Her parents sit almost comically straight on the couch, her Mom keeps her bag on her knees.
"It's a lovely place, Natasha. Is that Sawyer's guitar?"
Her Mom points to their low, mid-century sideboard against which Sawyer's guitar leans. They'd seen the sideboard in a thrift shop and both fallen in love with its pointed, splayed legs and sliding doors. It was the first piece of joint furniture they had bought, and Sawyer had selected her favorite dolls for display at equidistant intervals on the top.
"Yeah, I had a go with it the other day. I'm still no better than I was in high school," Natasha answers.
"I always quite liked hearing you play around the place, but perhaps your real gifts are elsewhere," her mother says kindly.
"Are these yours, Princess?" Her father says, thumbing the cover of The Skilled Helper by Egan, the top of a pile of the textbooks she's been using for her course at Community College.
"Yeah, they're on the reading list, we're looking at -"
Sawyer comes thumping down the hallway at full speed and then stops abruptly in the doorway.
"Hello!" Sawyer pants, "Sorry I'm late. It's really good to see you again!"
Sawyer crosses the lounge in two long strides and shakes Natasha's parents' hands. She’s only met them twice, once in Natasha’s apartment and once when she drove Natasha to meet them. This is the first time Sawyer’s met them in her own space. In their joint space.
There's a slight disconnect where Sawyer's old bronzer and new bronzer haven't been buffed out fully. Natasha watches her mom's sharp eyes travel over Sawyer's face and Natasha swears there's a twinkle in her eye as she looks over Sawyer's slightly mismatched cheeks.
"Wonderful to see you too, Sawyer. It's a lovely apartment,"
"Thank you!" says Sawyer, shaking a crease out of the curtains.
Natasha's father asks "It's smaller than your place before, Princess. Isn't it?"
Natasha looks around the corners of the room, as if assessing for the first time.
"Yes," Sawyer jumps in, "And it's a bit further out of the centre. But we're saving a considerable amount on our outgoings."
Two months ago, Sawyer had sat Natasha down and shown her the spreadsheet. She'd made a tab for their earnings and a tab for outgoings, and then shown Natasha their projected savings. They're going to reach their savings target 30% earlier than if they lived separately, Natasha has been informed. Sawyer tells Natasha's parents the same figures, and Natasha can tell they are quietly impressed, even though they usually hate talking about money. As she predicted, Natasha's mom tries to change the subject of the conversation to the pictures Sawyer's hung on the wall, and the modern light fixtures she's installed. Natasha's parents must think she's useless, that she's been waiting all this time for a woman to come and take care of her.
"Hey, Mom, did you see the that the handrail on the porch is newer than the rest? There was a bit of rot on it, so I replaced it," Natasha interrupts.
Sawyer senses the sulkiness in Natasha's voice and adds, "And Nat sanded and repainted the whole thing, so it matched up."
Natasha's parents nod appreciatively. Natasha knows they like Sawyer, even if her dad mutters something about Natasha already being a nickname and therefore not needing any further abbreviation.
Alisha texts to say that Ursula is parking and Natasha goes to watch for them from the kitchen window. Sawyer is talking merrily to Natasha's parents about her job. Ursula's car is new, but Natasha knows her older sister instantly by the shape of her ears, the cock of her neck. Ursula is frowning in concentration as she checks her wing mirrors. Alisha is laughing, big teeth flashing, as she gesticulates. She grinds her pointer finger into the dash, obviously illustrating some point in a story. Natasha feels a bubble of excitement work its way up her stomach. She hasn't seen either of them in over a year, and she suddenly badly wants to hold them both.
Alisha is bright and animated. Her hair is naturally darker than either of her sisters and she's given it a red-tinted dye that warms her pale skin. Ursula has the sort of sharp, sheared haircut that Natasha wishes she could emulate. Her coat hangs off her shoulders with carefully sculpted grace. She wears thick tortoiseshell glasses, and her skin has developed a little crease between her eyes that Natasha is sure wasn't there before. It looks distinguished, Natasha thinks to herself.
Natasha meets them at the door and Alisha squashes Natasha in her arms as hard as she can, screaming into her ear. When she finally steps back, Ursula swoops in for a gentler, quieter hug.
With all six of them in the living room, the apartment suddenly feels too cramped. Sawyer is formal and reserved as she's introduced to Natasha's sisters, holding out her hand for them to shake.
“Your hair is so pretty,” gushes Alisha. “I’ve only actually seen, like, two pictures of you. It’s so great to meet you in person.”
Sawyer smiles a bit awkwardly, “You’ve only just come home, haven’t you? Natasha said you were looking at apartments.”
“Yeah,” Alisha sighs, “It’s been so tough. Everywhere is so expensive now. It’s really hard to get somewhere with decent outside space and reserved parking spaces.”
“That does sound really challenging,” says Sawyer flatly.
Ursula cuts in, “So, Sawyer, Natasha tells me that you’ve been
