Knife's Edge

CHAPTER NINE

At three o'clock on Saturday, I sit with Owen and Oscar in our living room, watching reruns of some crappy TV show I'm only half interested in. My attention is mostly on the phone in my hand as I wait for a reply from Dylan.

Dylan's parents have him back on house arrest, an entire two days earlier than expected. We had the whole weekend planned. Tonight, we were supposed to be going to the cinema—there's a new comedy out today that looks good—and tomorrow he was going to be spending the afternoon here. He messaged me five minutes ago to cancel. His parents are worried that he'll start slacking now that he's only got one exam left. I'm concerned that if he revises as much as his parents seem to want him to, he'll fry his brain before he even gets the chance to flip the test over.

My phone buzzes.

'I know, babe. I'm pissed, too. Didn't have any warning this time, they just turned around at lunch and gave the usual "you need to use your time wisely" crap. They promised to invite you round for dinner one evening once exams are over—sorry in advance :( xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx'

I hold back the sigh, frowning down at the words on my screen. I still haven't recovered from the last Butler family meal I was forced to endure. His parents, Frank and Gina, are a dangerous mix of ruthless and tactless—a girlfriend's worst nightmare.

The last dinner we shared had ended with his parents shouting at Dylan as he stormed from the room, dragging me with him as my face burned with complete mortification. The conversation topic? Grandchildren—more specifically, that Gina didn't want any until her precious son was a successful lawyer.

From the very beginning of our relationship, Gina had seemed overtly aware of the fact that I'm older than her son—only by a year, might I add, so not exactly the monster age gap she seems to think it is. Still, it had always been a problem for her.

The question, "so are you two currently having sex?" had been the final straw for Dylan. He'd spat some colourful language at his mother, which resulted in another screaming match (this time between Dylan and Frank) whilst I, not knowing what else to do, had just sat and awkwardly ate some cheesecake.

It was good cheesecake, though—silver linings, and all that.

'Can't wait :/ xxxxxxxxx' I reply, before typing out another message. 'It's okay, though. Not your fault. Guess you'll just have to make it up to me after Thursday... ;) xxxxxxx'

His reply returns in seconds. 'Don't worry, I plan to... ;) You gonna miss me? Xxxxxxxx'

I laugh out loud, earning a weird look from Owen as canned laughter floats out from the TV.

'Nah...... xxxxxx'

'Ouch, that's cold. You're cruel :( xxxxxx'

'And you're a dumbass but do you see me complaining? Xxxxxxx '

'All part of my charm ;) xxxxxx'

I giggle, the TV now completely forgotten as I type out my next reply.

'What charm?? Xxxxx'

'Ouch. Again with the ego-bashing, woman? You're such a meanie! Xxxxxxx'

'Yeah but I'm YOUR meanie, and that's what counts :) xxxxxx'

A cushion smacks me in the face and I nearly drop my phone.

"Please," Owen starts. "Either stop sexting your boyfriend or go upstairs so I at least don't have to watch."

"You don't have to watch," I reply, throwing the cushion back at him. "Watch the TV."