Crayons

Chapter 31

Zach begins to ramble about his house and mother after a moment of silence, "The guest bedroom is down the hall from my room, and you'll be right next to Zandria." I shrug off his words, not all that worried about how his sister hates my guts. My mind keeps drifting back to my apparent engagement. "My mom is a bit," he searches for the right words, "rough around the edges." He bites his bottom lip adorably before continuing, "She is still having a hard time since my dad's death."

He continues with more details about his house for the majority of the fifteen minute drive. By the end of the trip I know that his house is big, has been in his family for a few generations, and is sometimes easy to get lost in. He tries to explain to me how to get from one room to another, but all the turns and directions confuse me and we decide to just do a tour of the house after arriving.

When we pull up, he pulls his car into the long driveway, parking close to the front door. He comes around and opens the car door for me and goes to get my suitcase and bag after we pass a nervous glance. He swings the bag onto his shoulder and carries the suitcase in one of his hands.

With every step towards the front door my anxiety grows, bubbling in my stomach. Zach uses his free hand to grab hold of mine, which helps to soothe me, though I still feel shaky. I don't think I've ever been so nervous about meeting someone. Is this really what it's like to have a boyfriend? My heart flutters slightly, even with all the chaos in my head, when I think of Zach as my "boyfriend."

On his front porch we both stop dead in our tracks. He leans over to me, capturing my lips with his quickly. I let the hand he isn't holding snake up, laying my palm against his chest, feeling his heart beat erratically. Our kisses are slow and savoring, both of us knowing things could go south in the next few weeks easily.

He is usually the one to pull away, to break the kiss, but this time I do. I pull away, my hand still to his chest, my eyes looking for his. He doesn't move for a moment, just stands there with his eyes closed and lips slightly parted. He slowly opens his eyes and finds mine. "Are you okay?" he asks.

I don't respond with a yes or no, instead saying, "I'm nervous as hell." His grip on my hand tightens before he releases it to open the door. I take a long, deep breath before letting myself cross the threshold. My foot lands on a white tiled floor and my legs force me more into the intensely white room. The giant room has white walls, adorned with multiple family photos of a woman, man, and two children. I notice that there are no recent photos up, no photos without the man with the slightly graying hair. A long semicircle of a sofa sits in the middle of the room, facing a huge mounted flat screen above a brick fireplace and an assortment of colored candles resting on the mantle. Extravagant decorations are placed here and there around the room, giving the room a feeling of comfort, but at the same time it feels like I'm standing in the middle of an art exhibit out of my price range.

He closes the door gently behind me, "I'll show you to your room real quick," he says as he walks away with my bags in hand. I follow him quietly and he glances back every minute or so as if to make sure I'm still there. We pass what feels like dozens of rooms, the majority with closed doors, but some are ajar. I glance towards most of the open doors as we pass them by, trying to figure out what each one is used for.

We've passed at least three bathrooms, two offices, what looked like a gaming room, and many more that I couldn't figure out with just a glance what they were supposed to be. I regret not having tried to remember how many turns we took and which stairs we climbed. When we finally arrive in a hall of boring white doors, he stops at the last one, twisting the door knob and pushing it open.

I hesitantly move into the room, glancing around the big area. A huge bed sits centered against one of the walls, a nice flat screen television mounted above a long dresser across the room from it. A few cozy chairs sit around the room and, similar to the living room, artistic decorations are everywhere. Zach drops the book bag onto the bed and leaves the suitcase at the foot of it. He stands there awkwardly for a moment, though I probably look more odd here than him, until he walks around me to the other part of the room, "This door is to the closet, in case you want to hang anything up." He leaves the door slightly open, walking to the next on that wall, "This is your bathroom. I made sure it has shampoo, conditioner, and all that stuff."