THE LIFE I KNOW
1880 Words
The next morning, nothing looked different.
That was probably the strangest part. The same sunlight came through my curtains, the same alarm went off at seven, and the same pile of clothes I’d promised myself I would fold sat on the chair in the corner of my room. Australia hadn’t changed overnight.
Neither had I.
At least, not visibly.
I lay there for another few minutes, staring at the ceiling and trying not to think about the conversation from the night before. It didn’t work. The words kept replaying in my head, especially the ones that had sounded so simple when Dad said them.
Stay.
Or go.
Two choices. One decision.
I reached for my phone without looking at it. A message from Dad was waiting.
Dad: Breakfast. You’re going to be late.
I stared at the screen before another message appeared.
Dad: And don’t tell me you’re skipping it.
I smiled despite myself.
Me: I’m coming.
I got out of bed and went through my usual routine without thinking too much. Shower, clothes, hair, bag. Normal things that didn’t require any decisions.
I was good at normal.
It was one of the few things I’d gotten really good at over the years.
When I walked downstairs, Dad was already in the kitchen. He looked up from the coffee machine and gave me a small smile.
“Morning.”
“Morning.”
Neither of us mentioned last night.
I wasn’t sure whether that was a relief or worse.
There was toast on the counter and a bowl of fruit beside it. I grabbed a piece and sat at the kitchen island.
Dad looked at me.
“You’re eating that?”
“Yes.”
“You’re holding it.”
“I haven’t finished holding it yet.”
He gave me a look, so I took a bite.
“Happy?”
“Very.”
For a while, neither of us said anything. It wasn’t exactly uncomfortable, but it wasn’t normal either. I could feel the conversation from last night sitting between us, waiting for one of us to bring it up.
Eventually, Dad spoke.
“You don’t have to make a decision today.”
“I know.”
“Or tomorrow.”
“I know.”
“Or—”
“Dad.”
He stopped.
I looked at him.
“I know.”
He nodded. “Okay.”
I took another bite of toast before asking, “When did Mum ask you?”
Dad leaned against the counter.
“Last week.”
I frowned.
“And you didn’t tell me?”
“I wanted to talk to you properly.”
“So you waited until you were going to propose to Claire?”
His expression changed slightly.
“I wasn’t going to tell you about Claire and the move in the same conversation.”
“But you did.”
“I know.”
I looked down at my toast, scraping at one of the burnt edges with my thumb.
“Does Mum know about Claire?”
Dad was quiet for a moment.
“Yes.”
“And?”
“And nothing.”
That made me look up.
“She doesn’t care?”
“I didn’t say that.”
“Then what did she say?”
Dad sighed. “You know your mother.”
Unfortunately, I did.
She could make a three-minute conversation feel like a twenty-minute meeting.
“She said she wants what’s best for you.”
I laughed quietly.
“That sounds like her.”
Dad smiled.
“Yeah.”
For the first time that morning, the tension eased a little.
Then he looked at me again.
“You know you don’t have to choose New Zealand because you feel guilty about your mum.”
“I know.”
“Do you?”
I didn’t answer.
He didn’t push.
That was probably why I trusted him.
He knew when to stop.
I finished my breakfast and grabbed my bag. At the front door, I stopped.
Dad was behind me.
“Have a good day.”
“You too.”
He hesitated.
“Isla?”
I turned.
“You don’t have to figure out your whole life right now.”
I raised an eyebrow.
“That’s convenient, considering I haven’t even figured out what I’m having for lunch.”
He laughed.
“Go to school.”
I smiled.
“Bye.”
“Bye.”
I stepped outside.
The air was cool, and the street looked exactly the way it always did. Cars passed, people walked their dogs, and someone across the road was struggling with a rubbish bin that had clearly decided not to cooperate.
Everything was ordinary.
And somehow, that made it harder.
Because I knew ordinary wasn’t going to last.
---
At school, I almost forgot about it.
Almost.
There were too many people around. Too much noise. Someone yelling across the courtyard, someone else complaining about an assignment, and a teacher standing near the stairs trying to convince a group of students that running indoors was, in fact, a bad idea.
It was familiar.
Comfortingly boring.
I liked it.
I liked knowing where I was supposed to be and who I was supposed to be there with. I liked knowing which vending machine stole coins and which teacher would let you hand something in late if you had a decent excuse. I liked knowing which table was ours at lunch.
Those were stupid things.
But they were mine.
At lunch, I sat with my friends, Sasha and Quinn, and listened to them argue about something I had completely missed.
“You’re wrong.”
“I am not.”
“You literally just proved my point.”
“I don’t think you know what a point is.”
I smiled into my drink.
“What’s going on?”
Three people immediately started talking at once.
I held up my hands.
“Never mind.”
That made them laugh.
I looked around the table. I knew these people. I’d known them long enough to understand the different ways they said I’m annoyed and I’m actually annoyed. I knew who would steal food without asking, who would complain about being tired and then stay up until two in the morning, and who would say they didn’t care about something before talking about it for the next hour.
I knew where I belonged here.
I looked down at my phone.
For some reason, I opened my messages with Mum.
The last message was from the night before.
Mum: Sleep well, sweetheart. We’ll talk tomorrow.
I stared at it for a moment before typing.
Me: Dad told me.
The typing bubble appeared almost immediately, then disappeared.
Then it appeared again.
Mum: About New Zealand?
I swallowed.
Me: Yeah.
There was a pause.
Mum: How do you feel?
I stared at the question.
That was the problem.
I didn’t know.
Me: I don’t know yet.
Her reply came a minute later.
Mum: That’s okay.
I smiled slightly.
That sounded like her.
Another message appeared.
Mum: You don’t have to decide because of me.
I locked my phone.
That should have made things easier.
It didn’t.
---
When I got home that afternoon, Claire was in the kitchen.
She looked up when I walked in.
“Hi, Isla.”
“Hi.”
She smiled.
There was something almost awkward about it, like she wasn’t sure whether smiling too much would annoy me.
I dropped my bag beside the stairs.
“You’re home early.”
“I had a free period.”
“Oh.”
She went back to whatever she was doing.
I stood there for a second.
I could leave. Go upstairs. Avoid the entire situation.
That was what I usually did.
Instead, I walked into the kitchen.
“What are you making?”
She looked down at the counter.
“Nothing impressive.”
“That wasn’t my question.”
She laughed softly.
“Pasta.”
I looked at her.
“Dad already makes that.”
“I know.”
“Then you’re starting off badly.”
She smiled.
“I’ll keep that in mind.”
I almost smiled back.
Almost.
She turned back to the counter, and that’s when I noticed something sitting beside her.
A small box.
It was open.
Inside was a piece of jewellery.
I looked at it for a second before realizing what it was.
A ring.
My stomach tightened.
Claire noticed where I was looking and quickly closed the box.
“Oh.”
Neither of us spoke.
Then she said quietly, “He told you.”
It wasn’t really a question.
“Yeah.”
She nodded.
“I thought he might.”
I leaned against the counter.
“Are you going to say yes?”
She looked surprised.
Then she smiled.
“I’d like to think so.”
Her answer was so calm that I didn’t know what to do with it.
“You’re not nervous?”
“I am.”
“You don’t look nervous.”
She laughed.
“I’ve had a lot of practice pretending I know what I’m doing.”
That made me smile.
Just a little.
She noticed.
I looked away.
“I should probably go upstairs.”
“Okay.”
I picked up my bag.
“Isla?”
I stopped.
Claire looked at me.
“I know this is a lot.”
I didn’t say anything.
“I don’t expect you to suddenly be comfortable with everything.”
Something in me softened, although I didn’t want it to.
She wasn’t asking me to accept her. She wasn’t trying to take my mother’s place. She wasn’t even asking me to like her.
“I don’t hate you,” I said.
Her eyebrows lifted.
“I know.”
“You do?”
She smiled.
“I think if you hated me, you’d probably make it much more obvious.”
I laughed before I could stop myself.
“Maybe.”
“Maybe.”
I picked up my bag again.
“Bye.”
“Bye, Isla.”
I went upstairs.
Once I was in my room, I closed the door and sat on my bed.
For the first time, I wondered if maybe I’d been making Claire into something she wasn’t.
Not a villain.
Not an intruder.
Just a person who had fallen in love with my dad.
That didn’t mean I had to be ready for everything.
But maybe it meant I didn’t have to hate her for it.
I reached for my notebook. The page from last night was still blank.
I picked up my pen.
This time, I wrote something.
Things I would miss if I left:
* My school.
* My friends.
* Dad.
* My room.
* The corner shop near school.
* The beach we went to every summer.
* The stupid vending machine that ate my money.
I stared at the list.
Then, underneath it, I wrote:
Things I would miss if I stayed:
* Mum.
I stopped.
There was only one thing on the list.
And somehow, it was enough.
I put the pen down and stared at the page.
I wasn’t ready to choose.
But maybe I was finally starting to understand why the choice was so difficult.
- Writer
- chap_listContents
- likeADD