Damian | Edinburgh, present day
‘It’s fine, dear,’ says Mum when I arrive for lunch and tell her I’ve invited Florence. ‘If she’s someone you like, then of course we want to meet her.’
‘We usually cook extra anyway. For Bitsy,’ Dad chips in.
Mum glances at the empty pillow on the couch, and I cringe, feeling guilty. It’s an exceptional circumstance for Bitsy not to be at the family Sunday lunch. She roams around under the table and is slyly slipped bits of roast beef. It’s how she got her name. Not only have I disrupted the status quo by inviting a date, but Bitsy has been relegated to the laundry, where she can’t do any damage with her tiny teeth.
It is a little strange for Florence to be afraid of a Bichon Frisé, but who am I to judge? I’m deathly afraid of spiders—allspiders, even ones that are miniscule.
‘Yes, everyone’s keen to meet Florence,’ remarks my older brother, Andrew. He’s ensconced on the couch with his arm around his girlfriend, Amber. They’ve just moved intogether and are basking in a smug, loved-up glow that sets my teeth on edge.
‘How did you guys meet?’ Andrew shoots me a curious stare, and I know if I say she’s a patient, I’m never going to hear the end of it.
‘Online,’ I reply shiftily.
Andrew winks at me. ‘Nice work, bro.’
I ignore him and glance at my watch. It’s just gone twelve, and my anxiety is kicking in.What if she doesn’t show? It’s going to be excruciating.
The doorbell rings, and my anxiety eases off slightly.Thank God.
‘I’ll just go and ...’ I make a hasty escape to the hallway, pausing to check my hair in the mirror. I quite like the purple streaks left over from the Halloween party I went to with a mate last week. I think it makes me look less boring and slightly alternative. Florence didn’t comment, but I saw her eyes flicking to it a few times in the bar.
Again, I try to recall what happened after our date but it’s still a blank. From Andrew’s wink and remark, he’s assumed that I’ve slept with her, but we haven’t actually hooked up. A date at a bar, then Sunday lunch at my parents is like going from zero to a hundred in the relationship timeline. But there’s no time to analyse my decision-making. She’s here.
I fling open the door.
Florence is wearing big sunglasses and is rocking the Victorian goth vibe to the max. She’s wearing a long flowing jacket with tails, a black ruffled dress, and lace-up boots. Her skin is translucent. Deep-purple lips.My conservative, strait-laced brother in his Lacoste polo shirt is going to lose it.The thought is quite satisfying.
‘Hi, you made it. Come in!’
Florence hesitates for the barest second, then steps inside. As she passes by, I smell her signature floral scent, and I breathe it in deeply.
She still hasn’t spoken or taken off her sunglasses and seems mesmerised by the black-and-white photo of Edinburgh that my dad took for his photography class.
‘Everyone’s in the lounge, so let’s go through,’ I prompt gently.
She starts at the sound of my voice and removes her sunglasses.Is she hungover? Did she go on a date with another guy last night and order Bloody Marys?
‘Damian.’ She touches my shoulder, and I gaze into her big violet eyes fringed with jet-black lashes (natural, not stuck on).God, she’s gorgeous.
‘Thanks for the invite,’ she says.
‘You’re very welcome. I’m glad you’re here.’
She licks her lips, and I feel a strong compulsion to takeher in my arms right here in the hallway and kiss her senseless. But that’s probably not a good idea. I haven’t even held her hand yet.Maybe I should do that. What if she pulls away?
‘Are you nervous?’ I ask softly.
‘A little,’ she says, and her small frown pinches my heart. ‘I haven’t been to a Sunday lunch in ages.’
She looks at me like she needs reassurance. This is my cue. Oh god.
I slide my hand into hers; it’s as cold as ice! She must really be freaking out. Giving it a squeeze, I sense her relax slightly.Yes! It was the right thing to do. To my elation, she doesn’t pull her hand out of mine. Now we’re getting somewhere.
‘It’s OK, they don’t bite,’ I say, making her chuckle. ‘You have nothing to worry about. They’ll love you. And you look beautiful, by the way.’
Time to shut up now, Damian.But I can’t help it, I like her. I’m sure it’s written all over my face anyway. Juliana always said I wore my heart on my sleeve. But I don’t want to think about her now; this is me moving on ...
