PART III - SOFI

Helen's grandparents were in their late fifties, super-nice, very talkative. Her grandmother was the matriarch, loud, and determined. She ordered the twins to set the table and they didn't protest. Her grandfather was calmer. He had a cup of tea in his hands, his legs crossed, and stared at the wall right next to my head.

"I hear, you're the Romeo to my granddaughter's Juliet," he says.

I nodded agreeing. "Yes."

"Were you the only one who wanted to play this role?"

"No, but I told all the boys not to audition."

"Well, Jonathan did," Helen inserted.

"The boy who was here, the friend of yours?"

"Yes, Grandpa."

Her grandmother chimed in: "Were you both in on it?"

I chuckled. "No. To be honest, I just really wanted to annoy Helen. We didn't exactly hit it off at the beginning." I looked at her, and she smiled at me. "But I hope she'll forgive me one day."

"I already did," she said.

"It seems like you became very good friends in the process," Mrs. Collins said. "I am so excited to see you both on stage!"

I already expected to be asked again if we could give them a sneak peek, and my heart started racing at the thought of the last time. But they didn't. Instead, they offered me another drink, asked about our classes, and plans for university.

After dinner, Mr. Collins told Helen to show me the house. It was built in the late 19th century and found itself the family's hand since then. They never exchanged the windows, staircases, or handrails, and I was in heaven.

There is a feeling about old houses that is hard to describe. These walls have been touched by so many people. These windows had so many faces looking through them. So many memories.

It was also one of the coolest houses I ever saw. There were several staircases and jib-doors and secret corridors. I could imagine Helen and the twins playing hide and seek in this house. It must have been so much fun.

We were standing on the gallery looking down into the vestibule, our hands only an inch apart. I hated myself for being so aware of her presence. I stared down at the bulky armchairs, determined not to look at her face, her body, our hands.

She took a few steps back and slid down the wall into a seated position. I turned around and did the same at the railing so I could look at her. Our feet lay next to each other and she started kicking mine gently.

Now would be the time. My heart raced. I stared at our feet while I said: "I like you."

I like you. I. Like. You. I repeated the words again and again and my voice sounded distorted in my head.

She didn't say anything and I didn't dare look up to her face.

So, I got up to my feet without looking at her. "Shit, I'm sorry. I didn't mean to make it weird."

I shouldn't have said anything. I should've kept my mouth shut like I did the past weeks. Nothing good can come of this.

"Wait, where are you going?"

I shrugged my shoulders. I had already taken the first step down the stairs. Not wanting her to see the tears in my eyes, I only turned halfway back around.

"Look, forget that I said anything. I just thought – "

"I like you too."

I was flustered for a second – or five. I let my gaze wander up over her interwoven fingers and her clenched jaw and her eyes which looked at me openly, vulnerably.

"What do you mean?" I asked. I needed this confirmation.

"What do you mean?" She sang lowly in the tune of the Justin Bieber song and buried her face in her hands. Then she laughed a little. "Sorry, I am the worst at talking about my feelings." She took a deep breath. "What do I mean? Hopefully the same as you, or this whole situation would become rather awkward."

When her eyes met mine, she squinted. "Sofia, are you crying?" she asked.

Annoyed by this bodily reaction, I rubbed the tears away from my eyes. "No," I said like a defiant child.

She chuckled a bit. Then she tilted her head a bit. "That having been discussed, does that mean I can kiss you?"

"Yeah, that was basically what I asked you to do."

She took my face into her hands, murmured "Have mercy," and kissed me.