Home?

Soft Smiles

 "I was wrong-- but I lived, I got here," I explain to Seán. 
 He's asking about the trip here, so I'm laying it all out for him. Already, I'm noticing how easy it is to open up to him. I don't know if it was the way he bolted over to me and gave me this huge ass hug as soon as he caught sight of me when I was struggling to drag myself and my luggage down to the bottom floor-- seriously, I could not breathe--  or just that he has always made a point that he'll listen and just generally be the sweetest human being ever when I talk about stuff.
 Not that Mark was ever an asshole-- he wasn't, to be clear. I don't know, I think the whole official dad title might have had something to do with it. And he always seemed kinda busy. Never wanted to bother him. In a way, it's my fault.
 Speaking of Mark, I need to call him. When I get to the house. 
 "Nothing bad happened though, right?" Evelien chimes in now from the driver's seat-- which is on the right side. 
 Europe is weird.
 "No, no, I guess I just forgot how long the airport process is you know? And not to mention, the flight was more than 11 hours. I feel like death," I add.
 Seán, who has been turned around a certain way in his seat so he can look at me while we talk since we left the airport, gives me a big smile which is reflected in his eyes. Do you know how people have that thing where their emotions can also be seen in their eyes? Yeah, Seán's one of those people. To be honest, it's kind of adorable. 
 "Right," he says, "but like you said; you made it! You're here now, Sammy."
 I muster my best smile back, which I swear is only a little exaggerated to appease him. I'm helped by the nickname he gave me because Jesus Christ, that's cute. Sammy. I could get used to that.
 I take a glance out the window and take a real good look at my surroundings for the first time. It's already dark out, seeing as it's 9:00 PM here, but I get a good idea-- it's cloudy. To be expected. I laugh.
 "England really is dreary as hell, huh?" I joke.
 Seán's smile fades, but it's obvious he's amused in those ocean eyes of his. Evelien chuckles, flicking the turn signal.
 "It's a big difference from California at least, yeah," she says.
 I look at Seán, knowing he's going to add a little ray of sunshine. He does.
 "It's not all shitty," he glances at his girlfriend. "Don't let the climate throw you off. Besides, it's not always like this."
 I snort. "Spoken like a true patriot."
 His gaze snaps back to me. "Okay, you know what--"
 But I'm already laughing. He's trying very hard to mimic an annoyed expression, but because of his personality, it's failing to reach any kind of convincing level. I hear Evelien giggling along with me. Not gonna lie, my heart swells a little. They never fail to make feel like I belong. Me and my dumbass jokes that hardly qualify as jokes. I love that about them.
 It takes a minute, but eventually, our laughing dies down, which leaves me smiling like a child who has just made their first friend ever.
 Seán finally sits the correct way in his seat-- I say finally because damn, the way he had his upper body twisted was starting to hurt me just by looking at him. He keeps craning his neck to glance at me in the rearview though. I think I'm starting to understand why the goof still doesn't have a license. Evelien's focus compared to his just exacerbates this point.
 It isn't my place to judge though-- my attention span is just as shit, if not worse. Hell, I get lost in space just if I attempt to continue a conversation... not that I have many to maintain.
 I'm introverted as hell, a problem I'm well aware Seán does not have.
 ...And now I'm caught in a cycle of comparing traits of Seán's with mine.
 His hair is a more of a flat brown than my auburn shade of brown-- not that stark a difference really. We compared skin tones once over the phone. I wouldn't stop insisting that I was paler than him, and his response was always "I'm Irish, Samantha, it's not possible."
 Of course, I didn't let it go. I had him put his hand on the camera with the right lighting, took a screenshot, took a picture of my own hand, opened them both up in Photoshop, eyedropper tooled them, and guess what I found.
 Same. Freaking. Color.
 No, I'm not exaggerating. I've never let it go since then.
 His eyes and mine are the biggest difference, though. Mine are blue, but the kind of less saturated blue that looks gray. His are, to say the least, the gorgeous kind of blue. The sparkling ocean kind of blue.
 That probably sounds like a too in-depth observation, but an observation is all it is.
 Also, they remind me of Robin's.
 And damn if this cunt can't read my mind--
 "So, how's Robin two?" Seán asks, the sly grin on his face reflected in the rearview.
 I keep myself from grinning. "Fine."
 "Robin two" is my girlfriend. She lives literally a few houses down from Mark, and we met while I was on one of my thinking walks-- walks I take to get out of my own head in a non-self-destructive way. I had stopped to sit under a tree I almost always stop at to watch the city below, as we live in a neighborhood set on one of the many mountains in LA. She was walking back from a friend's house, and apparently not for the first time, saw me sitting there and decided to finally introduce herself. We sat there talking for a long time.
 I fell in love with her instantly.
 Seán calls her 'Robin two' because she shares a name with his editor and good friend Robin Torkar. He thinks it's hilarious. (I wouldn't tell him but yes, it is a little funny.)
 "Don't care to elaborate or anything?" He presses.
 The corners of my mouth twitch. "Uhh. I'm good!"
 That response earns a stifled snicker from Evelien. Seán grins, but then he backs off. "Alright," but the grin still remains on his face.
 I allow myself to grin back-- but only when I know he's not looking back at me.