Page 64 of Your Second Chance
The smell of takeaway lingered in the room, heavy and comforting as the fire crackled in the corner. The dining table was littered with half-empty cartons and crumpled napkins. The salty tang of soy sauce mixed with the lingering sweetness of sticky, glazed dishes, and a faint hint of chili still clung to the air.
Nova sat on the sofa in the next room, her feet propped up on the wooden coffee table, her head resting back against the cushion. She looked cozy, wrapped in the soft glow of the fire, the maroon sweater dress she’d changed into accentuating her growing bump. Even though I’d seen her yesterday, it seemed like her belly had grown overnight.
I carefully unwrapped the tray of treacle tart that Mum had brought from a bakery by her house. The buttery shortcrust pastry cradled a sticky filling of golden syrup, breadcrumbs, and lemon.
Mum and Nova were lost in their own world while Dad helped clean the rest of the table.
“So, how are you holding up, love?” Mum asked.
Nova sighed. “I’m alright, really. But my feet are killing me. What I wouldn’t give for a bath right now...”
Mum’s laughter followed. “Oh, I used to love a nice warm—not too hot—bath when I was pregnant. It was the only thing that made me feel remotely human some days.”
Their laughter carried through the room, and though I wasn’t part of the conversation, I couldn’t help the small smile tugging at my lips as I added a generous dollop of clotted cream to each plate.
By the time I brought the plates over, they were still smiling, the kind of easy bond forged over shared experiences I couldn’t quite tap into.
“Dessert?” I offered.
Nova glanced up at me, her expression softening as she reached for the plate. “I was starting to think you got lost over there.”
“Nah. Just helping Dad get the table cleaned up.”
“I can help.” She shifted like she was about to sit up, but I pressed her hand down.
“Please. Eat your dessert. We’re all settled.”
“But I’m the guest,” she whined, a teasing edge in her voice. “This is my job.”
“A guest?” Mum scoffed, her voice sharp with mock indignation. “You are not a guest.”
Nova’s face went flat as she deadpanned, looking between me and Mum. “I quite literally am a guest. If I’m not, what am I?”
Mum glanced at me, and I quickly shook my head. It wasn’t the time. Not with her here like this, relaxed for once in my home. The home that I still wanted her to live in with me. I wanted her to stay, not bolt at the first sign of something heavier. Especially since I still needed us to have that conversation she promised.
The evening settled into a peaceful rhythm. Dad nursed a glass of whiskey, his voice carrying through the room as he recounted the game. “That scrum in the second half, Oliver. Textbook. Tight and controlled—none of that loose nonsense you see these days. The boys are listening to you, and it shows.”
I’d found my place on the sofa, next to Nova initially, but Mum had pulled a chair up next to her.
“They’re a good group. Just needed some discipline.”
“Discipline and a coach who knows what he’s doing,” Dad added, raising his glass in a small salute. “You’ve done well, son.”
Mum had commandeered Nova’s phone, laughing as she scrolled through the live recording Nova had done earlier. Nova sat beside her, one leg tucked beneath the other, her hands resting on her bump as she let Mum lead the commentary.
“Look at this.” Mum pointed to the screen. “You caught him mid-yell. Honestly, Oliver, you look like you’re about to explode.”
Nova smirked, tilting her head to look at me. “It’s very intense, Coach.”
“I’m glad my finest moments are immortalized forever.”
The fire continued to crackle, the room settling into that familiar kind of comfort you only get with family. Desserts were devoured, plates scraped clean, and soon it was time for Mum and Dad to head out.
Mum hugged Nova first, her arms lingering longer than usual. “You’re doing wonderfully, love. Don’t be a stranger. Come to the country for Christmas.”
“I promise,” Nova said. “I’ll see you soon.”
When Mum turned to me, she pulled me into one of those rare hugs that spoke volumes. Her voice dropped to a whisper. “Don’t let her go, Oliver. I love her. Don’t muck it up.”
