When I get downstairs to where I left my phone last night, there's a notification from Annabelle's blog.
I lean against the counter and start making some coffee while I open the bubble. It's a video. And from my extensive knowledge of the contents of Annabelle's blog, it's the first video she's ever posted, let alone with her face.
It's from last night, I believe. When we were sleeping on the couch.
I guess I fell asleep first. Or maybe Annabelle woke up. Either way, the video shows her grinning devilishly at the camera.
"Haze fell asleep. Look, I know you guys can't feel physically through this blog, but she's so warm. Like actually, it's as if I'm being cuddled by a heated blanket. And look at this." Her finger reaches out and pokes me in the cheek.
I can see what she means, now. The skin looks soft and squishy when her fingertip pushes into it.
She faces the camera back to her face. "Haze, I know you'll watch this. I don't think you know how pretty you actually are. So, I hope this helped show you."
My cheeks warm up and I couch, even though no one's around.
She yawns. (Annabelle yawns like a kitten, and it's the cutest thing.) I yawn, even though it's eight in the morning and I'm basically awake.
And my mother comes down first like always, and we sit at the table and eat breakfast. Dad's breakfast goes in the oven to stay warm, because he hardly ever gets up before ten.
The thing about summer is that you don't remember the date. The days blur together, and it all looks and feels too similar.
Jenna's told me that she and her family are going away to Iceland from the fifteenth to the twenty-eighth of June, and that Jacob would be at their house in early July.
I told her I would try to be there when Jacob was if possible.
It turns out I'm standing in front of the back of Jenna's home before Jacob gets here. His car isn't in the driveway. I knock on the glass door, and there's a quiet yell from inside.
"Open!"
I swing it so and am once again met with the cooling turquoise color of their kitchen. It smells like it always does, like oranges.
(I don't know why. It's not like they eat a particularly large amount of oranges. It's just always been this way.)
I hear a couple of heavy footsteps as Oscar makes his way up from the basement. The door opens and there he is, with his head full of bronze curls and his broad shoulders. He's in a flannel and pajama bottoms.
"Sorry, Haze," he says. "I was practicing." Oscar is a concert pianist, and he plays in the basement because the walls are soundproof down there. "I was working on this new piece, wanna hear it?"
And that's that. Oscar and John are basically my parents. I head down into the basement after Oscar.
He has cream-colored walls and tapestries just like Jenna's and houseplants on shelves all over one wall and a small fountain on top of the piano. There's a desk on one wall and a beanbag chair on the other.
I've always loved spending time down here. It's bijou and comfortable.
"Where's John?" I ask, walking over to push the curtains aside, letting the evening summer light flow in.
"I think he went grocery shopping. We were out of Oreos."
"Jenna?"
"Not sure. How many cars were in the driveway?"
"Uno."
"Hmm, maybe she's doing something here in the house. She wants to take up gardening for some reason, possibly it's that."
"Ever think the gardening was your doing?" I say, looking at all the greenery just in this room.
"Nah, it's probably Jacob."
"Or maybe it was just that stroke of inspiration you get at two A.M. to be aesthetic and neat."
The door slams upstairs, and John's warm voice calls out. "I'm home!"
"Down here!" Oscar calls back up to him.
Moments later, John's down here too. The newly displayed light shines on his skin, which is even darker than Annabelle's. His smile, as always, reaches past his own eyes and tugs at yours.
"Hi, Hazel. Did Oscar want to show you his new piece?"
I nod.
"Yeah, it's amazing." He and Oscar share a fond look. "Well, I'm going to start dinner."
"Don't burn the house down," Oscar says affectionately.
"I'll try, love" John replies, then heads back up the stairs. Oscar turns back to the piano.
"What's it called?" I ask.
"Hmm?"
"The piece."
"I haven't gotten that far yet. Maybe it'll come to me in that stroke of inspiration I'll get at two A.M."
And with that, he starts to play.
The music is peaceful and upbeat, and it makes me think of walking in the early late fall and drinking coffee. When Jenna, Jacob, and I went to see Fantastic Beasts in the theatre. When Annabelle and I drove for hours and danced for longer. It's chrysalism and nostalgia and love.
I don't normally listen to piano music, but that song remained stuck in my head for the rest of the day.
"Haze?" John calls out from a room I'm not in.
"Hmm?" I'm cuddling with Jenna and Jacob as we watch Sherlock.
"Can you come in here for a moment, please?"
"Sure," I mumble, loud enough so he can probably hear, and roll off of Jacob's stomach onto the floor.
He's in the dining room, which they hardly ever use. There's a table in the kitchen, which means this is basically the community workspace. It's got papers, pencils, and chargers scattered about. You can barely see the dark wood underneath.
I think he's working on a problem. John's a high school algebra teacher, and he usually asks me to proofread the problems he writes for his students. (Jenna and Oscar are both geometry people, and Jacob's too advanced at math to fairly judge high school level problems. My mother says he shouldn't want to be a florist if he's so good at math. I say she should let him be.)
I solve it relatively quickly, to his pleasure. When I slide the paper back to my right, he takes it and looks at my work.
"Thanks, love," he says absentmindedly, kissing me on the temple.
"No problem, Dad." And then I go back to the living room and flop back on top of Jenna's legs.
It's a good thing I've seen this episode before. You miss five minutes of Sherlock without already knowing what's going on, you're toast.
a/n: this chapter is 1111 words in my google docs i'm so pleased
if you're reading this i hope you have a lovely day and you can hug someone you love a lot
YOU ARE READING
No really, I'm okay. I'm also a great liar.
RomanceAnnabelle Lee-Davis. Hazel's never met her, or even seen her, but she's in love. Annabelle runs a blog called No really, I'm okay. I'm also a great liar. It's all black and white - photos...