Page 87 of Our Secret Moments

Being recognised for being able to change something and giving it my own spin is the exact feeling I’ve been chasing since I started this degree, and to finally be appreciated that way feels fucking fantastic. Euphoric almost.

The only downside is trying to tame a portion of the team for their last interview. I finally got them to start listening to me without Connor’s interference, but since we came back from Thanksgiving break they’ve been harder to tame than usual. This week especially. I want to get this over with, so I can spend the rest of the day doing last minute gift-shopping with the girls.

I decided to split the team into groups of three or four, so I’m able to round up their experience and find out what they want people to learn from them. Connor’s progress has been insane. He might take a bit of time to really dig deep and give a better answer than usual, but he gets there in the end, which is what matters more than anything.

Luckily for me, Wes has absolutely no trouble talking in front of people, so when I tell his group to come to the front, he will not stop talking.

He leans back in his chair, Connor and Sam both sighing as he goes on his third rant of the day. “You know what, Cat? You’re exactly what this team needed. You’ve been so good to us even when we give you a hard time and you’re perfect eye candy for Connor and–”

He stops when Connor elbows him in the ribs, causing him to wince. I press my mouth into a line, trying not to laugh as I say, “That’s very kind of you, Wesley, but I’m actually trying to ask Sam if–”

Wes’s eyebrows furrow. “Wait. Can I just double check that you’ve actually not used the name Wesley on any of the reports, because you do know my name is–”

“She knows, Wes. Just shut up for two seconds,” Connor mutters, saving me.

When I mouth the words ‘thank you’ to him, he shrugs as if it isn’t a big deal, but I see the way he blushes slightly. He looks fucking adorable – his hair is messy, his cheeks are puffy and each time Wes says something stupid, his nose scrunches slightly. I just want to tackle him to the ground and kiss him all over his face.

“Okay,” I say, punching in the last of Wes’s rant into my laptop before turning to Sam. “So, what did you think about this experience? Did you find it hard or challenging in any way? Is there something I could have done better?”

Sam sighs a little, running his hand through his hair. “I think it was okay. Sometimes I didn’t know what to say. You know, when you asked us what the most irrational superstition I have is. Mostly because my family are very superstitious and they’reallirrational,” he explains and we all laugh. I’ve added in a section to the blog where it’s just a ton of random questions followed by all the boys’ answers. It’s been one of my favourite things to work on so far. “So, the only thing you could have done better is–”

“Nothing,” Connor cuts in, shooting Sam a look before turning to me. “There’s nothing you could have done better, Cat. Everything you’ve done has been perfect and there is absolutely no criticism for you whatsoever.”

I can’t help but laugh at the seriousness on his face as he says that.

“None?” I ask.

He shakes his head. “Zero.”

“I guess that answers my question I was going to ask you then,” I get out through my laughter and Wes and Sam snort.

Connor tuts, leaning in slightly. “No, you’re missing one thing,” he whispers. I tilt my head at him, silently asking him to continue. “I think you need to add something about how proud I am of you. I know it sucked a little at the start, but this is exactly the kind of thing that you needed and what you’ve managed to make out of some random kids from Colorado is incredible. You should be really proud of yourself.”

My eyes instantly welled up with tears. I always cry when people say nice things to me. It’s a part of me I’ve never been able to change and sometimes I don’t think I want to.

I always feel those kinds of words of encouragement right down to my core. It weighs on me and it becomes the only thing I can think about for hours – sometimes days. And when the words come out of Connor’s mouth, that feeling increases tenfold.

“Yeah, that too,” Wes mumbles and then we’re all laughing again.

CHRISTMAS DAY

Home.

Home.

Home.

I haven’t been back to my old neighbourhood across from the Bailey’s and the Mackenzie’s house in months.

My dad is always at the office and never home. I know I have a spare key and if I ever wanted to feel closer to my mom, I could have gone back home. Since she’s passed, nothing has ever felt right about coming into the house knowing she won’t be in here.

For months after her death, I kept having the same recurring dream that one day I would turn up and she’d be back in the kitchen making her famous rum cake. I’d walk over to her, ready to steal a bite, but she’d swat my hand away and tell me to wash my hands. I’d turn back around towards the sink, wash my hands and when I turned back around she was gone. Again.

It was more of a nightmare. I would wake up in sweats, or I would scream so loud that my dad would come into my room and hold me until I fell back asleep. Then one day he just stopped doing that. I would scream and cry and wait for someone to hold me, but no one ever came. I’d somehow have to soothe myself back to sleep and pray that the nightmares wouldn’t come.

When my dad answers the door, I don’t know why he looks so surprised to see me. His black hair is slowly greying, his dark brown skin is ageing, and he isn’t dressed up like he usually is. Frankly, he looks a little lost and messy. I can’t tell if he’s staring at me because it’s been a while since he’s seen me or if it’s something else.

I quirk my head to the side. “Dad,” I press and I wait for him to meet my eyes. “Are you going to let me in?”

---