Page 23 of The Story Of Us

“Yeah, it’ll be good practice for me.” His words come out emotionless, and I recognise it as the tone he uses when he talks to his parents, when he’s shutting down and building up walls to protect himself. I hate what I’m doing to him, that I’m making him feel like this, but I don’t know how to stop, and I don’t know how to forgive him without getting hurt in the process. “You can just write whatever you want, and I’ll make it work.”

I know he’s giving me an out, and even though I can feel him trying to distance himself from me, I can somehow tell that he still cares about me by trying to let me do the minimal amount of work.

Seeing how much effort he’s putting in, how much he’s trying to make this easier for me, makes me want to be nicer to him, too.

“I’ll think of a few ideas this week, and then on Friday, we can pick one together,” I say quickly, not giving myself a chance to second-guess myself or change my mind.

Isaac’s eyes widen slightly in surprise as he realises I’m willing to work with him on this.

“Yeah, okay. That’s -”

He doesn’t finish his sentence as the sound of his phone ringing breaks his focus. He glances at the screen, his shoulders drop, and he lets out a deep sigh. I don’t need to look to know that it’s his parents, he always reacted like this whenever they called. It would instantly sour his mood, and I would try to bring him back and distract him with something so that he could put off thinking about them for just a few minutes longer. But they’re persistent, and that hasn’t changed as his phone silences and then immediately begins to ring again.

He stands up, picking his bag up from the floor and stuffing his sketchbook in it before taking his phone from the desk.

“I have to take this.”

It stops ringing again, and he looks back and forth between it and me. I can see the battle written on his face—he can either ignore the call and stay here with me, or he can answer it and leave.

The noise starts up again and it seems the decision is made for him.

“We’ll talk more on Friday. I have to go. I’m sorry.”

I want to smooth away the crease between his eyebrows and poke his cheeks to make him smile instead of frown, but I don’t get to do that anymore. He walks to the door and looks back at me once before leaving the room.

10

ISAAC

“Hello?”

“Isaac.” My dad’s voice is deep, his tone sharp as he says my name. I can remember a time when I was younger when hearing my dad say my name had happier memories and didn’t leave me with a feeling of dread. “We need you to come home this weekend.”

I stop walking and throw my head back, squeezing my eyes shut as I try to calm myself. I already know how the rest of the conversation is going to go and why they want me home, but I had hoped it would be a few more weeks before all of this started.

“Can I just come on Saturday? I have some work I need to do, so I’d rather be here on Sunday.”

It’s still early enough in the school year that a lot of homework hasn’t been set, but using the excuse of wanting to study is the only way he’ll let me cut this visit short. I used to look forward to going home on the weekends, but as I got older and the pressure from my parents increased, going there just felt like being in a cage. I have to act a certain way and pretend that I’m not constantly on the verge of breaking down.

“It’s not ideal, but I suppose so. We need you here by ten at the latest. The Smiths will be arriving at one. It’s a vital time to start introducing you to people, you’ll be having interviews soon, and it’s better if they already know your face. We don’t want you going to Oxford and being completely alone.”

To anyone else, that last sentence would sound like it’s coming from a father who’s just looking out for their son, but I know the deeper meaning. He still completely expects me to go to Oxford even after our conversation about it a few months ago, which means I have no choice but to keep up appearances and pretend I’m applying.

Both of my parents went to Oxford, where they met and fell in love, and going there started the foundation for their careers. They’re both wildly successful in their fields, and they expect me to follow the same path they did—it’s what the last six years of my education have been dedicated to. And for a while, I thought I was doing the right thing by just going along with what they told me to do, but as I got older and started realising I had little interest in it, the thought of focusing my entire life on it felt impossible.

“I’ll be there by ten, but I’ll need to leave by six if I want to get back to school before it gets too dark.”

My childhood home is about a two-hour drive away, so using that excuse to leave early is the easiest one I can think of.

In reality, I want to minimise the time spent with my parents, especially since the whole day with them will be focused on Oxford.

“Bring your sister. We might as well get her started on these introductions, too.”

I had thought that for just this year, they’d put all their focus on me and leave Izzy alone, but I guess not. I’ve tried my best to protect her from them as much as I can, reassure her that she can do whatever she wants, and I’ll support her in anything. But it’s harder to do that when we’re at home, and the weight of our parents’ expectations bears down on us.

“Okay.” I have nothing else to say. There’s no need to attempt to make small talk or tell him how the first week of school has been because he’s not interested. As long as he gets the results he wants from me in a few months, it doesn’t matter how I get there.

“Goodbye.”

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