Okay then. This was a part of Andrew I had no clue about.
He climbed out of the driver’s seat and opened Yanni’s door. “It’s a secure house. No one gets in or out without a security code.”
Yanni, who had barely spoken a word since this afternoon, got out of the car. He was wooden, which I imagined was exhaustion. He could barely keep his eyes open, and I wondered how long it had been since he’d had a restful sleep.
The front door to the house opened. “Andrew?”
I turned to see his mother standing in the doorway, looking as glamorous as before. This was his parents’ house? Jesus Christ!
She looked at her son and at me, then at Yanni before going back to Andrew. “Everything okay, Andrew?” she asked.
“No,” he replied simply. “Can we come in?”
She stood aside. “Of course, please do.”
Andrew led the way, and we found ourselves in a large, expensively furnished lounge room, or was it a sitting room? I had no idea what to call these rooms in American houses. My parents and Aunt Marvie had a front formal sitting room, if that’s what this was. It was then I saw Yanni was staring at Andrew’s mother. He took an unsteady breath and looked to the floor. “Mrs Helen Landon, it’s an incredible honour.”
Okay, so I was lost. “You know his mother?” The words were out before my stupid brain could stop them.
Yanni nervously shot me a quick glance. “I’m sorry. I assumed everyone did. I apologise if I was out of place,” he whispered so damn brokenly it was like a slap to the face. What the hell had this guy been through?
“It’s okay, my dear,” Mrs Landon replied. “I still get recognised.”
Recognised. I looked around the room, then paying better attention, found a slew of statues and awards on the mantel. Then I recalled Andrew saying something about his parents being ‘theatre people.’ And Yanni was an acting student… “Oh.”
Andrew fought a smile beside me, but he was quickly serious again. “Mom, Yanni here is in some danger. He left an abusive relationship, but the guy is trying to find him. He needed somewhere safe to stay. I hope you don’t mind?”
His mother blinked at Andrew, then turned to Yanni. He had gone pale again, like the admission out loud brought with it a fresh wave of memories. She slowly put her hand on his arm and urged him to sit on the sofa, cautiously sitting down beside him. “I don’t mind at all. Andrew, be a dear and make a fresh pot of coffee. Decaf, please.”
Andrew turned and walked out through a different door, and I saw it was my cue to give Andrew’s mum and Yanni some time alone. It also gave me some time to get my head around everything. The kitchen was huge and grand, much like the rest of the house, I’d imagine. Andrew used the kitchen like it was his own, familiar with where everything was. “I grew up in this house,” he said, reading my curious face.
“Your mum is someone famous?” I asked. “I didn’t recognise her, sorry. She must think I’m an arse.”
He chuckled quietly. “She’s in theatre. She’s done some Broadway.” He fixed the coffee, and with a heavy sigh, he said, “Her first husband was a horrible man. He was violent and—” He shook his head. “Anyway, she managed to leave him. But she’s never hid what she went through. Not to us, anyway. She would tell us so that if we ever found ourselves in a similar situation, that we’d never be too scared to ask for help.”
“Fuck.”
He nodded again, and this time managed a small smile. “She will help him.”
I really wasn’t quite sure what to say. “Andrew, I had no idea.”
Just then, we saw headlights of a car through the kitchen window. Andrew craned his neck to see who it was. “It’s my dad.”
Oh. In what had been a head-spinning day, I wasn’t sure I was up for meeting Andrew’s father.
“Hey,” Andrew whispered. He took hold of my hand and waited until I looked in his eyes. “I know it’s probably too soon to be meeting my dad, but I think today’s been a little out of the ordinary, right? And you’ve already met my mom twice, and that went okay.”
“But he’s your father.”
“So?”
“It’s different,” I admitted. I don’t know why meeting his father was any different to meeting his mother. It just was.
Andrew knew, apparently. He put his hand to my cheek and spoke with a reverence, a surety I didn’t even know I needed. “He’s my father, not yours. He will accept you because you’re in my life. That’s the only reason he needs.”