Page 43 of Insta-Love

SEVENTEEN

Ava

“Is she settled?” Mum sets her book in her lap, glancing up as I enter the room.

“Yeah. She was mostly frustrated because she couldn’t sleep on her stomach like she usually does.”

“She’ll adapt,” Dad says, flicking through the guide on the TV.

Yeah, she will. Because she always does. I’m kind of over the need to say “Oh, she’s so adaptable” or “My daughter is fantastic with change.”

“Can I talk to you two about something?”

Dad taps the mute button and sets the remote aside. Mum slides her bookmark between the pages.

I feel as though I’m twelve again, asking for permission to go to the movies unsupervised.

“You know that this was only a temporary fix.” I slide onto the sofa opposite their chairs. “We’re cramped in the spare room, as much as I appreciate having the help.”

“If you feel as though we’d rather you weren’t here—”

“That’s not what I mean,” I say, cutting Mum short. “But the reality is I probably won’t be able to afford to go out on my own again.”

“Wait until the new supermarket opens up down the way. You’ll probably get a job there,” Mum says hopefully.

“They’re months away from completion.”

“So stay for a few more months,” Dad snaps. “Where is this headed, Ava?”

Always the one to cut to the point. “Bowen asked if I wanted to house-share.”

I expected Mum, in the least, to be excited at the prospect after she’s done nothing but try to push us together. But instead she sits equally as apprehensive as Dad.

“I understand he helped with Lily,” Dad levels, “but we barely know the guy.”

“I’d be right next door.”

“And out of sight if anything were to go wrong.”

I match his hard stare “What are you insinuating? That there’s a possibility he’ll abuse us?”

“No,” Mum cries, giving Dad a scathing glare that says “We’ll talk about this later.” “We’re worried that it’s all bit sudden. That’s all.”

“He’s offering us a bigger living space,” I deadpan.

“Is that all?” Dad lifts one eyebrow.

Damn it. “What are you trying to say?”

“I was young and full of it once, too, Ava. I know how to pick a man who has his eye on something he wants.”

“He’s a lovely man,” Mum adds, “but you’ve barely spoken to him.”

“We’d be right next door,” I press again, wondering why the hell their aversion to this riles me up so much.

Isn’t that why I chose to talk to them? Because I needed clarity?

Why then, does their brashness leave me with the fierce need to defend a man I do barely know?

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