the Gap
spockjasperlokizukowriting
Twelve- To Truly Meet
Andrew fidgeted in the seat next to me, impatient as our father revved the car to life, headlights projected against the gray of our garage. My mother displayed a similar impatience, having cooked up some parts of a meal and loaded it all into the boot, pruning her family and reprimanding each of us on our etiquette. I only smiled and nodded as she began chattering in the front seat, hardly hearing her amongst my distracted thoughts. Seeing Tom again was beginning to make me feel uneasy, Ben's words still startling clear in my mind.
"-And if I see elbows on the table from any of you, I swear I'll-"
"Miranda, I think they know how to sit through a decent meal," my father laughed, turning off the driveway and leaning into a curve up the hill. "It's not like they haven't been to a fancy dress party before."
"It's not a fancy dress party, it's a dinner!" my mother snapped, pawing through her neatly curled blond hair. "Besides, I want to look good for Fiona and Owen! Such nice people..."
"You've already met them?" I asked curiously, watching the passing street lights out my window.
"Oh no, not Owen, just Fiona, Tom's mom. We bumped into each other in the supermarket the other day, and goodness! Her dress! Exquisite and expensive, but she's a darling," my mother prattled, and I didn't forget to catch how formal her language was starting to become. Mother took all parties of all natures so seriously it was ridiculous.
"Well, I'm sure that Andrew and Isla could stuff their faces and they wouldn't judge," my father calmly replied, almost bored, his hair combed and clothes adequate for the occasion- shirt, tie, thick jacket, and dress pants. Andrew had been decked in a similar outfit, with black dress pants, shoes, and a collared shirt. He hadn't relinquished his beanie, but promised that he'd take it off once we crossed their threshold. As per the moment, he hardly payed much attention to any of us, huddled in his corner, the blue light of his phone playing across his tan skin.
"Well, I would!" my mother answered, fluffing her hair for the hundredth time. "I don't want any of you to be rude. They're being very kind by having us over for dinner. And this Tom Asgard- what a nice boy. He's been most helpful to Isla during her first week of school."
"He won't so much touch her otherwise," my father grumbled, darkening at the mention of the golden-haired youth. I grinned inwardly, appreciating that when my mother's head was full of air, my father still had the sense to keep things in perspective.
"But Isla's looking forward to seeing him, and his cousins, right?" she persisted, glancing back to give me a pointed look.
"Yeah, of course!" I chirped, smiling to affirm my sincerity.
"And Andrew! Tom's cousin...what's-her-name? Sofie?" my mother continued, reaching over to nudge Andrew's knee. "I hear she's a local beauty."
Andrew paled, stiffening and hiding the phone to his chest. "Who, Sif?" he grouched angrily. "...well... I guess she's okay..."
"Okay? She's gorgeous!" I bubbled, snickering when Andrew shot me a gold glare.
"Come off it, Acorn!" he growled. "It's not like I'm going to leave one relationship to jump straight into another. Besides, what do you know of relationships? You haven't even had your first boyfriend yet!"
I feigned a grimace and held my chest. "Wow, Andrew, that really hurt," I giggled curtly, leaning back into my seat.
"Will you kids stop bickering and put on a smile?" my father finally interrupted, pulling down a street and up onto a new driveway, the house before us dimmed in the conflicting light. "We're here."
My mother yelped in surprise, quickly straightening her dress before she hobbled out of the car, moving towards the boot to fetch our contributions to the table. I tightened the shawl over my shoulders, feeling awkward in my dress as I slipped out into the frozen night, the cold air pinching the tips of my ears and cheeks. The moon was nothing more than a sliver amongst a clear, navy sky, silver light pebbling across the frost-lain ground. Surrounding the lone house were tall oaks, the bare branches shivering as a small breeze swept through, bushes lining the pavement leading back to the Asgard's home.
I did a double take. No, not home. Mansion. The place was too big to count as any regular house. At least three times as long as our own home, with a double garage and a grand door a little farther to the side, a small garden weaving between patches of lawn alongside a snaking pathway, ornaments peaking from between plants. Christmas lights were lit and lined the gutters and railings, the large windows gleaming with a yellow light from behind drawn curtains. The small woodlands surrounding the house divided it from the other settlements, the last and only in the cul-de-sac.
My breath was momentarily taken as I took in the full extent of the house's beauty, unable to comprehend that Tom, as kind and as nice as he was, could've been hiding this place in the suburban neighborhood. Another cold breeze swept across the snow and I shuddered, gelid fingers drifting down my spine as I turned and stared at the bushes, the leaves rustling in the gale. But there was nothing there- not even a hint, a whisper.
I felt a hand on my forearm, and I was quickly pulled back to reality by the surprising calm of my brother's voice. "Earth to Acorn," he smiled, and I nodded as I let him tow me up the driveway and to the door, pattering across the few stairs to a porch area. The porch-light glowed strongly with in an amber orb. The notched glass in the wooden door showed distantly of moving figures, and my father calmly reached forward to press the doorbell. A couple of high notes chimed from the other side, and the mosaic of glass flickered, footsteps sounding across a tiled floor.
The handle clicked as the door swung open, revealing a tall, elegant, picturesque woman, curled dirty-blond hair back in a wide bun, her closely fitting cream colored dress hanging to her knees, a pearl necklace laced across her thin collarbone. She was an aged beauty, with a classic wisdom to her blue eyes and kindly lined smile.
"Welcome!" she grinned, and I immediately recognized her smile as Tom's. "It's so great that you could make it!"
"Erik Selvig," my father nodded, leaning forward and extending a friendly hand. The woman took it gingerly, the rouge in her cheeks warming in the soft light.
"Fiona Asgard," she stated back.
"Fiona!" my mother giggled and the two embraced, Tom's mother almost dwarfing mine, even with heels. Height must've run in the family. Her sapphire eyes flickered to Andrew and I, resting on me in particular.
"And you must be Isla and Andrew!" she greeted, stepping from my mother's arms to reach out and shake hands. Andrew took her grasp first, painting a warm grin on his expression.
"Pleased to meet you Mrs. Asgard," he nodded, eyes all seriousness. Andrew was a gracious actor- it wasn't hard for him to hide emotions in a public setting.
Her eyes sparkled and she turned to me, taking my hand and gripping it firmly. She pursed her lips, then bit her bottom lip as she grinned again. "Tom didn't exaggerate how truly beautiful you are, Miss Isla," she crooned, giving my fingers a squeeze. "It truly is great to finally meet you."
I turned bright red, managing a meager, "Thanks."
Fiona took a few steps back and gestured for us to walk inside, painted lips beaming widely. "Please, come out of the cold!"
Andrew slipped off his hat and followed my parents inside, myself trailing behind them self consciously into the glorious front hallway. The air was soft, not crisp like the frigid temperature of outside, and the walls were a brilliant gold decked with paintings and sculptures, wooden furniture lining the expanse of space. A staircase twisted from one side of the house while more rooms stretched into the other, the ceiling high and arching with wooden beams for support, almost like a ribcage winding over our heads. I hung my shawl on a coat-rack just in time to hear a large voice boom, "ISLA!"
My cheeks felt hot. Tom.
A large pair of muscled arms circled my shoulders and lifted me into an overbearing hug, the jubilant senior grinning from ear to ear. "Great to see you!"
"Hey," I managed between gasps for breath, relieved when he finally set me down, still grinning madly as he presented himself- perhaps the nicest he'd ever dressed in the last week. A relaxed tux, without a bow tie, with dress pants and a finely tailored shirt. His hair looked somewhat combed, as radiant as the gold of his home.
He spread his palms. "Welcome home!" he introduced.
"It's lovely, yes," I acceded, curling a loose strand behind my ear as Finley, Vlad, and Hayden all pounced into view. Finley was downright stylish, hair combed and gelled to the side, chin and jaw neatly shaved to combat Tom's stubble. Vlad's hair was kept back with what looked like one of Sif's hairpins, while Hayden stood awkwardly, cheeks faintly warm, pathetic as he attempted what I thought was a smile. "Thanks for having me."
"Anytime, really," Finley embraced. "We've wanted you over all week!"
"At least they couldn't shut up about you all week," a mordant voice drawled, Sif rolling her eyes but smiling pleasantly as she weaved to Tom's side. Her gossamer hair rivered down her bare back, the dark navy dress she wore watering down by her knees. Her fierce blue eyes twinkled, shining like the silver earrings she wore while her scarlet lips pulled into a tighter smile. "Finally, you're here."
"It's great to be here," I supplied once more, frowning inwardly at the rehearsed answers. It felt weird to be in such a formal presence with the Asgards, belittled by their collective beauty and fumbling over my words.
Andrew stepped in by my side, suavely grinning as he nodded to the boys, his gaze lingering just a little too long on Sif. "Hey," he greeted.
"Andrew!" Tom burst, leaning forward to shake hands. "I hope you've come hungry, brother. It's a feast tonight!"
"I...well..." Andrew was taken completely off guard, glimpsing down at me with wide eyes. Help.
I twisted my lips in thought, Sif holding a hand over her mouth to keep in tinkling laughter, but it was Mrs. Asgard who saved the moment. She pushed by my side and tapped towards the stairs, a determined frown on her face as she muttered to herself, "Always late for greetings and never gets the message..."
She curled her long fingers around the edge of the railing and called up, "Hey! You two! Come down now, we have guests!"
"Coming, mother!" I heard another voice answer, delicate, light, and alto. Feet shuffled upstairs, but my heart began pounding faster than it had, adrenaline rushing through my veins, sweat gathering at my palms. No, I know that voice.
"You'll have to excuse my youngest son and husband," Mrs. Asgard said off-handedly, my mother and father walking side by side into view. "They have this nasty habit of never hearing the doorbell."
"I'm sure they're wonderful nonetheless," my father replied with a half smile.
"Oh yes, of course! Owen works so very hard, and-"
"Brother!" Tom grinned, his sight suddenly distracted away after interrupting his mother.
"I- ah, here he is!" Mrs. Asgard gazed up the stairs, hands clasped by her belly with an expectant smile. I followed her eyes, my heart dropping to the floor, biting the inside of my cheek being all I could do to keep from squeaking in shock. Ebony hair as cultured as always, catching the light with a nightly glare as he gave a small smile, elegant as he traipsed down the stairs- grace as easy as breathing. A dark green shirt accented with black pants, sleeves rolled to his elbows to give way to toned arms, and the collar left to yawn at the top. His emerald eyes briefly met mine and his step faltered, haltingly resuming his pace as he ended on the bottom step, lips parted and brow creasing in concern.
"Erik, Miranda, my I introduce to you my youngest," Mrs. Asgard continued, stepping aside to let the black-haired boy through. His pink lips pulled into a half smile, leaning forward to shake hands with my father. I couldn't help but tremble, barely keeping in my shock, air abruptly something I had to fight for.
"Mr. Selvig," he acknowledged, voice quiet and dulcet, softer than a wood-wind instrument. "Pleasure to finally meet you. And Mrs. Selvig." He turned to my mother.
"Here again, only this time, I'm at you're door," she cleverly answered, taking his hand politely.
"Fortunately," he nodded good-naturedly, shifting towards my brother with considering eyes, narrowed eyes.
Andrew returned the gesture with unequaled intensity, stiffly reaching forward to shake hands with a furrowed brow. The black-haired boy obliged the hand-shake, and forced a nod. "Andrew Selvig," my brother offered, his lips twitching.
"Pleasure," the black-haired boy returned. I didn't miss my brother's sudden predatory hackles standing, engaged now that there was a boy closer to my age in the room. My father exhibited the same guarding behavior, but less so- practiced and hidden, if not somewhat more relaxed than he had been with Tom. Perhaps he liked the black-haired boy.
"You're in Isla's grade," Andrew stated, retreating his hand to his pocket.
"Yes," the black-haired boy affirmed. "We share multiple classes together."
"Brilliant," Andrew continued, trying to seem perkily interested, but the death-glare never left his eyes. "I hope she doesn't bore you as she hides behind her sketchbook."
"Quite the contrary," the black-haired boy spun, adding with a smile, "I found this week to be quite...entertaining. Isla's certainly talented."
"That she is, brother," Tom ascertained, clapping the smaller, thinner youth on the shoulder. "We've become as thick as thieves."
"Brother?" I finally gasped, releasing the breath I had been unknowingly keeping. My hands never stopped shaking, and I clenched the hemline of my dress in a futile effort to keep them still.
"Yes," Tom nodded with a smile, slipping an arm around the black-haired boy's shoulders and giving him a silently unwelcome squeeze. "This is my younger brother. Didn't you know this?"
I rigidly shook my head, unable to help but gawk in sheer shock- the black-haired boy, the boy from the bus, my mystery boy; the brother of my newest, closest friend all along and I never knew? My knees nearly buckled.
Tom raised boy eyebrows but shrugged. "Oh well, you do now!" he chirped.
Mrs. Asgard picked up the beat from where it left off with Tom. "Will you all please make yourselves comfortable in the living room? Dinner shall be ready in a few moments, but please! Make yourselves at home!"
My father and mother glanced at each other, but gladly accepted the invitation and followed the three cousins, Sif, and Tom to the living room, Andrew tailing after them and to a Sif's side, both briefly meeting eyes before looking away. The black-haired boy lingered, staying hesitantly behind with me. His eyes never left mine, keeping me pinned as he walked forward in a lithe step and extended his hand.
"This is a chance to finally, truly meet you," he said calmly, almost warmly, eyebrows raised. "I'd like to take advantage of it. I...hardly know you."
"I...I could say the same," I replied slowly, my brow knitting before I offered my hand in return. He took it gently and gave a small squeeze, green eyes never wavering.
"Your true name is Acacia, correct?" he tested, not letting go.
I shrank back self-consciously, my hand feeling wet and my fingers still quivering. "Yes."
"But you go by Isla?" he continued, brows raised and grip tightening.
I nodded animatedly. "Yes."
He dipped his head after a small half-smile, glistening teeth showing briefly as he let go. He had the manners not to wipe it on his shirt while I retreated my palms back to what I hope it the absorbent cotton of my dress, locking my legs together. "And I...er..." I stammered before he could turn away.
He stayed, hovering expectantly, both brows raised.
I blushed and looked away to gather my courage. "I'm... I'm afraid I still don't know your name..." I mumbled half-heartedly, feeling weak and vulnerable.
He smiled, almost grimly, understandingly, and simple returns with a blink, "Loren."
My breath skipped, internalizing his name, taken back by the unexpected individuality of it. It suited him- the way it fell, a rhythm that suited his grace. He gave a small smile and then turned, striding to join his brother and cousins in the living room while my own family was made comfortable. He was no longer the black-haired boy, the boy from the bus, or the odor of mystery that hovered around my school days. He was no longer a ghost that came and went. I tried to settle with it, knowing that now he seemed all the more real with a name, and chewed the inside of my cheek to keep from doing anything stupid. Loren shifted when he saw me come over in hesitant stride, conscious of my presence, though he avoided my gaze this time. I decided to return the favor, expecting the quiet that followed.
Tom was already spinning a story with Sif to win the thoughts and admiration of my parents, while Andrew sat stiffly next to Hayden, the two doing everything to avoid conversation. It almost reminded me of how I stood next to Loren, both of us silent and unwavering, but this silence felt more natural. A mutual agreement not to talk, not an excuse to avoid it. Loren only folded his arms across his chest and listened, grand, statuesque, a calculating quiescence, still in the background of the family gathering.
I pursed my lips and deliberated the situation for a moment. The mystery boy was the younger brother of my best friend, and I never knew. I hadn't even guessed. I felt flustered, stupid, embarrassed, and invasive. But there he was standing next to me.
Loren. His name is Loren.
A/N: I've split this chapter into two parts. So... I haven't been updating as much. My wrist is still a pain, but I'm thinking that it's going to have to be a goal to update every weekend, even if it's small. Fanart links on the profile!