Carl Bringforth Past
"Have you had your breakfast?" I inquired of Carl, pulling my hair up into a tidy bun and securing it with an elastic band as I entered the clean and tidy kitchen.
Carl was taking sips of water when I asked, and he slowly turned his head towards me, analyzing me for a few seconds. "Oh my God, Grace, you've matured so much over the years," he remarked, his eyes widening as they ran over me.
"Well, you've started to grow older," I replied, grabbing the half-filled water bottle from the counter and filling my glass.
"Oh, come on. I'm still young. A man in his late twenties is not an old man," Carl defended himself. He had been conscious about his appearance since our childhood. As a teenager, he even hired a stylist from England to curate his wardrobe, exclusively wearing clothes recommended by the stylist.
"Yes, yes. I'm wrong. Pardon me, brother," I said, lowering the glass of water from my lips as he turned to leave the kitchen.
"By the way, I asked about breakfast. What's the scene, bruh?" I called after him as he threw himself casually onto the living room couch.
"Take a quick shower and dress up. We're going out for lunch," he replied over his shoulder, already engrossed in the TV. A polo match between two players filled the living room with energetic commentary.
Glancing at the wall clock, my eyes widened as I realized I had spent half the day sleeping. Placing the glass on the counter, I returned the bottle to the kitchen before heading to my room.
In just 20 minutes, I managed to freshen up and get ready. I emerged from my room precisely 21 minutes later, finding Carl still in the same position I left him in half an hour ago.
"I'm ready. Let's go," I announced to him.
"Wow, you look so beautiful," he complimented me, tearing his gaze away from the TV.
"Thanks. Shall we go now? I'm starving," I pouted, circling my hand around my tummy.
"Sure. Just give me some time," he said, standing up and heading into his room.
After five minutes, he emerged, a keychain dangling from his index finger as he walked towards the door. I followed him, and we both exited the apartment.
He pressed the button on the elevator, and as it opened, we stepped in. Carl once again pressed the digit 7 on the keypad as the doors closed. I turned my head toward him, an expression of amazement taking over my face instantly.
"We're supposed to land on the ground floor. I think you got confused," I pointed out.
"No, I did not. We are going to floor seven first. We have to pick someone up from there," he explained.
The doors split open, and Carl took the lead, walking ahead of me. He rang the bell at apartment number 505. I stood behind him, and the door opened, revealing a person dressed in blue checkered pajamas and a red T-shirt. Though his face was familiar, he seemed strangely indifferent to me.
Though I hadn't known him for a long time, the limited interactions and time spent with him gave me enough insight. I stood frozen, like a child handed a punishment to stand still with arms flat to the sides. I forgot the basics of responding, the courtesy of saying hello or greeting someone.
Amidst my awkward silence, I heard Carl's voice, despite him standing so close, talking to the man. "Oh man, I told you about our plan beforehand, and you're still not ready," Carl complained.
"Give me five minutes. I'll be ready," the man excused himself.
"Okay, we're waiting for you in the car. Join us there. Don't delay," Carl instructed.
Meanwhile, the man on the other side of the door stared deeply at me. His gaze swept from head to toe, scanning my entire body with his moving eyes. I could feel his eyes crawling over me, scrutinizing my bare shins, the hemline of my skirt, the pleats, my top tucked into my shirt, and moving up to my neck, face, lips, hair, and then back down.
"Gotcha," he said and abruptly shut the door in our faces. We turned around and took the elevator to the ground floor, where the lobby buzzed with the usual chatter of people gossiping, plates clattering, and laughter.
Carl opened the car door for me, and I settled into the back seat while he took the passenger seat. The driver's seat remained empty, waiting for the person who was supposed to join us in a few minutes.
"Have you tried to contact Mum and Dad?" Carl asked, adjusting himself on the leather seat.
"No," I replied plainly.
"But why?" he inquired.
"I don't want to," I stated firmly, hoping he'd drop the conversation there. At this hour, the last thing I wanted to discuss was Mum and Dad and whether I had attempted to reach out to them or not. Carl knew the reasons, and so did I.
They wouldn't accept me now.
This was something I had been clear about when I made the decision to leave Dillon and start a new life. It was undeniably challenging, especially for a girl accustomed to life's luxuries. The initial days of struggle were etched in my memory, shaping me into the person I am today.
"Oh, come on, Grace. Years have passed. Things have changed. You have changed a lot. I'm damn sure their perception of you has changed too, along with their hearts. They will accept you now. I'm very positive," he continued with his optimistic lecture.
"I don't think so," I countered, shifting my gaze towards the building's exit, silently waiting for the man to walk out. My unspoken plea prompted Carl to change the topic of discussion.
"Let's focus on the present, Carl. I've moved on, and so have they. Let's see what the future holds," I said, diverting our conversation as the mysterious man finally emerged.
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