2 - It's not home without you

As Adam drove up the long entryway toward our house, I watched Conor sit in the passenger seat. He cocked his head forward to get a better view. "Wow. It looks even more impressive than in the pictures."

I'm so used to it that I sometimes forget how our home appears to outsiders. My parents own several construction companies and built this house from the ground up. Dad is an architect, and this was his dream project—a house built into the woods so it looked like part of the trees.

"You moved here... a year ago?"

"And he still hasn't adjusted to it," Adam laughed.

Conor narrowed his eyes and turned to me to find an answer on my face.

"It's too far from the city," I sighed.

"Wouldn't be a problem if you finally got your own car," Adam retaliated.

"Give me the money for it. You also only have a car because Grandpa gifted it to you."

Adam shook his head, his hair flopping wildly, and leaned toward Conor.

"You should have seen what my baby looked like when I found it in one of his old garages. I restored it to its old beauty with my own hands. And that wasn't cheap either. But this guy here thinks I get everything handed to me."

"That's how it is."

"You just don't know how much easier our parents are on you."

I snarked. Because, no. They weren't easy on me at all. I get more disciplined than my brothers. You can count the times my brothers were grounded with one hand. For me, all the hands of the entire family wouldn't be enough. And they always assumed the worst of me, as if I was a ticking time bomb.

"They really are," Adam added, searching for my face in the rearview mirror.

"I have to fucking sell donuts to afford stuff."

"Of course. You are the only one in this family who has to work. You are the only one who has it hard."

He gave Conor a face as if he was sorry for him that he had to endure me for the next week. "Happy to have you back, Green Beans."

The exhaust popped as Adam parked the old Cadillac in front of the house and, as he grabbed the door handle, turned to me. "Next time, ask someone else to drive you." And with a quick move, he hopped out of the car, slamming the door as if this wasn't an old timer.

"Sorry for that," I said to Conor, hoping this would sum up everything that wasn't going well (the discussion itself, Adam calling him Green Beans, and the now ruined mood).

"I didn't expect anything less from you and your brother," Conor laughed, "so no worries."

We both opened the doors at the same time. I walked toward the trunk, almost falling over Adam, squatting on the ground and looking at the exhaust. "Ugh. It should be all right," he said to himself, opening the trunk. I pulled out Conor's black suitcase.

"Ah, I can carry it myself," Conor intervened.

"No, you're my guest. I'll do it."

"Can we please keep moving? Still have to get ready for work," Adam interrupted. And, shit, did his tone annoy me. I inhaled as much air as possible, so I had something else to do than explode at him. He closed the trunk and gained some ground toward the house.

"Thanks for driving us," Conor called after him. Adam responded by waving shortly at him before stomping inside.

As soon as we entered the house, my little brother Aj crossed our paths. He wore an ocean-blue swimming trunk and nothing else, emphasizing the deep red skin on his left shoulder he got from some incident involving hot soup and his inattention when he was eight. And, of course, he ran directly into Conor at full speed, not looking left or right, just focusing on his Switch. For a thirteen-year-old, he behaves more like he was six. But Conor just raised his arms in front of him to secure himself against him by grabbing his shoulders.

"There is still a little bit of linebacker left in you, huh?" I joked, and Conor stuck out his tongue.

"Ouch," Aj said without taking his eyes off his Nintendo Switch and madly pulled his shoulder back before he ran up the stairs to our right.

"Don't worry. He always cries wolf when someone comes too close to him. I doubt his scar still hurts."

"Is that you, hun?" Mom sang from somewhere on the first floor.

"No, it's Santa Claus," I yelled back. "And I brought a special gift."

Conor was awed by the vast white entrance hall. He scrutinized everything: the light oak staircase to the right, the open casing in front of us that led toward the living room, and just as he was about to look at the kitchen to the left, Mom snuck her head out of the open casing. A grin erupted on her face when she saw Conor.

"Looking good, Mrs. Blakely," Conor said, and he was right. She wore a white silk dress and put curls into her blonde hair. Almost as if she wanted to impress him.

"Oh, my goodness. How long haven't I seen you around, sweetie?"

"Three years, Mrs. Blakely."

She positioned herself before us and eyed Conor from head to toe.

"Since you became such a handsome young man, I think it's time you can start calling me Adria."

"Mom, please," I said, embarrassed by how flirty she always was around my friends. No doubt she's just trying to be charming, but I always get the feeling that the way she talks just comes off as if she wanted to be a MILF.

"What? You are seventeen now. Time to start treating you as adults. So," she scrutinized me and then switched to a smile instantly as soon as she turned back to Conor. "How do you like our new residence?"

"It's awe-inspiring."

"It is, isn't it?" She leaned closer to him and whispered, "Don't forget to mention this to my husband if you want to gain some bonus points."

"Mom!"

"Don't 'Mom' me like that. You go show your guest up to your room now. I'll meet you in about twenty minutes for the barbecue. You must be hungry after that long flight."

And with that, she winked at Conor and walked back into the kitchen. I nodded my head toward the staircase and hoisted his suitcase up.

"You know, I am perfectly capable of carrying my stuff?" Conor said.

"You had a long flight. Let me be kind. That's the least I can do."

"Oh, if you want to be kind, I can think of a lot of things you could do," he said quietly.

This... wait... what?

I stumbled over my feet, befuddled by what he had just said. Thankfully, I could catch the handrail before completely losing my balance, but Conor already had his right hand pushed into my back and the left on his suitcase.

"Still think you want to carry that?" He smirked. He was so close that, for a moment, I thought he wanted to kiss me.

"Everyone still up and healthy?" Mom's voice reverberated through the house.

"Yes, Mrs. Blakely," Conor answered.

"It's Adria, please."

I wriggled out of this compromising closeness and headed straight down the second floor, through the corridor to the last beige door on the left, and hoisted the suitcase inside—closely followed by Conor, as if he couldn't wait to be alone with me.

"Wow." Conor's eyes grew as he entered. "This room... or should I say apartment? It's amazing. I mean, like, how? Why? What the actual f—?"

I felt the same way when Dad showed us the house for the first time. As I already mentioned, it was his dream project. And he wanted every room to feel unique for the person who lived in it. So he designed our bedrooms with us in mind.

Adam is hardcore into cars. He has worked in a garage since he was fourteen, and when he finished High School last year, he began doing so full-time to gain more experience before moving on to college to become a mechanical engineer in the fall. So his room is located above the parking garage. He has a door next to his bed leading to a small workshop behind the garage because he likes to work on his car until late at night, and this way, he can do it without waking everyone up.

Aj is way too busy playing video games, while he still likes to spend time camping all the time. So his room has an entire glass wall looking at the forest behind our house, and his bed is hidden in a tent built into his room, so he always feels like he is staying outside.

And my room, well, he couldn't put a football field in my room, and we have a small home gym in the basement that every family member may use. But he knew I enjoyed having my friends over. So the room is almost like an apartment in itself, so my friends and I wouldn't have to disturb the rest of the family if someone stayed over. I have my couch ensemble with a TV to watch football as well as a small fridge for drinks and snacks, a small bathroom for my own, and a bed that has another bed hidden underneath. You just have to pull it out.

"You must be popular with a room like that."

"That probably was Dad's goal. So, feel at home."

Conor soaked it in and studied every piece of furniture.

"No desk?"

"We have a study downstairs. Dad decided it would be wise for me to go there."

"Because you used your old one as a dump?"

We laughed because I couldn't deny his observation.

I planted his suitcase in the back of my room between my bed on the right, and the drawer on the left, a few feet from the nightlight I'd installed so Conor would feel safe at night. (After what happened when the airport had a power outage three months ago, I didn't want to trigger any bad stuff. Because he shivered as soon as the lights went out, as if the darkness would consume him. And it can get quite dark here in the woods, as we don't have any streetlights around.)

A silent CLICK from the door made me turn around.

Conor pressed his back into the door as if he wanted to ensure no one would disturb us.

"So...," his eyes quickly moved from left to right and back, "Are you planning to welcome me properly now, or what?"