Time after time, p.11
Time After Time, page 11
But as my mind strayed from thoughts of Gen, it slipped into a replay of the previous night. There had been something in the air, some kind of tension that wrapped around us, leaving me off balance.
“Fuck it,” I muttered to myself, shaking my head in a futile attempt to shake off the doubts and the sense of dread that seemed to be make itself at home.
Desperate for a distraction, I shifted my attention to the world around me.
The landscape unfolded in stunning colours, with nature’s sounds as the only music in the air. Gravel crunched under my running shoes as I stuck to the narrow trail I took every morning, hoping it would give me the peace I was looking for.
I sighed.
How was it possible for so much beauty to exist? Glancing to my sides, I only spotted vibrant plants and colourful flowers that made me want to wear some kind of long coat or robe and walk decisively through these fields.
I often stopped my jogging, needing to take everything in, letting my mind go as quiet as it had ever been while soaking in the breeze of the morning and the first rays of sunlight. There was something about this place—an inexplicable sense of solace—that felt like it could ease even the deepest ache.
Yet one day, I would be leaving this place behind. The thought alone was a sharp pang in my chest, and though I tried to push it away, it was impossible. My mind already began erasing the colours, the flowers, the sun and replacing them with grey buildings, gloomy weather, crowded streets, and loneliness.
What bothered me even more was the realisation that my mum and Rob would stay here while I moved to another continent. It was an odd conflict. An adult grappling with the deep-seated fear of separation. The thought of being miles away from my mum, with just virtual check-ins, sent unsettling shivers down my spine. I knew Rob would look after her well; logically, she’d be in excellent hands. Yet, despite this, something akin to fear gnawed at me. I couldn’t shake the feeling that I wouldn’t be okay.
My aspirations and dreams demanded that I step away from this place, if only temporarily, until I reached a goal that felt frustratingly distant at the moment. It was a sacrifice I had to make, even though the thought of leaving everything I knew behind weighed heavily on me.
She would be here too.
“Stop,” I told myself, pushing through my usual jogging pace for less than ten minutes. My lungs and heart weren’t cooperating, making me gasp for air, while my ankles trembled like I was learning to walk for the first time. I forced myself to power through the last stretch toward home, arriving at the doorstep, breathless and on the edge of collapse. The world around me swayed, and I had to fight with everything I had not to drop to my knees and spill my guts.
Reaching my mum’s front door, a pastel light pink arched beauty that was lighter than the pink of the house itself, I pressed my right palm against the cool knob and closed my eyes. I let my chest slowly return to a steadier rhythm, surprised and a bit unsettled by how quickly it had been rising and falling.
To my surprise, and before I could fully compose myself, the door swung open to reveal my mum’s astonished yet glowing face. I flashed her a wide grin, trying to head off any questions about my flushed cheeks. Her eyes twinkled as she let out a soft chuckle and shook her head, amused.
“Mrs. Marley found a couple of antique lamps in her attic,” she explained, her hand resting on my damp shoulder. I improvised, using the edge of my shirt collar perched on my left shoulder to wipe away the perspiration on my forehead. “I promised to help her clean out the attic, and she said I could take anything she’s thinking of throwing away.”
Gosh, I would miss this. I would miss her eyes twinkling with every piece of furniture she saw potential in, every piece she knew she could restore and turn into a beauty.
“Do you want me to come along?” I asked, taking a subtle breath. Though I kept my fatigue well hidden, the slight wobble in my voice and the way I leaned against the door frame betrayed the effort it took to maintain my composure. “I could shower and drive us there.”
She shook her head, her hair pulled into a ponytail that she had gracefully unravelled into a braid at the end. “She doesn’t have a ton of stuff, and Rob is heading over once he makes sure everything at the dinner is perfect.” I nodded in understanding, but promptly took the fairly heavy bag she was carrying. I stepped off the porch and placed it on the truck’s passenger seat, mindful of her tools, ensuring they wouldn’t tumble over during the drive on Mrs. Marley’s bumpy farm terrain. Leaning against the open passenger door, I watched as she climbed into the driver’s seat.
“Call me if you need anything, okay, Mum?
She blew me a kiss. “By the way, Gen’s in there.”
My breath grew uneven again, and I noticed my hands, usually dry after a run, were now slick with sweat. “She’s inside?”
My mum buckled up and started the car without looking my way. Typically, when Rob or I drove, she’d gripe about having to adjust the mirrors and the seat. “She said you two were going to try to bake?” Mum turned her gaze toward me, her eyes squinting as she shielded them from the harsh glare of the sun. The sunlight cast sharp shadows on her face, making her features appear more defined as she tried to make out my expression. “She arrived early, just a few minutes before you left for your daily run.”
I glanced toward the front entrance, half-expecting her to appear as if she could sense my return.
“Fuck yeah, I forgot for a second there.” My lips went into a line. “I told her we could do it here. I still need to clean the kitchen at the cottage before I start using it.” My mum nodded and before she could ask me if I needed help cleaning it, I shook my head with a smile, knowing that she was still feeling a bit sad that I had moved away… even if I was just a few minutes of walking distance.
I’d told myself I was doing it for them—to give them space. But deep down, I hoped that moving to the cottage would give me a little more strength when it was time to leave for another continent, if I got the internship. I thought it wouldn’t hurt as much. But even just being a short walk away had me missing them more than I expected.
As my mum’s car disappeared down the driveway, I stood there for a moment, rooted in place. After taking a deep breath, I finally walked up to the door and paused again, gathering my thoughts before stepping inside.
Gen’s shoes were by the door, and as I closed it behind me, I decided against removing mine—sweaty and possibly stinky as they were.
“Hey.” I had barely taken a few steps when I spotted her perched on the couch, knees tucked under her chin, gazing at me. “I arrived a bit early, totally forgetting about your daily run.” Her eyes drifted over me, and it seemed she struggled to hold my gaze above my shoulders. “Sebastian.” The mention of my name made me flinch. I could see her eyes widening slightly and her brows knitting together, signalling that a serious conversation was about to begin. “You seriously forgot to wear sunscreen again?” She threw her head back with a resigned sigh, as if she’d already given up on me.
In an instant, my mind flashed back to the previous night and the strange feeling that had settled over us. Maybe I was the only one coming home with a heavy weight in my chest and a storm of jumbled thoughts. Perhaps I was the only one lying awake in bed, tossing and turning, battling frustration and an itch that seemed relentless, as if the discomfort on my chest would never ease.
I swallowed hard, completely at a loss for words or even sounds. It had been minutes since she last spoke, and now she stood before me, a bemused expression on her face. With every second, I felt like I was suffocating, as if a collar was tightening around my neck, making it hard to breathe or swallow. Everything was coming back to me. Every fear that wasn’t there most mornings, but always screamed at me each night.
But then...
A sweet, floral scent imprinted itself on me, leaving me disoriented and overwhelmed, yet somehow clearing my nose, as if I could finally breathe. The tightness around my neck seemed to vanish just as quickly.
“I’m going to take a shower,” were the only words I managed to get out before running up the stairs three at a time, acutely aware of her penetrating gaze on my back.
The shower seemed to stretch endlessly, as I stood under the spray of water for some time, finally without thoughts, just staring at my feet while the water pooled around.
Wrapping a towel around my waist, I hurried into my old bedroom and shut the door with a soft click. My damp, cool feet left faint, fleeting impressions on the light hardwood floor as I dropped onto the edge of my bed, which was staying here as I had brought a bigger one for my cottage.
The sunlight streamed through the window, casting a golden glow across my bare back. It spilt over the plants on the windowsill, making their leaves shimmer in the warm light.
My gaze wandered around the room, seeking any distraction to buy me a bit more time. But the room had been almost emptied and there wasn’t much to look at until it settled on my desk, and with a frustrated scowl and a low grumble, I pushed myself off the mattress and made my way over to it.
The wall above my desk was adorned with a mosaic of Polaroids, ones I needed to take with me. I let myself drift through each one. There was a shot of me with my mouth wide open, a couple of baby teeth conspicuously absent. My mum had surprised me with a chef’s jacket and a tiny wooden kitchen toy after noticing my fascination with the kitchen. The miniature toy now rested safely in the attic.
Several more Polaroids captured moments of wide-eyed joy, with my mum and Rob always by my side. Each snapshot was a glimpse into the various trips and adventures we had shared.
A beam of sunlight shifted, illuminating a particular photo.
I loved this picture.
Gen and I lay sprawled on a chequered white and red blanket, our eyes fixed on the camera. Her hair fluttered in the summer breeze, a stray strand brushing against my bottom lip. Her arms were visible in the photo, evidence of her trying to lift the camera higher to avoid the shadow they cast. The sun was so intense that it made one of her eyes squint shut.
My eyes moved downward. Even though only the top of her sundress was visible, I could recognise every one of her sundresses, and this one was one of my favourite ones. Green pastel, filled with embroidered little daisies. Although I believed Gen’s colour was a light blue, green also complemented her skin in a stunning way, and for some reason, when she wore that one, her eyes seemed lighter than usual.
My gaze moved to the side, noticing a slighter younger version of myself with shorter hair, the wild curls still making their presence known. Two or three strands fell on my forehead, my left hand caught mid-motion, brushing them away from my face. My head turned slightly as I wore a broad smile on my face.
I was stealing glances at Gen, marvelling at the infectious giggles she was trying to suppress. She had been struggling to locate the snap button, randomly pressing a couple until she successfully captured the moment.
Several years had passed, maybe four or five, since that photograph, yet it continued to be one of my favourites. That’s why it adorned my wall, standing out among the others instead of being tucked away in our photo book.
I tightened my towel to make sure it stayed in place and settled into my chair, my chin resting on my fisted hand as I glanced at Rob’s laptop for a few seconds until I couldn’t wait any longer, opening it and seeing the bold letters announcing new emails. However, as I scanned through them, I found a promotional message from an unrelated website, a newsletter from one of my favourite authors, and several other unimportant emails. What was glaringly absent was any communication from the apprenticeship programme.
Making my way downstairs, clad in black shorts and a matching t-shirt, I found Gen comfortably seated on the sofa, remote in hand, as she browsed through the channels.
Letting my gaze drift, I noticed she had chosen shorts instead of her usual sundress. These were the kind she didn’t mind getting a bit messy, as we were about to see if baking could be her new passion. As she adjusted her position, the shorts rode up to reveal the upper part of her thighs, and I found myself staring at the skin there, swallowing hard and subtly adjusting the collar of my t-shirt.
I positioned myself in front of the TV, causing Gen to startle as I gestured for her to join me in the kitchen. The tension in my shoulders and neck seemed to ease as I entered the space where I could move freely and effortlessly, the place where I felt weightless.
“Welcome to my cave,” I said with an attempt at a grin, gesturing dramatically at the array of ingredients and tools scattered around the kitchen, all exclusively used by me. “Ready?”
Gen’s eyes widened, and she hesitated before nodding, her gaze seemingly absorbing every utensil in the area. I was pretty sure she didn’t know that a few of them even existed.
“Let’s do this.” Her hands brushed together before she pulled a hairband from her wrist, securing her hair into a ponytail. Although she looked beautiful, I couldn’t help but miss the way her waves framed her face.
I opened one of the white cupboards, fetched one of my smallest aprons, and approached her as she washed her hands at the kitchen sink. Gen grabbed a towel to dry her hands, and as she stood there, I placed myself behind her, wrapping my arms around her waist and tying the apron to position it correctly. While securing the knot, I noticed her draw a sharp breath and slightly arch her back in surprise.
As my breath grazed the nape of her neck, the fine hairs stirred, and a subtle shiver created goosebumps on that spot and on my arms. Stepping back, I turned around before she could catch my expression, placing the recipe I had prepared for her on the wooden counter. I then positioned myself behind the kitchen counter, creating distance, and settled onto one of the barstools.
I kept my eyes fixed on the recipe in front of me, even if I felt hers on me, my fingers tracing the faded ink. Resisting the urge to meet her eyes, I waited instead for the moment when she would step forward and begin the baking.
“Macarons?” Her brow furrowed as she read over the lines, dipping her head while she studied the recipe. For a moment, the room was silent, the only sound the faint rustle of the paper. Her right hand drifted toward her mouth, fingers brushing her lips before she caught herself, dropping her hand to the pocket of her apron. She fidgeted with the fabric, her nervous energy showing in the way her fingers played with the edges of the dark navy blue cloth. “Isn’t that quite difficult?”
I offered a small nod. “You need to be precise when following the instructions.” Her focused attention almost threw me off, but I disappeared into the world of baking, explaining how even a few extra seconds of whisking the eggs could change the whole recipe. It was fascinating how something so small could matter so much. “Take a deep breath, follow the recipe, and try to enjoy the process.”
It dawned on me that I had forgotten to prep the ingredients for her. I sprang into action, moving through the relevant cupboards and placing all the necessary items within Gen’s reach.
Then, I leaned against the counter, watching as Gen double-checked the recipe, her eyes darting back and forth to make sure she got it right. She measured everything with such focus, completely caught up. I couldn’t help but chuckle, amused by how serious she was about getting every detail perfect.
As Gen worked on making the macarons, the kitchen became a mess of flour and sugar. The almond flour seemed to have a mind of its own, escaping from the bowl and creating a fine dust that covered every surface. And I don’t know how she did it, but a sizeable flour cloud temporarily obscured my vision. I fought the urge to cough loudly, not wanting to embarrass her.
“I don’t think that was supposed to happen,” she said, wiping her dust-covered nose with her arm. With a sidelong smile, I shook my head, encouraging her to move on to the next step.
The egg whites, meant for the meringue, turned out to be the most complex step, which I already expected. Gen’s attempt at achieving stiff peaks resulted in a froth that looked more like a bubble bath than the meringue needed for macarons. Her frustrated sigh and the look of defeat as she stared at the bowl made me step in. I didn’t say a word—just demonstrated the folding technique with smooth, patient movements, contrasting sharply with her earlier, rushed ones.
“Give it a shot.” I offered a reassuring look as she wiped her hands on her apron, leaving streaks of flour behind, then grabbed the tools from me with a determined grip. As she took her position at the counter, she glanced over her shoulder with a quick, focused look before getting to it. “It’s all in the wrist,” I advised, guiding her.
Despite our best efforts, Gen’s attempt to achieve the right consistency resulted in a mixture that was too thick and didn’t flow smoothly. The texture was closer to a thick batter that I already knew would affect the macarons, especially as she piped the mixture onto the baking sheet, the shapes uneven and lumpy.
“Gosh,” Gen’s face was bathed in the heated, orange light from the oven as she peered inside, her expression shifting to one of disgust. “This is not looking good,” she said, her voice tinged with frustration. Through the oven door, she watched as the macarons, instead of rising evenly, wobbled and distorted, their surfaces uneven and starting to crack.
I crouched beside her, scanning the macarons before turning my attention to Gen. Her ponytail, once neatly secured, had loosened into a messy cascade of hair, strands falling across her face. Flour and meringue streaked through the dishevelled strands closest to her forehead. As I looked down, I saw flour dusting one of her brows and a smudge on her nose, with a sprinkling of sugar on the corner of her mouth. Unable to hold back, I let out a chuckle. She glanced at me, her concentration momentarily broken by my laughter.
Fortunately, I had glanced away before she turned to look at me.
Standing up, I grabbed the oven mitts and eased Gen out of the way to avoid any burns. I carefully opened the oven door and took out the macarons, placing them on a heat-resistant surface to cool.
