Page 30 of Game Point (Game, Set, and Match #2)

Dylan

New Perspective – Noah Kahan

‘Don’t be nervous,’ I said, staring over at the house tucked off the road by a manicured lawn, a stone path leading up to the porch and a cutesy red door.

‘I’m not nervous,’ Oliver replied from the passenger seat beside me.

I took a deep breath in. ‘It’s only my parents,’ I started, looking up to the front window, my childhood bedroom.

I remembered climbing onto the porch roof, falling off the grating and down into Mum’s favourite flower bed.

I was never sure what she was madder about, me sneaking out to parties or squishing her grevillea flowers.

I continued, ‘And the rest of the family.’

Beside me, Oliver kept his voice calm, as if the problem was him. ‘I love parents. I’m great with sisters –’

I turned to face him, biting my lip. ‘I wasn’t talking to you.’

His brows pressed together, a bewildered smile playing on his lips. ‘Why are you nervous?’

‘I don’t know,’ I lied, the list truly endless. ‘Something about all my close family members in one room really freaks me out. Like, it should only happen at funerals or Christmas, and it is neither. They are very loud and opinionated. Whatever you do, don’t agree to play Monopoly.’

‘What’s wrong with Monopoly?’

‘What isn’t wrong with that game?’ I rolled my eyes.

Maybe I hadn’t prepared him properly for the chaotic Bailey storm he was walking into.

Being the fifth in a loud family had been a lot, not to mention the cousins and second cousins.

I was always the youngest, always feeling out of place, and never allowed to pick the Monopoly token I wanted.

‘Come on,’ he said, a bouquet of flowers and a bottle of wine in one hand, his other on the door handle. ‘It won’t be that bad,’ he added, climbing out into the Australian summer heat.

I repeated his words in a high-pitched voice, locking the rental car behind us.

‘You know,’ I said, jogging to catch up with him, ‘it’s not too late to back out.’

‘Why would we do that?’ he said, taking a step onto the path, his gaze inspecting Mum’s flowers.

‘Australians,’ I replied, with a shrug. ‘Dad could have a trained Drop Bear for when I bring boys home.’

He laughed as we arrived at the front door. ‘Oh, I’m sure I’ll be fine.’

I barely had the chance to reply before the door in front of us swung open, my dad on the other side. Immediately, I was wrapped up in a hug, his loud calls for my mum ringing in my ear.

‘Oh, it’s good to see you. It’s been months! How are you healing up?’ my dad asked, his arms only getting tighter around me. His grey hair brushed against my cheek, the familiar smell of him surrounding me.

‘I’m good, how are you going?’ I stretched my own arms around him, closing my eyes for a second to enjoy the embrace. God, I’d missed him.

‘I am old.’ Dad’s arms released me. He turned to my left, eyeing Oliver suspiciously. ‘Who’s this fellow?’ he teased.

‘This is Oliver. He’s a friend,’ I said, offering him up as if he was a sacrifice. ‘Oliver, this is Thomas, my dad.’

Dad’s wild brows creased together. ‘Anderson?’ he gruffed.

Oliver smiled politely, any fear hidden well. ‘The very one.’

Dad’s posture relaxed, his hand stretched out. ‘I like the way you serve. It’s always very good.’

Oliver’s hand met his for a quick shake. ‘That’s why they call me the best.’

Dad turned, almost pushing Oliver inside the house, as if he was going to make a run for it while he still could.

‘Nobody calls you the best,’ I teased, following them inside.

He was spared a single moment, looking over his shoulder at me as he winked.

‘I have fans. Stalkers too.’ And then he was completely lost to me, the hoard of family members descending on him.

My sisters Lennon and Tessa crowded in, my mum behind her, my nieces at their feet, all welcoming Oliver and me.

‘Everyone, this is Oliver. He’s a friend,’ I shouted, trying to get everyone introduced at once, but my voice was drowned out by the voices.

‘Is this Dylan’s boyfriend?’ I heard Tessa asking Mum.

‘He’s not my boyfriend,’ I shouted out, Oliver’s head swivelling towards me, that smile, once confident, now turning a little panicked.

I saw Lennon leaning in to Tessa, her voice loud enough for me to hear. ‘Isn’t he staying with her?’

‘He’s in the spare,’ I yelled.

Lennon’s brown eyes met mine, a flash of a cocky expression sent my way. ‘Last time I checked there wasn’t a bed in the spare.’

I sent her a scowl, the hoard slowly moving with us, through to the much wider kitchen. ‘There’s a blow-up bed in there and you know it.’

‘Awfully touchy, isn’t she?’ I saw Tessa looking rather pleased with herself, and I was about to say something I’d regret when Mum cut through the chaos.

‘Everyone out!’ she shouted, her voice unwavering, ‘You can meet them when they’ve had a moment to breathe. Everyone in the yard.’

My sisters grumbled a similar command to their children, the hallway quickly emptying as Mum pulled me in for a hug.

‘How you going, bug?’ she said into my shoulder. ‘It’s good to have you home.’

I really, really squeezed her back, taking a proper moment to enjoy the hug. I loved my dad, but there was something about that first hug from Mum that got me, that said ‘you are home, relax’. When I released her from my grasp, I introduced her to Oliver, him earning his own hug from her.

‘It’s nice to have you.’ She smiled up at him. ‘I hope Dylan’s feeding you well. She’s not much of a cook.’

He looked at me, as if to joke ‘ who knew? ’ While Mum had her back turned to me, I held my middle finger up to him, hiding it as she turned around.

‘She’s doing just fine.’ He smiled politely.

‘Well, there’s a barbeque outside,’ Mum said to us both, taking my hand, her fingers running over my palm. ‘We’ve got some burgers and sausages going; food won’t be long.’ She turned to me as she released my hand. ‘Everyone is in the yard when you are ready.’ Mum left us, heading into the kitchen.

Oliver let out a low whistle, taking a moment to look around. ‘The childhood home of Dylan Bailey.’ He rubbed his palms together, a mischievous glint in his eyes. ‘What will we uncover?’

‘Probably a lot of tennis trophies.’

‘All second place, I assume,’ he jabbed.

I mocked fake offence. ‘You are rude. I welcome you to my home, I feed you –’

‘We almost set fire to the house,’ he interrupted.

‘And this is how you repay me?’ I couldn’t help the stupid fucking grin across my lips.

Having him around was unexpected from the moment he’d appeared beside me on the plane.

And despite his first instances being annoying (read: persistent and unwanted helpfulness), he’d grown on me.

It had taken me over a week to visit my family because for the first time in months, I wasn’t painfully lonely.

And because I wasn’t ready to face my sisters calling him my boyfriend without my cheeks going a particular bright berry shade of red. He wasn’t anything close to a boyfriend. And I was growing painfully, horribly aware of that fact. Mostly because I had to keep reminding myself of it.

We headed through to the yard, my dad working the grill, eyeing Oliver suspiciously as he menacingly rotated a sausage.

We sat down next to my sisters, Oliver instantly getting acquainted with them and their husbands, the handshake into a hug combo working overtime.

Two minutes in the door and it was like he was already at home.

Oliver continued to bear up well under the third degree, batting away all my relatives’ questions while my two older nieces dashed about, running circles around his seat.

Meanwhile, Oliver looked at ease in a navy shirt, a pair of stone-grey shorts, and Ray-Bans.

He fitted into the Australian climate better than me.

‘I’ll go get us a drink. I’m sure Mum’s already on it.

’ I excused myself only when I was sure Oliver could hold his own against my relatives.

He smiled confidently back at me, my brother-in-law going in again to ask him about what shoes he wears on court, and if he could have a signed pair to sell on eBay.

Sure enough, Mum was pottering around the kitchen. Her frown didn’t ease as she glanced up at me from the counter.

‘I assume Oliver wants a beer?’ she said, barely even looking my way as she continued to chop some lettuce. I admired her chopping skills, the quick confident movement of the blade. All I’d managed was a stupid onion and even I knew I’d done it wrong.

‘I guess so,’ I said, leaning against the counter. ‘I drove us.’

She nodded, throwing the lettuce into a bowl. Mum turned, heading to the fridge. ‘We have Pepsi or ginger beer.’

‘I’ll have a ginger beer, thanks.’ My fingers gripped at the cool marble counter, a sixth sense screaming at me. The odd quietness to her that told me all was not calm in Mum land.

‘I’ll add a lime,’ she said, the words themselves rather zesty. She took the fruit to the chopping board, silently rolling it between her palm and the counter.

Sucking in a breath, I dared to ask, ‘How are things with you?’

‘Oh, it’s all the same.’ She kept looking down, slicing the lime into perfect wedges. ‘Your dad’s back has been acting up again.’

‘Did he go to the doctor?’ I asked, still studying her as she moved around, grabbing a glass, opening the bottle, pouring my drink.

‘You know your dad.’ She shrugged, still not looking at me.

I hummed in response, entirely unsure what else to ask. But if I knew Mum, she’d crack on her own. And soon. She reached out towards me, passing me the glass, her head turning to look at me. Her green eyes were assessing, sharp, and I braced myself for impact.

‘Something funny happened the other week,’ she said, and I began to regret leaving Oliver. I should’ve sent him instead.

‘Oh?’ I took a sip, hoping the liquid would drown out the fight or flight response building.