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Squealing echoing through the house pulled me from my slumber. As my eyes flew open, I blinked a couple of times at the room, illuminated by the streetlight out my window. As the screams of a small child followed by the wail of a baby continued to echo upwards, I sighed and got out of bed, throwing on a change of clothes before opening the door.
A wall of mouth-watering smells hit my nose the moment I stepped out of the room. The smell of baked chicken and pasta had wafted up to the first floor, and I followed it down the stairs and into the kitchen.
Everyone paused and turned to look at me.
Dad sat at the table trying to bribe a little girl with intensely curly brown hair to eat her dinner. A woman, clearly her mother, was in the midst of setting down a tray she had pulled out of the oven. The baby was the only one not looking at me, too focussed on playing with the mess of mushy green goop on his high chair, staring at his fingers in between picking up more of the sloppy liquid.
"Zara," the woman said, a breath-taking grin gracing her face as she pulled off her oven mitts. "It's so lovely to finally meet you." Abandoning the food, the woman with bronze skin, hazel eyes, and hair the shade of cinnamon walked over to me in the doorway, wrapping her arms around me. "I'm Clare," she said after she released me, eyes studying my face and warmth pouring into my eyes.
I wanted to glare at her. I had prepared myself for this moment when I'd take one look at the woman who replaced my mother and feel this unstoppable hatred for her. But I couldn't feel it. Maybe I was too tired. Or maybe the kindness in her eyes begged me not to. Nonetheless, I couldn't stop the slight upwards turn of my lips as I looked at the person who genuinely seemed happy to meet me.
"Sleep well?" dad asked from the table, already over my temper-tantrum earlier.
"Yeah," I mumbled, stepping away from Clare and trying to go with the 'just-ignore-her-and-she-might-disappear' strategy. "Okay enough." I took a seat across from him, eyes studying the baby next to me.
Hunter, they had called him, had the same eyes as me and dad—chocolate brown. His skin was lighter than Clare's and Amelia's, but it was also a beautiful golden shade. In some ways, dad seemed like the odd one out in their family—the three of them beautiful, and him sticking out like a sore thumb.
But before I could dwell on it further, dad turned to the little girl and said, "Me-me, this is your sister Zara. Remember how we talked about her?"
I grimaced at the nickname dad had given her, but also turned my gaze to Amelia, using this chance to assess her. 'Me-me' was doing the same. Large orb-like eyes looking me up and down as she shrunk into her seat.
"Hi," she whispered.
"Hi," I grumbled back. I wanted to hate her, but at the same time, she was very cute.
Gaining a little bit of confidence, she asked, "How old are you? I'm four."
"Seventeen."
Her eyes went wide as she cocked her head to the side. "I can count to ten. Is that more than ten?"
I nodded.
"Oh wow... you're so old!"
Such a comment should have made me mad. But the innocence that twinkled in her eyes and the high-pitched tone of her voice coaxed a smile onto my face. "Thanks," I almost laughed.
"My little girl is almost a grown up," dad said, tears to his eyes.
I shot him a glare when he turned away, fuming that he was pretending to be sad about missing my 'growing up'.
But then Clare sat a plate down in front of me, full of roasted vegetables, chicken, and pasta, before setting one in front of dad and herself. "I heard chicken and pasta are your favourite," she said, soft eyes looking into me.
I'm surprised dad even remembered that much. "Yeah, I guess. But who doesn't like them?" I didn't want to give her too much satisfaction.
We began to dig in, Clare (not dad) asking me questions about my schooling and life in Australia. And while she made small talk, dad wrangled with the small kids in between bites.
Once dinner was finished, dad peeled the two kids from their chairs and brought them upstairs to get them ready for bedtime, while I helped Clare clear the table and wash the dishes.
"You don't have to help, Zara. You're a guest," she said to me.
With a shrug, I said, "It's okay." What I didn't say was that I didn't want to hear dad berating me for being 'ungrateful' or 'rude'.
"Now, did your dad mention we didn't manage to get off work until the twentieth?"
"I've mostly slept since I got off the plane," I said, the venom sneaking into my voice about the fact I had to hear this from her. Because he should have told me this. He should have said 'before you sleep, I need to warn you...'
"We've put together some money for you so that you can still have fun instead of just hanging out at the house. You have an allowance of a hundred pounds a week to spend how you wish. We've also loaded a visitor travel card for you for the month, which will allow you to take as many trips via tube or bus between zone six and zone one. And of course, we also have a British SIM card. I heard that Australian ones make you pay like five dollars a day if you use it overseas." She shook her head at that.
Great... of course dad is complaining about the country I had moved to, I thought. Probably why he never moved along with us. Too busy dissing the place mum and I now lived. The anger began to bubble in me once more.
"You should try to make the most of your time here though," she said.
Shrugging, I replied, "Not like there's much to do."
"Why don't you meet up with some old friends?" dad's voice asked from behind us, no kids in tow. "Like what about that one Asian kid you used to always hang out with? What's he up to these days?"
"Jasper?" The image of my once-best-friend flicked through my mind, sending a wave of memories—lovely and painful—through my head. "I haven't heard from him since I left."
"Oh... that's a shame. At least have a look around. Maybe visit your old school?"
Trust dad, who knew nothing about me anymore, to think that such an idea would be a pleasant experience from me. Too busy replacing me and mum with his new family, he probably had shoved aside the times I came home crying from the bullies who picked on me.
"Anyway, Zara, it's just about bedtime for me and Clare. We have early starts in the morning. But our home phone has overseas calls enabled. So feel free to call your mum in the morning. Figured I'd tell you that if we don't see you before we go."
Dad gave me a kiss on the head, arm wrapping around Clare as they left me alone in the kitchen to do as I please. But I didn't want to use their TV in their living room. I didn't want to have dessert or make a cup of tea.
So once I heard their bedroom door close, I switched off the light, headed back up the stairs, showered, then climbed into bed. Letting the memories of him consume me once more until sleep begged me back into its depths.
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