Page 16 of Not So Fast
He turned onto his parents’ gravel drive and followed the wood rail fence. Ahead, the house, with its ivy-covered whitewashed brick facade and tall windows, was a welcome sight. No matter what, he was home now. This was the respite he’d longed for in Miami. He went in through the front door and removed his boots, placing them in a long line of shoes that were always in the front hall. “I’m here,” he called. The welcoming smells of a home-cooked meal filled his nostrils.
Oscar came thundering down the stairs, his long wavy hair pulled back and a wide smile on his face. He threw his arms around Xander. “Don’t worry. Dad already said we aren’t going to talk about Miami.”
Xander kissed Oscar on his temple. “That’s fine, because I’d rather hear about your job instead.”
Oscar was employed at a local ceramics workshop, making and glazing decorative tile by hand. He’d even made the tile in every bathroom in Xander’s house. Oscar had always had a flair for the artistic.
“Work is great. They’re letting me try some new glazes.”
“Brilliant, O. So brilliant. I’m proud of you.”
“Thanks. Are you going to talk to Dad tonight? About the house?”
Oscar’s greatest desire was to live on his own, especially since he now had a girlfriend, but their parents weren’t convinced it was a good idea. Xander had been lobbying to build Oscar his own house on the family property and had hired an architect to come up with plans.
“I’ll definitely bring it up.”
From the back of the house, his father, Edward, arrived with Xander’s grandmother’s coral-pink rose-print apron around his waist and a blue-checkered kitchen towel slung over his shoulder. “There’s my boy, looking rested and well after your trip to the US.”
“Dad, I thought we weren’t talking about Miami,” Oscar said.
Dad slid Oscar a look. “I only said we wouldn’t talk about therace,” he said out of the side of his mouth. “Unless you want to, Xan. Up to you.”
“It’s fine. Not much to say. It was rubbish. Hopefully Monza will be better.” Xander stuffed his hands into his pockets. “Dad, I was hoping we could talk about the house for Oscar.”
His father’s forehead wrinkled with worry. “Not tonight, if it’s okay with you boys. Your mum’s had a good day and it upsets her so. I’d like to wait for a better time.”
“A better time might not come,” Oscar pleaded.
“I have the preliminary plans from the architect at my house for you and Mum to look over whenever you’re ready,” Xander added.
“They’re mega, Dad,” Oscar added. “Really.”
“I’m sure they are. Let me find a time to talk to your mumabout it. For now, come on. She’s curled up with a book. Freya’s out back cutting flowers for the table.”
Oscar and Xander exchanged identical resigned glances, then trailed behind as their dad wandered back into the great room at the back of the house, a space his parents had reluctantly allowed him to renovate last year. The fact that the old thatched roof had been leaking for years and had rotted some windowsills helped make Xander’s case for a more modern space. They’d opened up the wall between the kitchen and living room, gutted both rooms, and started over—the result was beautiful and far more livable than what had been there before. Xander was glad he’d been able to do it. It brought him so much satisfaction to have the money to improve the lives of his family.
“Hello, Mum,” Xander said, approaching her and placing his hand on her shoulder.
His mother startled. “Goodness. Must’ve nodded off. Didn’t sleep well last night.” She positively beamed at him, sandy brown waves framing her face. “How are you, my sweet boy?” She took his hand. “Do you want to talk about Miami or shall we just leave that in the past?”
“Let’s skip Miami.” He smiled and made a point of cherishing the happiness in her eyes. “How are you feeling today?”
“Bit tired, but otherwise I’m just pleased to have all three of you at home.”
Freya opened the French door and stepped inside with a large bouquet of flowers. “The prodigal son returns.” She strolled into the kitchen and filled a vase with water, then artfully arranged the blooms.
“How’s school?” Xander asked.
“Fine.”
“Read any good books lately?”
“You’re making small talk, Xan. I want you to tell me what the hell is going on with everyone on social. People are being right pricks about you. I hate it.”
Xander’s dad, stirring a pot on the stove, looked over his shoulder at Xander, but didn’t say a peep.
“Can we talk about this in the other room?” Xander whispered.
