Intoxicated

Chapter Thirteen

My thoughts are flying like loose papers caught in the wind. Scattered everywhere. I have to try collect, read and order them all again. Except I can't - the wind is too strong. Laying on my bed, I skim through the equations in my maths book. I don't know how to answer any of these, I think as I bite my thumbnail. In all honesty, I'm just trying to pass time. Waiting for the moment there's a knock on the door and Alex's parents arrive. And Nugget, of course.

I'm trying not to think about how awkward it'll be. We haven't really spoken to them since the funeral - until now, anyway. It's more uncomfortable for Dad than me. Nugget will be good with me, I think, again like Alex can hear my thoughts. He used to be able to read them. Or most of them.

If he read all of them, I'm not sure what he'd think...

Knock knock.

The sound palpitates in my head. They're here. I spring off my stomach and onto my feet. "Dad, they're here!" I announce as I hurry out my room and down the stairs. I tug my shirt further over my jeans. Probably should've worn something nicer.

Oh well.

"I'm right here, you don't need to shout." Dad responds as he meanders into the kitchen. Or living room. Same thing.

Ignoring him, I pull open the door. Two familiar faces make the scene. "Hi, I'm sorry about the mess -" Nugget barges between their legs and inside, his tail wagging furiously. I let out a laugh, though it sounds strained.

They follow him inside, Mrs. Reagan trying to tug him back with his leash. She gives a nervous laugh. "He's usually well-behaved," she tells me, finally reigning him in.

Mr. Reagan stands beside her, arms folded, and looks up at me with a polite upturn of his lips. "He's just excited."

I return the favour. Or try to. "That's okay." I reassure them, my hands clasped in front of me. Jesus, this is overwhelming. I glance over at Dad, who's hovering behind me with an uneasy smile plastered on his face.

They both look at him, beaming. He steps forward, offering his hand to Mr. Reagan. "It's nice to see you," Dad says, shaking Mrs. Reagan's hand.

"You too."

Mrs. Reagan nods, her face wreathed in smiles. "It's been too long," she agrees, gripping Nugget's leash firmly. "How have you been?"

Dad buries his hands in his pockets, giving a slight nod. "All right. Just getting by," he replies, struggling to maintain eye contact. "What about you folks?"

Mrs. Reagan feigns a sigh. "As well as we can, I suppose."

Since our son got hit by a car.

Mr. Reagan brushes the tip of his nose with his thumb. A moment of silence passes.

"Do you guys want a drink? Tea, coffee...?" I ask, trailing off. "You can let Nugget loose, by the way. He'll probably want to look around the house."

Mr. Reagan places his hands on his hips. "Coffee works." He shrugs.

His wife nods and unclips Nugget. "Tea sounds lovely, thank you."

Dad bows his head before sauntering into the kitchen. "I'll chuck on the jug."

Good, I think. This isn't going as bad as I thought it would. "Cool," I say, the boil of the jug filling the beat of silence. "Do you want to come into the lounge?" I ask, since we don't really have a table - just an island in the kitchen with a few stools.

They nod and motion into the lounge, taking a seat next to each other on the beige L-shaped couch. We've had it forever, really. So much so, that the weight of the years we've sat on it has made it soft and sinkable. I sit across from them, Dad still in the kitchen grabbing cups.