Lustrous
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