Captive - FourTris

Thirty-Eight

OCTOBER 29
1 MONTH, 29 DAYS

I don't have a good feeling about this. Even though I love him, I don't think my mum will see it. I don't think she will see past his rough exterior to understand what I love about him.

Tobias isn't good with strangers. He gets anxiety, and instead of blabbing like an idiot—like I do when I get nervous—he keeps his mouth shut. And then people think he's rude, but he's just misunderstood. He really is a nice guy, they just misjudge him, is all.

I know my mum thought I was going to run off to some Ivy League school and marry a guy who rows boats and wears sweaters.

I've always had decent grades, and I do want to go to college. But Ivy League? Yeah, right. I'm not exactly an overachiever. Just an achiever. Good grades, track, the usual.

But I want her to like him, even if he doesn't fit what she's imagined. I want her to see in him what I see, and I want her to give her approval. I want her to know I'm going to be okay. Maybe that will help her. Maybe she can see that there's still life and love out there for us.

For her.

We don't talk about my dad. Ever. After he died she took down the pictures, and that was that.

He was erased. I don't want it to be like that anymore. I want her to acknowledge that he existed. And maybe if she sees that it's okay for me to move on, she will too, and that will help her.

I just wish we didn't have to do this today. I wish we could have put it off a little longer. I'm going crazy climbing the walls of this place, waiting for him to get here, waiting for the judgment to begin.

My mum doesn't cook, so I've taken to throwing together a big pot of spaghetti, and I keep checking the noodles and tapping my fingers on the counter. I'm not even hungry and I've cooked the whole box.

This is a disaster in the making. I just know it. No matter how many ways I picture it going, it's never perfect. I'm draining the noodles when I hear the rumble of his broken exhaust. It seems like he's punching the gas or something. It's roaring. I know my mum can see it from her bedroom window. I cringe. I wonder what she's doing, if she's looking down at that dilapidated truck as it pulls up to my cute little Mazda. I hope she doesn't judge him for that.

He rings the doorbell and I dump half the noodles in the sink, trying to get this done and get to the door before she does, but I don't make it in time.

The door is swinging open and she's at it.

"Mum, I got it," I say.

"Don't be silly. I want to meet him." She's really done up today, in a grey, flowered sundress and little pearl earrings. She has bright lipstick and heels on.

Geez, she looks like she belongs at the Kentucky Derby.

"Hello! I'm Natalie," she says, holding out her hand, her fingers turned downwards. What does she expect? Is he supposed to kiss it or something?

"Tobias. Nice to meet you." He shakes her hand but it's kind of turned down still, so it looks awkward, and I know he's noticed.

He's wearing a nice button-up today, with a clean pair of black jeans. The shirt is a little wrinkled and his shoes are scuffed, but he looks good, and when he turns to smile at me, I see he's nervous. He's trying so hard. And he's so out of his element in this fancy foyer with the marble floors.

"Come on, I'll show you my room," I say, desperate to extract him from the situation. "And yes, I know, we'll leave the door open and all that."

I grab his hand and drag him past my mum. I'm sure she has a barrage of questions for him, but I'll let him see my room and I'll hug him and reassure him first, and then he'll be ready.