Waiting For Sunday

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{thirty-one}

I’d packed a bag, pushing it into the trunk of Oliver’s car and smile as he kisses me when he pulls on his seatbelt.

“Ready?”

“Yes, but you still haven’t told me where we’re going,”

“You’ll see when we get there,” he grins as he starts his car, pulling out into the morning traffic. All I’d been told was that I needed to bring my passport with me. I knew we couldn’t be flying out of the country, otherwise, he’d have definitely told me that.

As we arrive at Sea-Tac, my curiosity is getting the better of me, and I can feel the urge to pester the shit out of him until he tells me where we’re going. Unfortunately for me, Oliver has a resilience that knows no bounds and doesn’t tell me anything until we’re sat on the plane.

“Now I can tell you where we’re going,” he grins.

“Well I know we’re going to San Francisco, but why?”

“Because I—,” he smiles, pulling my hand into his own, “Am taking you to meet my family,”

“What?” I whisper yell, my eyebrows so far up on my forehead you’d think they’d been stuck there.

“Oliver I can’t meet them, that’s too—,” I panic, shuffling and fidgeting in my seat while he looks on amused at my discomfort.

“Sunday, they know all about you and how much happier I’ve been since I’ve met you, so I want them to be able to put a face to the name I’ve not stopped talking about,” I take in a deep breath and sit back against my chair, my head tilting towards the small rectangular window beside me.

“Not as if I can change your mind now is it,” I sigh.

“No,” he says, the grin still wide on his face as he pulls the back of my hand to his mouth and kissing it, his tongue lapping against my skin. That ache, that treacherous ache that stirs deep in between my legs niggles as I shift in my seat.

“It’ll be ok Sun, I promise,” he whispers, leaning in and kissing me on the cheek. I watch as he let’s go of my hand and glances through the manuscript he’d brought with him. Even when he’s supposed to be on ‘holiday’ he still chooses to work.

2 hours later, we land in San Francisco and Oliver hires a car, driving us to his parent’s house. I can’t believe this beautiful city is only 2 hours by plane.

As Oliver turns into street after street my eyes never stop admiring all the houses, especially when we pull into the final street and the view in front takes my breath away. I can’t believe his parents live by the water, of course they do, that must be where Oliver gets it from I think to myself. But what really catches my breath is the view of the Golden Gate Bridge.

Pulling up outside a large condo, black windows line the walls, each with their own black iron balustrades protecting the homeowner from the drop below.

Large black numbers sit against a pillar showing which apartments are here and as Oliver presses the button for his parent’s apartment, the gate lock snaps open and with a smile at my wary expression, he leans in kissing me and then takes my hand and walks me up the concrete stairs.

As we reach the glazed but private door, I see a shadow walk towards it and as it opens, I’m greeted by the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen, dressed in a cream silken blouse, ivory cigarette trousers and nude stiletto’s. Her blonde hair is perfectly styled, her makeup natural and light but accentuating all her features, some which I recognise. A glass of white wine in her hand, I can hear a commotion behind her, music playing throughout the apartment.

“Oliver you’re here!” She beams.

“Hi mom,” he smiles back as she pulls him in, kissing his cheek. Her eyes, as green as Oliver’s look towards me and with another beaming smile she turns her attention to me, “You must be Sunday,”

“Hi, you must be Mrs Ross” I smile back, gripping hard onto Oliver’s hand.

“Call me Cynthia,”

“Cynthia— sorry,” she watches me and I feel butterflies flutter in my chest, nervousness creeping in.

“No don’t apologise if anyone says Mrs Ross I assume they mean my mother-in-law,”

“Mom, can we come in?” Oliver laughs, as she rolls her eyes, “Of course,” she ushers, Oliver pulling our bags in behind us.

As we step into the entryway, I silently gasp as I see the apartment.

Two large black windows sit against the backdrop of the Golden Gate Bridge, surrounded by oak panels. The furniture is modern, contemporary and in a mixture of patterns with orange velvet cushions and gold accented decor.

“You didn’t tell me you were rich,” I whisper.

“I’m not— my parents are,” Oliver whispers back, letting go of my hand and wrapping it around my waist. As we walk forward, I can practically feel the complimentary wine from the plane in my stomach threatening to hurl onto one of Cynthia’s orange cushions when a sea of eyes look towards us.

“Oliver,” a deep and booming voice calls out as a blonde and very distinguished man strides towards us. He looks just like Oliver only older and I can only assume that it’s his father.

“Dad,” He chuckles, holding out his hand but is pulled in as his father hugs him, “Is this her?” He beams as he looks to me.

“Yeah dad, this is her,” he replies as he looks down to me.

“Well, it’s a pleasure to meet you Sunday, I’m Charles. Oliver hasn’t stopped talking about you,” he says smiling a charming smile. The same dimples that sink into his cheeks remind me of Oliver and I can tell just where my Oliver gets his looks from.

“I’m so glad he brought you and sorry for all the commotion, Cynthia thought we should invite everyone over to meet you, I’m sorry if you feel a little blindsided,”

“No it’s— it’s fine,” I reply, Oliver squeezing around my waist as he watches on.

“Ollie!” A female voice calls out as a blonde young woman strides towards us, her heels clicking on the hardwood floors.

“Ashley,” Oliver chuckles as she wraps her arms around his neck, kissing him on the cheek as her gaze snaps to mine.

“Is this her?” She asks a giddiness to her tone.

“Yes,” he replies, rolling his eyes as he’s asked the same question three times in a row.

“Hi, I’m—,”

“Sunday,” she interrupts, I nod and smile as she hugs me too.

Note to self this family seems to like hugs.

“I’m the sister, the little sister that is, Ashley,” she smiles warmly, hugging me again.

“Ash let go of her before you squeeze the life out of her,”

With a scoff, Ashley lets go of me and playfully swipes at his arm, “Please, if anyone could do that it’s you, I’m a size 6, and I can barely open a carton of milk,” she jokes as she loops her arm through mine, “I’ll bring her back in a minute,” she calls out as she drags me away.

“Wait—,” he calls after her as I’m pulled away from his grasp.

After another half an hour, my cheeks hurt from smiling, my mind a hazed fog after trying to remember all the names of the aunties and uncles and cousins I’ve been introduced to.

“Excuse me,” Oliver smiles charmingly at his aunt Rebecca, “But I’ve come to rescue my girlfriend,” he tells her.

“Of course,” his aunt smiles back, “So good to see you, Mark’s been waiting to see you,”

“He’s here?”

“Yes, over there with your Uncle Dylan,” she tells him.

“I’ll see him later, I need to get Sunday a drink and help her with her bags,” he says, and internally I want to wrap my arms around him thanking him and letting him take me away. I feel like a mess compared to all those around me, dressed in their finest, while I stand here in jeans and a jumper.

“I’ll bring her back out and let you all interrogate her some more soon,” he jokes, kissing his aunt goodbye before pulling me away.

“Thank you,” I whisper as he pulls me into one of the bedrooms.

“What for?”

“For rescuing me,”

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