Harlequinne

- sun shy -

"Why are your eyes still closed? Can't do much when you're sleeping" Emilina said brightly.

I garbled out an unintelligible reply that must've sounded somewhat between English, French, and gibberish. I shook out the sleepiness from my eyes and turned over to see Emi already in her standard dress of leggings and a muscle tee with Maddy on her hip. 

The morning sunshine poured in through my opened curtains, much to my annoyance. I yawned, stretched, and slipped into my loafers. 

"Come on beauté de sommeil, people are going to be over soon." Emi chirped. I faintly remember a conversation with my mother a week before explicitly telling me important company was visiting sometime in the next week. At the time, I disregarded it because I was under the impression that the only important person I wanted coming over was my dad and I thought he wasn't coming until the week after. 

You always joke around that I am horrible with remembering dates and keeping track of time, which isn't far from the truth. Every time you correct me on a date, you say "Who would have guessed that I'm the responsible one," to which I smack you and call you a wanker or another variation of the insult and you'll laugh it off. 

I call Madeline over in Arabic saying "my darling", to which Emi puts her down and lets her waddle over to me so I can pick her up. We come down the sunlit stairs to see that mama is already speaking with a burly man that has luggage at his side. 

"Bonjour ma chérie." mama says with a fake tone of affection I have come to realise she only uses in the prescence of guests. "Quinne, this man is here to bring your dad's bags that were lost in a flight. Would you please take this up to my room." she says with a smile. 

I looked at her skeptically because why would my dad send his luggage home when his flight was supposed to be the week after, but I replied with a "yes mama," in a polite and friendly tone. 

I can't help but overhear my mother speaking in Arabic to Emilina mentioning something along the lines of 'your father can be so dumb sometimes. Why can't he just fly with the band, no he decides to use an airline.' My mother has always hated checking in bags so the result is packing as lightly as possible even if we are going on a two-month holiday; a habit which I still haven't outgrown and you openly critisize. 

After I leave my father's bag in my parents' quaint but spacious bedroom, I quickly get dressed into a yellow vest-top and light-wash cutoffs. I quickly drink coffee with milk and head outside to feed the chickens. 

My parents' house is the exact definiton of a French country home. Complete with a sprawling garden, no neighbors for at least a mile, and of course a chicken coop. I let the dogs come out to keep me company and get to work collecting eggs, changing their water, and feeding them.

You still love hearing stories of my growing up with farm animals in England and then in France. "Tell me again about your grandma's donkey- no, no- your uncle's pig or your cousin's herd of sheep!" you'd say with enthusiasm ready for another round of story-time. You're fascinated which is why I was not surprised you suggesting we buy a home in the country-side of Manchester county.

After I was finished with the chickens and drenched myself enough in sweat by playing a round of frisbee with the dogs, I came back inside to find the shock of a lifetime. 

At least ten men were seated or standing in the sun room chatting loudly amongst each other. Three were being entertained by the great Madeline Rose and her proud mom watching close by, while mama was busy in the kitchen probably making drinks for them. Then I made eye contact with Louis Tomlinson who was lounging on the armrest talking animatedly with a burly security guy, and I know it's rude to gape, but still, what the hell was going on in my house. He still teases me time to time about that moment and often gapes at me when we say hi. I giggle and tell him to stop and he lets it go for the time-being.