Chapter Eight: Bubblegum and Butterflies by Lynette Ferreira
Daniel looked as out of place as Charlize felt uneasy. He
sat stiffly in his chair, his dark hair falling into his eyes as he avoided the
curious glances of Charlize’s parents. He wore a plain black hoodie that
contrasted sharply with the tailored shirts and modest pearls her parents
favoured. His skateboard leaned against the wall by the door, a quiet testament
to how different he was from everything in this room.
"So, Daniel," Charlize’s dad began, his deep voice
filling the silence. "What do your parents do?"
Daniel hesitated, his fork pausing mid-air. "Uh... it’s
just me and my mom. She works at a call centre."
"I see," her dad replied, his tone polite but
distant. Charlize noticed how Daniel’s shoulders tensed, and a pang of guilt
twisted in her stomach.
"That must be tough," her mom interjected,
offering a sympathetic smile. "You must be very independent."
"Yeah," Daniel said, his voice quieter than usual.
He glanced at Charlize, as if searching for an escape. She fiddled with the
edge of her napkin, wishing she could ease his discomfort.
"Daniel’s actually really talented," she said
suddenly, surprising herself. "He’s an amazing artist. You should see his
sketches."
Her parents both turned their attention to him, and Daniel’s
face flushed slightly. "It’s just a hobby," he muttered, stabbing at
his mashed potatoes.
Charlize’s mom beamed. "That’s wonderful! Charlize has
always loved creative pursuits too. Her photography, for instance. Maybe you
two will inspire each other."
Charlize shot her mom a look, but Daniel’s lips twitched
into a faint smile. "Maybe," he said, his tone lighter now.
The conversation drifted to safer topics, but Charlize
couldn’t help noticing the contrast between Daniel and her family. The warm,
polished veneer of her home seemed to only highlight the shadows lurking behind
Daniel’s guarded demeanour. His answers were short, his posture tense, as if he
did not quite know how to fit into this picture-perfect setting.
After dinner, Charlize offered to show Daniel the garden.
She led him through the French doors into the cool evening air, the scent of
jasmine mingling with the soft rustle of leaves. Fairy lights strung along the
patio cast a gentle glow, illuminating the neatly trimmed hedges and colourful
blooms.
"Your place is... nice," Daniel said, his hands
shoved into his hoodie pockets.
"Thanks," Charlize replied, watching him
carefully. "You didn’t seem too comfortable in there."
He shrugged, his gaze fixed on the ground. "It’s
just... different. Your family’s so put together. Mine’s... not."
Charlize hesitated, then said softly, "Different
doesn’t mean bad."
Daniel glanced at her. His usual smirk replaced by something
softer. "You wouldn’t say that if you saw where I live."
She stepped closer, her cast brushing against his side.
"Try me."
For a moment, he didn’t reply, his jaw tightening as he
wrestled with some unspoken thought. Then, with a sigh, he said, "It’s a
tiny house in the bad part of town. The roof leaks, and the paint’s peeling off
the walls. My mom works all the time, and I barely see her. When I do, she’s so
tired she can barely stay awake."
Charlize’s heart ached at the vulnerability in his voice.
She reached out instinctively, her hand brushing his arm. "That sounds...
lonely."
Daniel looked at her, his dark eyes reflecting the faint
light of the garden. "It is."
The air between them grew heavy, charged with an emotion
Charlize couldn’t quite name. She felt the heat of his gaze, the way it
lingered just a second too long. Her pulse quickened, and she dropped her hand,
suddenly aware of how close they were standing.
"I should probably head out," Daniel said, his
voice breaking the spell.
"Yeah," Charlize said quickly, stepping back.
"Thanks for staying for dinner."
He nodded, his smirk returning as he grabbed his skateboard
from the hall. "Anytime, princess."
As she watched him walk away, Charlize could not stop
thinking about the shadows in his eyes and the brief moment of connection they
had shared. She wondered what it would take to really know Daniel McCarthy.
