Page 48 of The Prospect

“It feelslike it’s beenagessince I’ve seen your mum and dad.” I toy meticulously with the cuffs of my oversized jumper. “I hope they’ve missed me as much as I’ve missed them,” I admit. “Otherwise this is about to be downright embarrassing.”

Rather than granting me a sense of reassurance like he’ll usually do when I’m stuck in my own head, all Green can do is hum in a solemn response.

He’s been like this since the second we got into his car. Giving me minimal to work with and leaving these weird, awkward almost tense gaps in conversation. I get that he’s tired after practice. Hart had said Warren ran them into the ground today, but would it kill him to make some conversation with me?

You know, ask me how I am?

How are things going with Hart?

I mean, if I really think about it, the two of us have barely talked this entire week. I’ve got so much to fill him in on, I’m practically bursting at the seams right about now.

But his tight lips and intentful frown is the sole reason why I refuse to spill everything I want to say. The reality is, I know Green better than I know myself, and without needing to turn it over in my mind, I know something is bothering him.

He’s thinking. He’s thinking so intently that it’s clearly distressing him. But why won’t he just open up and say it? Talk to me about it?

I can’t tell you how many times I’ve scolded him over the years for being the greatest overthinker known to man. Green’s the type to beat himself up over a tiny mistake even years later. He did that once when he let in an accidental own goal a few years back. Now, every time he plays against that same team, it triggers a fight-or-flight response.

Green's the person who will sit and reread a text message a million times after he’s sent it because he’s afraid that maybe he’s said the wrong thing when, in reality, the person just wasn’t able to respond right away.

And now, like I suspect, Green’s the man who is replaying something hundreds of times over through his mind in an attempt to figure out what it means.

I hate seeing him this way, it’s honestly the worst feeling, and as we step out of his car and approach his family home, I refuse to step inside until we get to the bottom of whatever is troubling him.

“So are you going to finally tell me what’s going on with you, or am I doomed to mopey, Daniel Green, for the rest of eternity?” I halt in place, feet firmly planted into the concrete as I await his response.

Receptive to my words, he releases his hand from the doorknob and peers back at me over his shoulder. His face is sunken and as he goes to speak, all that comes out is a single word, “I…” before he gives up and diverts his attention to the ground.

I frown. “I think I’m going to need a little bit more than ‘I’ to work with.” I fold my arms across my chest and flash him an impatient look. “What’s going on with you?”

Green seems to toy with my question before he releases a breath and meets my troubled stare. “It’s just…how come you didn’t tell me about the party?” he asks. “You know, Friday night. That you and Hart would be coming too?”

“‘The party’?” I repeat, given that it takes me a second to recall what exactly he’s talking about. “Oh.” It finally clicks. “Green, I was going to tell you about it today, that and all the other wonderful things that have been going on between Hart and I.”

I watch as he subtly winces at my words. It’s a look I oh so desperately try not to read into as he carries on. “I just thought that parties weren’t your thing?” he remarks. “I guess I was just, uh—surprised to hear you were actually going.”

“Well then, that makes two of us,” I counter. “But going through planned out steps to date someone also really isn’t my thing either, but look at me now.” I gesture up and down my frame. “Clearly, I’m acting out of character, besides, why does it even matter? Aren’t you the person who always tells me that I should have more fun?”

Green refuses to look at me this time, and from the avoidance alone, I know that my going to this party isn’t what’s bothering him. Surely it can’t be. He’s trying to find an easy way out. I know he is. He wouldn’t be this upset about a night out. It makes no sense.

“Are you sure everything is okay,Greenie?” My use of his nickname fills me with a sense of hope that he’ll open up, confess to me what’s wrong, only as he opens his mouth to speak, his mum and dad excitedly swing open the door…

“There she is!” They brush right past Green and embrace me with open arms, holding me in tight. “Our girl,” they call me. “How are you, love? Are you alright?”

I swallow down the defeat of mine and Green’s conversation being cut short and settle in their arms. I could use a bit of comfort right about now.

“I’m good.” My voice is muffled as I speak into their shoulders. “A little cold…” I admit, unsure if the root cause is this sudden drop in temperature outside or the fact that as I look ahead, all I can see is Green peering away solemnly at the ground. It makes me feel empty. “But good.”

“We can’t have that, now can we?” Green’s dad, Jude, tells me, placing a firm hand along my shoulder. “Let’s get you inside and get you something warm to drink, shall we?”

I nod. “I’d love that.”

Both my mum and dad left England a few years back. Dad got a new opportunity in Lisbon, and said it was an offer too good to refuse. At that point, not only was I an adult, but I had already started uni.

I was no longer in a position where I could just pack up my life and hop from place to place, and even if I could, I wouldn’t have wanted to. Since the day we moved here, Crawley has been my home and this…this has been my second family.

I couldn’t be more grateful.

As I’m guided inside I watch as Green pecks at his mum’s cheek and shakes his dad’s hand formally before they join me in the entryway.

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