“Is it?” I ask remembering Harry telling me the complete opposite.
Jake glances at my brother quickly, as if he knows my thoughts, before stepping slightly closer and lowering his voice to a gentle assurance. “Yeah, it is. There are no set rules on how to deal with grief, Nel. Everyone needs different things and if you needed to be away from other people, I’m certainly not going to hold it against you.”
My throat is clogged with emotion again and all I can manage is another nod. He is close enough now that I can smell him, something aromatic like allspice and citrus. Jake always smelled nice, something familiar and homey but it seemed to change slightly with the seasons. Summer holidays were spent drenched in the scent of sun cream and something uniquely green, like fresh cut grass. And winters were the smell of bonfires with that same spice and orange that fills my nostrils now. I can feel my cheeks heating as I try to think of anything but the inexplicable craving I have to bury my nose in his neck and sniff him like a line of coke. Luckily, I can always rely on my nephews to take a situation from awkward to downright mortifying.
“Hey, Auntie Nel, do you have a boyfriend yet?” Lucas asked, playing with the end of my scarf that I’m still wearing. “Dad says you’ve never had one.”
Kill me now.
“I didn’t say that!” Harry bursts out and Jake chuckles. I feel a little stifled as I note that everyone in the kitchen is watching this exchange about my love life, or lack of. Of course, I realise I’m still wearing my hat, scarf, and coat like I’m about to bolt out the door.Now there’s an idea.
“Lucas, stop being rude,” Lisa admonishes.
“How am I being rude?” he argues, throwing his hands in the air with the attitude of a teenager; a bit premature at nine years old. If I wasn’t trying so hard to avoid everyone’s eyes, I probably would have found time to find it funny.
“Asking someone if they have a boyfriend or girlfriend yet is rude. Now stop arguing and ask Auntie Nel if she’d like a drink.” Lisa looks down at her eldest with what can only be describes asThe Look: the one all mums can muster and warns children against arguments.
Lucas huffs and turns to me with a scowl. “Would you like a drink?”
Is it okay to ask an nine-year-old for alcohol? Asking for a friend.
“We have red, white, and rosé,” Lisa offers, “Vodka, gin, whiskey, amaretto, coke, lemonade, tonic. Or we can do a cocktail. I can make a snowball, amaretto sour, or Cosmo.”
I blink at her. “Err…cocktail?”
“Sure, which one?” She smiles warmly, not at all showing how irritating my answer is.
“Umm…what are you having?” I know that is the stupidest question as soon as it’s out of my lips and I close my eyes to shield from the embarrassment.
“I’m on lime and soda,” she says cheerily, again ignoring my utter incompetence at human-ing today. I hear Jake chuckle and I just want to die.
“Amaretto sour would be great,” I say with a forced smile.
“Sure,” she beams. “Come on, terror.” She says, turning to Lucas. “Let me show you how to make a decent cocktail.”
The two of them head toward the garage where I know Harry and Lisa have a cocktail bar and I feel a tug at my coat. Looking down, I find Oscar looking back up at me. Now, I know parents are not meant to choose a favourite child, that makes perfect sense to me. But does the rule apply for Aunties too? Don’t get me wrong, I love Lucas. But he’s such a…kid. He’s loud and excitable, he asks quickfire questions that I usually have no idea how to answer, and he tells long winded stories with sound effects that I struggle to keep up with. It’s not his fault—he’s perfect—I’m just not really great with kids, and Lucas is the ultimate kid. Oscar, however, is quiet and calm. I don’t see the boys all that often but when I do, Oscar and I are like kindred spirits. We often end up in a corner somewhere, soaking in quiet company, him reading while I check my phone, and I may be biased but he’s seriously cute.
“Hi Aunty Nels-Bells,” he whispers.
“Hi Ozzy,” I smile at him.
“Why are you still wearing your coat?” he asks softly, gently stroking my camel wool coat.
“I forgot to take it off,” I answer honestly, and he giggles at me.
“That’s silly.”
“Here,” Jake steps forward, holding his hand out. “I’ll take it.”
I unbutton my coat and shrug out of it, Jake’s eyes dart to my chest and away again just as quick, and for what feels like the thousandth time within ten minutes, I blush when I notice my shirt gaping where the buttons strain over my breasts. Quickly adjusting the offending garment, I cover myself back up and pull my bobble hat and scarf off too, finger combing my loose curls to get rid of hat-hair. Jake gives me a tight smile before taking the items into the hall. Great. I’ve probably made him feel uncomfortable. No one wants their best friend’s little sister flashing them a peek of her purple satin bra.
“Guys,” Lisa says, emerging from the garage with my drink in hand and Lucas in tow. “We can all start getting up to the table now. The salad is ready!”
Salad?How festive.
CHAPTER THREE
“What kind of Photography?”
