Page 82 of The Prospect

“Do you know what time everyone will be arriving?” I ask Mum, peering down at my watch. It’s half past three and so far, not a single person has rung the bell. I feel like a kid waiting to open my presents on Christmas morning. This anticipation is killing me.

“I would assume soon, love.” Mum turns off the stovetop and faces me. “But I’m surprised you’re even asking me that. Didn’t Hazel tell you when she’d be here?”

I lie, given that I haven't got a single clue. Hazel said she was coming, but she didn’t specify when. I thought I’d be pushing my luck to pry for any further details.

“I’m uh—not sure,” I swallow. “I imagine Hart is picking her up and between us, he’s usually late, so I guess we’ll see when they arrive.”

Mum’s back to flashing me a look. I try not to read into it, diverting my eyes away from her so that I can focus on the kitchen tiles. The kitchen tiles don’t judge me.

“Hart, huh?” She smirks. “How are things going with Hazel and him?” She wonders. “Or, dare I say, your little ‘plan?’”

I run my tongue along the inside of my cheek. Leave it to Mum not to forget a single thing. That’s probably the worst and best thing about her.

“Good.” I’m short with my response. I swear I’m one prying question away from un-loading everything onto her because holding it all in is torture. I refuse to cave though, because nothing would be more tortuous than that “I told you so,” look from not only my mum but my dad as he now makes an appearance in the room.

“And Amira?” I’m surprised he’s recalled her name. “Will she be here today as well?”

I twiddle with my thumbs, stopping the second I see both my mum and dad hone in on my movements and squint.

“Yeah.” I tuck my hands behind my back. “She’s coming. Later though…” I shrug off the fact. “She mentioned she had a practice for an upcoming performance, so you’ll get to meet her later tonight…”

The two share a mutual exchange before Mum flashes me a smile. “Can’t wait.”

We stand in this awkward silence for a moment, the two of them looking at me almost expectantly as if they were waiting for more.

Growing up, I’d say I spent the most time with my parents, between my brother and me. He was more independent, closed-off, and unwilling to share his emotions. It’s what makes him a good politician out in London, but as for me? I’ve always been the vulnerable one. The one willing to talk, express my feelings and most of all, open up to my parents because their companyalways felt like friendship, and like any strong friendship, you know when someone is struggling.

Hazel noticed it in me and now, I can tell my parents are approaching the same conclusion...

“Are you sure everything is alright, son?” Dad refuses to let up, furrowing his brows as he places a hand on my shoulder. “You know you can talk to us, right?”

I open my mouth to respond, but as soon as the words are about to reach my lips, the front bell chimes, signaling my attention toward the door.

It’s Hazel. Even despite only a shadow lingering behind the glass with no refined features, I know it’s her. I just know it.

“I, uh—better go answer that,” I respond in place of an explanation, forcing my dad’s hand to fall from my shoulder. “I wouldn’t want to keep the birthday girl waiting.”

HAZEL

Dictionaries may define the term ‘home’ as a place where you reside. A habitation where you keep your belongings, furniture, clothes and other prized possessions. But contrary to what Oxford might say, I believe that a home isn’t any of those things.

No.

A home isn’t four walls that make up a space or a place you go to rest your head after a long day of work. To me, a home isn’t tangible at all. I believe that a ‘home’ can be attached to a feeling.

A feeling that brings belonging, comfort, safety, and peace. All of which are emotions I felt from the very first moment I met Daniel Green.

How is that? That at seven years old, I came to that conclusion? That a piece of Daniel Green would forever and always feel like home.

I thought the feeling would fade, but it’s only grown stronger and despite where I’ve gone, what I’ve done, or the mixed emotions rollercoaster Green has put me on these past few weeks, as he swings open the front door, all I’m reminded of is the simplicity that has and always will behim.

There's this comforting look in his eye as he greets me and from the way he smiles faintly, I’m reassured that I could travel the whole world twice over and no matter what, I’d still come trailing back to him.

“You came.” I hear him mumble, and for the first time, with Hart by my side, Green’s eyes don’t linger on his steady hand on my waist. Instead, I watch him fight his wandering eyes as he flashes me another pained yet almost relieved smile.

“I said I would, didn’t I?” My voice is shallow as I meet his stare. “And you know me, Green,” I admit, swallowing to resolve this newfound dryness in my throat. “When you call, I’ll always answer.”

I can’t tell if Green is about to follow up to my remark or break into another aching smile. It’s the latter as I watch as the corners of his mouth rise softly before he averts his gaze onto Hart, who reaches his hand out to greet him.

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