If I Should Be Quite Honest

15

He didn't know having my trust was a big deal.
I tried to move past it, and tried to focus on walking instead. He was quiet and it only made me more irked. His response was so aloof.
"Are you mad?" I ask him.
"Nah," he says. Nah. Nah. Fuck off.
"You're mad."
"I'm not, fuck."
"You are, and you're being childish." He stops and I do too. It's quiet here. We're on the good side of town now. The clean side, where there isn't any rubbish or any teenagers smoking weed or leery old men drinking questionable liquid out of a bottle in a paper bag.
"I'm being childish?"
"Yeah," I tell him.
"If you wanna know, I'm a little annoyed yeah."
"But I told you already. Do you want me to just find a new job where you can drive me around all day like you really seem to want to do?"
I guess this is where he should stop "liking" me. It's where I'd stop. For someone who doesn't talk much, I'm really horrible when I do.
"Wow, fuck, I'm sorry," he says. He doesn't look or sound sorry, but I don't want to argue with him right now. I'm going to meet his parents soon, and I don't wanna be on my own in this. He had to be the line between good and awkward when I'm talking to them.
"Ok," I say though, and I fold my arms, which probably isn't the best move. He sighs.
"You have an attitude."
Yes I do. I can admit that. It didn't mean he could say it though, especially when the attitude was justified. "That was a little uneeded."
"But you are."
I get a little mad, "That's very cliche of you. Why do I have to have the attitude when you're being unreasonable? I told you what is happening and you dont care, just because you want to stick your tongue down my throat every day."
He looks alarmed, "What if I just want to spend time with you while I can?"
"Ok, but I'm not going anywhere!"
"So, I'm not allowed to say whether I'm upset?"
"You are. Just with reason? You cant get mad at me over something I cant really control, Taron."
"Yeah, but you don't have to be a fucking bitch about it." Suddenly, he's not so pretty and I want to slap him. Guys, please stop calling girls bitches. I beg of you.
I stare at him, hard, "How do you think that makes me feel?"
He still doesn't look moved, "Ok, sorry, but I'm trying to be a good boyfriend to you."
"No one said you weren't."
"I just dont like being made to feel as if I am though."
"Ok."
"And you're not helping."
"Really?"
"Yes!"
"Ok."
There's a silence. He doesn't seem to like how nonchalant I'm acting. "You only seem to talk much when you're sounding off at me."
"I guess I have the most to say when people piss me off and I want to express that."
He didn't like that, and I got a little frightened. He turned red and clenched and unclenched his fists. "You're pissing me off too."
I frown, "The difference is, though, that one of us is wrong and the other one is trying to not get fired, Taron."
I didn't like this. This wasn't a huge fight, but it still made me feel hot and gross inside, like I wanted to throw up.
"Do you even want to be with me?" he asked, like an idiot. What sort of question was that?
"Yes." I tried not to sound as if he had just asked something so stupid.
"Are you sure?"
"Yes." He still looked annoyed, "Yes, I do. Can we not fight anymore? This is dumb."
He seems to calm down, "I guess so."
"You can drive me home tomorrow."
"Ok."
"Why do you want to so much?"
He hesitates. And doesn't say anything but, "I just want to." Instead of getting annoyed, I allow myself to ponder a little until I reach a conclusion.
"You don't have to prove anything now," I tell him, "I trust you now. I said."
"You do?"
"Yes. I said."
"Right."
"Don't you want me to trust you?" I ask. I've never had to ask anyone that before. You've either been deserving of my trust or not. There was no in between, no questions, no choices.
"Of course I do," he says, though he takes a while to get there. Whatever. I let him hug me. He's sorry, he says. Yeah yeah. Ok.

We're at his house at about four. His parents look like their picture. I say picture, because there's just the one. Just one picture in the hall, of them on a trip to India, slightly tanned from being in a hot country, with a smirking Taron in the middle of them, arms folded, the Taj Mahal behind them.
His mother is nice. In that I don't know how to hate you way. "Call me Denise," she said, shaking my hand. She had really soft hands. She was rather tall too, so I had to look up, like really up, and I felt like I'd topple over. Joking. I'm just joking. I'm kidding. She wasn't that tall. She wasn't just taller than a lot of people I knew. She looked like she could play basketball too. Taron has her hair. Soft, light brown, and she had large blue eyes, only larger by her glasses when she put them on. I remember she had this really nice blue blouse, airy and silky. And I thought she'd fly away when she raised her arms.
She said I was really pretty.
"You're really pretty," she says, "I like your hair."
That makes two of us, I guess. Taron said he really liked my hair too.
"Thank you," I say, smiling a little.
His dad was a tad quieter, but both his parents were really loud people. They weren't as stoic and stony as I'd thought they'd be. They worked all the time, Taron had said. They didn't spend time with him, as they were always tired. However, Denise said they had to meet me today. The girl their son always talked about.
"I don't," Taron mumbled. He looked so annoyed that I almost laughed. I wouldn't tease him. That wasn't always the way to go.
"I think it's cute," I say to him, "What do you say about me?"
"Nothing!" he says. Denise offers us cocktail sausages. I don't really like them, but I take one to be polite.
"He says you're a very interesting girl," his dad, Frank, says, "And you have a large family, unlike ours." He chuckles a little and I smile.
"I have nine sisters and brothers," I say, and Frank nearly chokes.
"Nine?"
"Yes."
"Nine? You didn't say nine Taron," his father voiced.
Maybe he never counted for himself. All he saw was kids, kids, kids. Kids everywhere. Everywhere round my house.
"I have four sisters, and five brothers," I say. Almost proudly. It wasn't the best flex, but it was something.
"Wow," Denise voiced. I waited for them to ask about my parents, but they never did. I was grateful for that. "How do you manage? How many bathrooms do you have?"
"Mum," Taron sighs.
"It's ok," I say, "We have two."
"Just two?!" Frank suspires, "Is that allowed?"
"Probably not," I say with a shrug. "But we make it work."
"That's good. That's what families should do," Denise said kindly. Nice.