Summary: A shorter chapter from the point of view of Naomi shortly after their first 'night out'.

Mom had a rule about getting home before the streetlights turned on, but she would on occasion make exceptions if I gave her a complete itinerary of activities. I had a speech prepared for tonight if I arrived at home to find my parents came home early. The house was dark, the driveway empty. Part of me wanted to be upset about it, but I was still on cloud nine.
My hand caressed my cheek as the car hummed quietly on the gravel. My body was electric, everything felt tingly again! Just like when I got the note… from Naser. I didn’t want to be sad, I tried my hardest to avoid the thoughts. Sometimes they broke out. I thought I was good at bottling things up, that I was better than everyone else somehow by the ability to keep things contained.

I guess I was wrong.

The house was empty, quiet and sterile. Our perfect house, perfect parents, perfect child. Walking through the wide and empty house, I stopped to turn on a lamp in the living room. Dad’s chair, besides his indent, was vacant and empty. I could almost see them both in their seats, drinking coffee, laughing with one another, back when they had time to act like a couple. Like parents.
That vision of my parents… I thought I saw Anon, Anon where I used to see Naser. I didn’t want to be like my parents. Sometimes it felt like they had me only to check off a box, obligated to. Only showing interest in my life when I succeeded, ribbons, gold stars, A+ on tests. I still hadn’t told them Naser and I weren’t… I flooded my mind with memories of tonight.
Anon’s dumb laugh and his infectious smile, him being so uneasy- It almost put it into perspective for myself. How anxious I was… almost in tears when I drove to pick him up. I sat in the car beating myself up. Anon was going to say he only wanted Fang. He was going to say he never meant anything by what he told me.

But when we were together… Everything melted. My anxiety, my fears, my bruised heart. I hadn’t even thought of Naser the entire time, our first… Night out. Our first date.

My cheeks burned a bright crimson as I stared into the abyss of the living room. I sheepishly checked my surroundings, snapping out of my daydream. I should get ready for bed.

The monotone hallway, lined with picturesque, perfect family photos. It was just so empty.

“Naomi’s Room!”

I put up those stickers when I was little, as if to ward off imaginary younger brothers and sisters. Instead, I only had Mia. My older sister whom, to my parents, didn’t exist. A general nuisance in my life, whenever she decided to be a part of it. My room was perfectly kempt, the way I left it, and the way I liked it. My drawers with labels for each garment, school planners, journals. I sat at my vanity, flicking on the desk lamp to stare into the mirror.
My makeup hid the bags under the eyes, but it didn’t help with the pain. I remember sitting here, the morning after Naser… My hands shook, my breathing was labored, I didn’t know how I could walk past my parents looking like that. Destroyed, broken. Part of me wanted to imagine they would hold me in a tight embrace, tell me to stay home, that everything would be okay.

They didn’t say good morning. They didn’t look at me. “Have a good day.”.

I blinked, wiping the slowly smearing makeup from my eye. I really didn’t want tonight to end. Naser was right, Moe did help. Even if it was very loud and overbearing advice. ‘Belle Notte’? I told him I wanted ‘Everybody Loves Somebody’. I grumbled, but the night still went well… still according to plan.
I couldn’t help but giggle, wiping my eyes once more as I slid open the drawer, pulling out my journal, one of many. Now that I have confirmation from Anon, I can continue to go over the checklist…
My potential future and relationship with him needed to be perfect.

Perfect. Just like my parents.

Now, wait- It’s different. It won’t be like my parents- It won’t be… It can’t be perfect. This needed to be spontaneous. The passion of the moment… My gaze slowly crawled across the pages of my journal. Checkmarks in boxes, boxes left empty. A whole itinerary I had written up the day I collapsed in Anon’s arms. But Naser and I were… Perfect. So me and Anon… Can’t be?
The pen twirled in my fingers, back and forth. Clicking, un-clicking, spinning, thwapping against the paper. What if this was why…? Naser…? I knew I was beating myself up, but I couldn’t help it. It was All my fault. Even Anon’s heartbreak, it could all be pinned on me. Do I owe this to Anon? Am I doing this for myself? ‘If I can’t have the perfect life with Naser, I’ll just find someone else!’. No, no it can’t be.
In the restaurant, I felt it! In the schoolyard, I felt it! I… I had to have felt it! I remember the feeling in my heart, the bubbles, the twinkles, the happiness I thought would never be mine again! When I fell into Anon’s arms, and he was there when I needed him… and I was for him.

The journal sat within my hands, the pen between the two open pages. I’m done trying to control everything, to shape fate. The act alone of tearing out pages irked me, such a waste. Slowly I peeled them from the book, crumbled them into a ball and dropped them into the bin. Anon is different, and I need to be too.
My glasses began to fog up, instead of wiping them I placed them on the vanity. I needed to get ready for bed. I think we’re Official… maybe? I’m sure Anon doesn’t know for sure either. I’d imagine he’s either in shock, or questioning reality right now. He is an endearing dork like that.

I stepped out of the bathroom, carrying my clothes back to my room. They fell into the empty hamper as I rubbed my eyes, switching off the lamp before climbing into bed. Such a quiet house. A perfect house.

 

I didn’t want a perfect house anymore. I wanted to hear the laughter of a family, the sounds of tiny feet running through the halls. A warm and occupied house. A Perfect Home.

I hung my feet over my bed, stepping towards my bin as I fished out the crumpled up piece of paper among discarded planners and misprints for school flyers. I splayed it open once again on the top of the desk, cutting out something that was on the back of the ‘plan’.
Tear stained and sloppy ink-marks, I drew it in the first period that day I collapsed into him. It was us. Hugging. I was never great at drawing, but I needed to see it, so I drew it. I reached into the drawer, pulling out my craft scissors, cutting around the water-damaged area to leave it on my desk, shoving the rest of the paper back into the bin.

Squinting as I crawled, I made my way back into the warmth of my covers. Twiddling my fingers as I stared at the ceiling.

‘Mrs. Mous.’

‘Naomi and Anon Mous’
…

I covered my face with my hands. I’m going into this blind, with no plan.