"You could have shown up in sweat pants, and my parents would still like you as much as I do," Matty looked down at her as she spoke, pulling him in for a hug. Resting the top of his chin on her head as his arms dangled over her shoulders, he subtly sighed. The boy could count the number of times he invited one of his friends over to his house, on one hand. Let alone, the girls he'd ever had an interest in. It may have seemed like a silly paranoia, considering half of his life was weeding out those who liked him for him rather than just his money. However, growing up, the blonde felt as though if his friends were to see what he had, the only reason they'd ever want to hang out with him was because of his possessions. Since day one, Lauren hadn't given a single care towards the fact Matty had all these sorts of privileges and the last thing he wanted was for his home to sway that.
"I mean, my mom may tear your make-up technique apart, and my dad might want to sit you under a lamp to study what side is your best angle, but they'll love you," he smiled at her, trying to worry her with his joke. He knew very well that his parents would be too involved in their next project to knit-pick at every little new detail of his life - Lauren included.
Pulling away from the hug, he laced their fingers once again, and lead her through one of the halls. "And the tour continues," he murmured, opening one of the doors that led to another hallway. Along the widely spaced walls surrounding the pair on either side, were pictures of Matty as a child. A few of him in a soccer uniform around the age of six, transitioning to his first middle school yearbook picture, and all the way up to his senior year photograph. Through the pictured timeline, there was a reoccurring thing that seemed to be missing in all of them; his parents. It was something he'd grown used to, so much that there were more pictures lining the wall with the same nanny in the background.
"Mr. Thompson?" A gentle voice carried from a passing room. The voice had sounded slightly echoed, giving the impression that they'd just passed the kitchen. Turning slightly, Matty looked over and a smile immediately graced his face. "What a wonderful sight, Mr. Thompson! I'm making your favorite for dinner, tonight. Spaghetti," a woman who looked to be in her early fifties spoke, peeking out of the kitchen's doorway. "Oh! I wasn't aware we had company!"
"Georgia, this is Lauren. Lauren, this is Georgia," Matty introduced the pair. Georgia, with her ironed dress matching the color of the man at the gate's uniform, extended her hand for a greeting. "I'm the Thompson's cook. It's lovely to meet you! Ah, speaking of cook, I should get started. Dinner won't cook itself!" For her age, Georgia was looping around gracefully on her feet, making her way back to the kitchen far faster than many other women her age would have. As soon as Matty and Lauren were left alone in the hallway, he looked down at the wooden floor, and laughed a bit. "I guess I should have warned you that there are extended Thompson's."
Continuing to lead the way, the pair headed for the backyard. Passing the final turn of the hallway, Matty couldn't help but pause for a fraction of a second, letting his green eyes wander down the three largest picture frames at the end, taking up seventy percent of the wall. In the first picture frame, was an aged, rustic photographic portrait of a man standing in front of what looked to be a University - a University the man had established. Underneath, there was a plaque that read, "Professor Thompson, Harvard - 1636." Beside that photo, was another, more modern quality, glossy photographic portrait of a man who had a striking resemblance to Matty. In this picture, the man was behind a bulky film camera, underneath the caption was, "Blake Thompson. Academy Award Winner - 2008." Finally, the third picture frame, equally as large, sat empty. No caption, no illustration. The blank background seemed to have just as many words to say as the prior two, a cold wave washing through Matty's eyes before sucking in a quick breath and carrying on to the Solarium that held an exit to the backyard.
Once he and she had made it to their destination, the sun gleamed brightly off of the Olympic sized pool hanging just near the edge of a rough incline. In the nearby distance, the contrast of the dark green of the tennis court had made the property look more like a Five Star Hotel, rather than a home. Walking the decorative, cemented rocks to the edge of the pool, Matty plopped down and began to strip his feet of the shoes and socks he wore. Patting the area beside him for Lauren to sit, he pointed to a tree not too far away. "When I was a kid," he began, feeling Lauren's presence now at the same level he was, dipping their feet in the cool water, "I begged my parents to get a small train so I could go around the grounds. On the first day I had it, I crashed into that tree." His words were filled with a nostalgic laugh, shaking his head. "How're your sisters?" The memory of his own had sparked the thought that Lauren was probably tired of hearing about his own life, and gave him a genuine curiosity to how hers was going.
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