quiet afternoon crush/violent overnight rush { i z z y }

It was a fairly warm day today. Rémi didn't mind warmer weather, but he hadn't known what to wear that would suit both her overly traditional parents as well as the heat. Could he wear shorts to a family lunch? He was fifteen, he didn't know how to do this kind of stuff. They'd only been dating officially for a few months, and it seemed bizarre to the teenager that her parents were so insistent on meeting him. It wasn't like they were getting married or anything; if averages were anything to go by, then they'd probably break up in a couple more months anyway. Not that that was the goal or anything, but Rémi was a realistic sort of person.

"So how long have we been together?" Rémi asked blankly, trying to get his story straight as he shifted against the park bench. He could sense her nerves, and a part of him wanted to help her out, but another part of him just wanted to tell her parents to piss off. He ran a hand back through his hair, which was recently tidied up at the sides and felt a bit strangely short under his fingertips. He tried to keep the irritation out of his voice, but he didn't try very hard and some ended up peeking through.

She ranted about them sometimes - talked about how awfully traditional they were, how strict - but whenever he leaned too far into agreeing with her criticisms she either seemed a bit closed off or a bit down, and he wasn't sure what to do about that. Rémi wasn't about to stop speaking his mind, even if she was his girlfriend. Or, especially because she was his girlfriend? And as far as he was concerned, her parents were dickheads.

But if he thought about that too much he'd get too pissed off to do this whole thing, so he tried to divert his thoughts.

"Probably shouldn't tell them about that detention last month, right?" he asked, quirking an eyebrow just a fraction and reaching out to brush her cheek with his thumb affectionately as he tried to lighten the mood. A few weeks ago, Rémi convinced her to skip a class and they'd ended up getting caught making out by the greenhouse - much to her mortification. Their punishment had ended up being cleaning out some of the old, rust tools from one of the greenhouse storage rooms, but the session itself had been a highlight, since their detention supervisor had fallen asleep and they'd ended up making out... in the greenhouses.

“I’m not sure.” Isabel entwined her fingers, peeking up at him beneath loose brown tendrils. “Three months? Six? I told them six.” They wouldn’t have taken them seriously enough had she given a shorter length of time. On the strictness scale, her parents sat at a solid nine. She could still envision her father’s twisted face when she’d first brought up having a boyfriend (in casual conversation, but around other relatives to avoid an immediate blowout). Her mother had clutched her heart dramatically and fell onto the nearest sofa. Afterwards, in private, they’d told her there was no such thing as dating at her age. This was a common consensus in her family – that how old you were dictated knowledge, understanding, intelligence, the ability to feel certain feelings. When they’d dismissed her relationship as nothing more than a childish crush, a temporary fleeting interest, she felt hurt. And small. Silly for bringing anything up to them. It frustrated her, having to always fight for acknowledgment.

She wondered what Rémi would have said if asked the same question prior to this conversation. The timeline of their relationship could be aptly described as ‘tricky’; it surpassed ‘messy’ – a knotted web that remained generally unscathed, but had a couple of weak ligatures. In an official count, the final number probably would’ve amounted to even less than three months. When she thought about it too hard, she confused herself.

A smile played on her lips. “Maybe not the best idea,” she agreed, leaning into his touch. “Imagine if they ever found out. I’d be grounded every break. Or worse, homeschooled.” Isabel grimaced at the thought, but the memory that replayed in her brain transformed her scowl into an expression of fond recollection. She could feel the same giddiness from that day sneaking up on her, rendering her a little light-headed. Her eyes met his and suddenly it was like she was floating. That was one of the main highlights of being with Rémi – the sheer exhilaration that came with almost every interaction. He was refreshing.

Isa shifted so that she was sitting beside her boyfriend instead of in front of him, and rested her head on his shoulder. “You don’t have to meet them if you don’t want to,” she offered, stomach twisting. It had bothered her to begin with that it mattered so much for her to even ask, especially after their initial negative reception. It was also no secret (although never said directly) that Rémi didn’t like her parents. She gave him a sidelong glance. All of his big unorthodox opinions, his easy defiance of anything he viewed as too restrictive, the way he was so unapologetically himself – she often found herself caught up in the novelty of it all. But she knew they wouldn’t view it the same way.

“We could just ditch dinner?” She posed it as an innocent question, pressing a light kiss against his jaw.

Homeschooled? Rémi looked away, caught between wanting to talk shit about them again and wanting to avoid getting that look that she gave him when he did it. The hurt one, that was. The annoyed or angry one was fine, because he really didn’t mind arguing with her, especially when they both knew that he was right. He got that it was more complicated or whatever, but thinking about them too much really pissed him off. But he really didn't like hurting her, and he could sense a bit of fragility in her tone.

She didn’t mean it when she said that he didn’t have to meet them. At least, not in any sense other than the literal one. Sure, he could ditch dinner with the family, but then what? From what he’d heard, Rémi doubted she’d be allowed to see him over the break at all if he hadn’t met her parents yet. He didn’t react to that statement, just looking back at her expressionlessly instead. Rémi understood that she was just reaching out to him, half trying to comfort him and half wanting comfort herself. But he didn't know why she'd word it like that when it clearly wasn't true.

“I’m sure ditching would be well received,” he answered, as she kissed him on the jaw. His eyebrows were raised just a fraction as he pulled back to look at her. After a moment, though, a lazy half smile appeared on his lips. He was trying, for her. “I’m guessing no kissing at the dinner table,” he said flatly, leaning forward to kiss her lightly on the lips. “None of this?” He move his hand to her knee, fingertips trailing slowly upwards for a couple of inches before stopping. Circumventing emotional landscapes by shifting into physical ones was a simple enough tool to employ.

The park near her house was mostly abandoned, occupied by the two teenagers sitting beneath the scanty shade of a jacaranda tree, and a few stray cats. In their younger years, she and her siblings frequented this place, passing hours by playing hopscotch, football, and cops and robbers. Not too far away, their mother and aunties would be perched on picnic blankets, discussing the latest gossip despite swearing that they would never speak ill of others, while their father and uncles often sat and slammed dominoes on the stony park tables, yelling raucously over bad plays. Right now, the only noises were the hum of the wind, rustling leaves, and soft distant mewing. The almost-silence felt strange.

She sighed, lacing their fingers and brushing her thumb across his knuckles. “They’d get over it… eventually,” she insisted, despite knowing the opposite to be true.

When she’d insisted that her relationship went beyond a cursory infatuation, her parents, though still obviously skeptical, had encouraged this dinner, which then transformed into a demand before she could properly decline. Isabel had been apprehensive about asking Remi to come, knowing that it wouldn’t be easy to say yes to the proposal. She hadn’t painted the prettiest picture of Maria and Oscar over the months. What he thought of them hadn’t mattered as much then. Now that they were less than an hour away from coming face to face, she regretted the complaints. Somewhat. A lot of what she’d said was true, and a part of her was at least relieved that Remi would be prepared for her parents. They were a bit… much. She’d had to set a couple of ground rules prior to agreeing to bringing him (ironic, considering he detested rules), but found it difficult to be certain that they would comply all night.

His feather-light kisses diverted her attention away from her worries, however, and Isa welcomed the distraction. She captured his lips in another kiss, closing her eyes and resting a palm on his cheek. When she pulled away, her gaze lingered on him, then fell to his lips. She gave him a gentle look. “Not unless we want two heart attacks - maybe three,” Isa laughed softly, picturing Enrique’s reaction. He tried to act cool, but he definitely had that protective big brother thing going on. After a short pause, she spoke again. “But maybe, after dinner…”  A mischievous smile crossed her lips as she let the sentence trail off.

“Aren’t I supposed to be picked up at eight, on the dot?” he asked, amused. Rémi had flooed here, but her parents wanted to meet his father too, briefly. The teenager had rolled his eyes at the concept, but his father was happy to oblige. Rémi was thankful he had a father like the one he did, and didn’t have parents like hers. He imagined he’d probably be kicked out of the house by now or something.

Not that there wasn’t any tension between him and his dad at the moment. Things with Emma’s mum didn’t seem to have been going well lately - he’d walked in on them fighting in the kitchen last week. Rémi wasn’t convinced that it was his fault or anything, but he couldn’t imagine that the way he treated her, or the way that he and Emma treated each other, didn’t have any sort of impact on the whole thing. He didn’t know what to think about that, so, as per the last couple of summers, he was planning on mostly staying in his room for the next few weeks.

“What’s the time?” he asked.

Isabel waved a dismissive hand. “They’ll probably end up talking for a while. We’ll have time.”

They had to leave soon, and she wanted to avoid thinking about the dinner while she wasn’t enduring it, but it seemed impossible as the hour inched closer. Her stomach did another flip at the reminder that her parents would also be meeting his father. It was all so strange. There was a continuous sense of discomfort hiding in the distance. The whole thing was so old-fashioned – an arranged gathering to evaluate… what exactly? Whether she and Rémi were serious? Whether he was ‘worthy’ of her? She could practically hear the second thought in a rigid bass, rolling off of her dad’s tongue. The teenager grimaced. The more she thought about the evening, the more upset she grew with herself for not fighting harder to put a stop to it. Everything felt complicated and a little scary. She didn’t approve of her parents’ approach, but she felt like she at least sort of understood their need to be protective. She knew her boyfriend, on the other hand, would not empathise.

Isa sighed as she leaned into Rémi and shut her eyes.

“I don’t want to think about what time it is,” she told him, pouting, then tentatively sparing her watch a glance. They had fifteen minutes to get to her house. The walk was ten minutes long. She frowned.

There was a groan before she hoisted herself onto her feet. Isabel dusted herself off and pulled her curls off of her shoulders, tucking the front strands behind her ears. She watched Rémi as he got up behind her, and when they’d both steadied and readjusted, she held a hand out to him. As they made their way to her home, their fingers interlocked, she hummed softly and enjoyed the moment. When they arrived in front of her house, however, Isa paused briefly and gave Rémi a sheepish look.

“My dad’s gonna go in for a handshake and he might squeeze the shit out of your hand,” she explained, giving his hand a squeeze – this one reassuring and somewhat apologetic. The warning was well-intended, but had reminded her of things that could go wrong, or be taken offensively; she glanced at his free hand and remembered that he hadn’t brought anything, for example. After that, her gaze had flickered to some nearby flowers as she briefly entertained and then dismissed the silly notion of picking them and gifting her mother roses from her own garden. She hadn’t commented on it when they first met up today, but it had bothered her slightly that he’d forgotten to bring something. Isabel swallowed, hoping that her parents would overlook this, and walked towards the door.

“Well, here we go.”

Rémi got up after Isabel. He flattened the front of his shirt, absentmindedly mirroring her movements as he watched her. Maybe he was overreacting, he thought. Rémi didn’t want to be here – he didn’t want to meet her shitty parents, didn’t want to have to smile and nod, knowing that if he fucked up (and here, “fucked up” equated to “spoke his mind”) too much, then he might not see her for the rest of summer. But he did want to make her happy. And if he wasn’t going to see her again in the next few months, they might as well break up now; Rémi liked her, but they were fifteen. He wasn’t delusional.

He slipped his hand into hers and gave her a lazy half smile before they started walking. They didn’t speak much for the next ten minutes. Rémi wouldn’t have minded – he spoke his mind a lot, but he had no objections to comfortable silences. But the closer they got to her house, the more he started wondering if it was going to end up being worth it.

It was easy to like her; she was gorgeous, and she cared. She was smart, too, and curious about everything. She wasn’t just open to learning new things, she wanted to. Her family, on the other hand... “Great,” Rémi said, unable to hide a sarcastic edge to his tone. Who didn’t love a misogynistic, overprotective father? Now that they were out the front of her door, he felt nervous. Naturally, he felt more withdrawn and flippant in response. Nerves couldn’t get the best of you if you didn’t care, could they? He did the mental equivalent of gritting his teeth and nodded as she spoke. “Yep,” he answered softly, speaking mostly to himself.