"Then why do we never talk?" I queried not giving up so easily,
"We're talking right now." He said with a mischievous twinkle in his eyes,
"No, likereallytalk." I clarified and he narrowed his eyes In question, he paused for a moment before he asked,
"What do you want to know?"
"Tell me about your parents for starters," I suggested putting my legs up, and hugging them closer, the air was warm from the autumn breeze, and the swing swayed a little.
"Ma mère et mon père married young, almost immediately after they graduated. They met at a Catholic boarding school somewhere in North Dakota in the US. I was born a year later in Marseille; mon père wanted me to be born where he was." River explained and I listened quietly, "However I spent the majority of my years in London hence the enigma that Is my accent, I’ve been told it’s rather prominent but I don't hear it anyways."
“You don’t hear it?” I marvelled stifling a giggle,
“No.” He answered.
“Say sike right now!” I gasped.
“Sike?” He responded, seeming puzzled, “What does that mean?”
“It means say you’re joking,” I explained.
“But I’m not.” He remarked.
"Whatever, well I'll be the one to tell you, that youdefinitelyhave an accent, especially when you call me Ar-mar-knee." I laughed and he did too.
"Is that not how your name is pronounced?" He retorted, "I'm genuinely curious."
"Fine, you just don't sound Kenyan enough when you say it," I admitted breaking the news to him,
"Wow, I'm hurt." River winced dramatically,
"But I like the way you say it, it sounds...fancier and prettier I guess, like it's not even me you're referring to anymore," I murmured, hiding my face with my hands in embarrassment, River paused before he continued.
"Ma mère is from Spain and whenever people ask me where I'm from I never know how many countries to start listing so I just say I'm very white," River told me and I nearly choked on air with laughter.
"Mon père was always busy with the company and I never saw him much but every time I did he made it count, my parents....they are the best people I have ever known." River's eyes lit up when he talked about them, I swore it was the most pure thing I'd ever seen. “They always make an effort, no matter the weather and that is admirable.”
“It really is,” I assured him,
"When we finally settled in Marseille I spent a lot of time alone in my room painting, sculpting or exploring museums on my own. But that was all until my parents took me to meet our neighbours with claims that they had a son about my age, and that it'd be good for me to make friends and all that shit." River paused and his eyes darkened as his sentence began to trail off, "That was when I first met Jace Monet."
"It's okay." I told him as I placed my hand on his, and he let me, "You can tell a different story?"
River gave me a sad little laugh, "There's no story of mine without him in it."
"Oh." I realised not knowing precisely what to say, but also wanting to lighten the mood "Well my childhood was the time of my life, I grew up in Nairobi with a very big and traditional family. I had lots of cousins to play with and talk to about all the things that fascinated me. My grandma would tell me stories all the time and I would still swear on everything that I was that she was better than any JK Rowling." I laughed,
“Anyoneis better than her.” River scorned.
“True!” I affirmed. "Anyways, that was until I moved away to Florida of course, I had quite the culture shock and everyone sounded different and acted different— it took some time for me to adjust to everything."
“I have been adjusting all my life.” He whispered. “But…it’s strange.”
“What is?” I wondered,
“I never felt like I had to adjust to you.” He disclosed and I could’ve sworn that my heart skipped a beat, “It’s so easy to just exist alongside you.”
“You’re quite the ladies' man aren’t you, Kennedy?”
