Sword 7: His Mom

SCARLETTE'S POINT OF VIEW

"Thank you for welcoming me, dear neighbor," he said that made me roll my eyes. "I did not welcome you, partner." He frowned and pouted his lips.

"Whatever. By the way, do you want to come in?" I shook my head to say no. "I just checked if what you told me was true." I moved my sight to the house and stared at its features. "Is this why you transferred school?"

"Yes."

"Then why did you tell me it is a secret?"

"To surprise you, of course!"

"I bet you did not have dinner yet." Automatically, I looked at the open doorway a few meters away from behind of Asher. A beautiful woman in her 40's was standing there, smiling. I turned my eyes to Asher and gave him an asking look. Gladly, he understood it immediately.

"She is my mom," he muttered. I looked again in his mom's direction but this time, with a smile plastered on my face. "Good evening . . . " 'Ah, stupid me. What will I call her?' " . . . A-Asher's Mom," I greeted.

"Good evening, too, dear. Just call me 'Tita'. 'Asher's Mom' is too formal." She laughed like it was the funniest thing that she heard in her entire life. There was nothing funny there, right? My partner gave me an apologetic smile. I just nodded.

"You know what? Why not you two go inside and talk there? Talking outside during the night is dangerous. Come in."

"Oh thanks, Tita, but I am already going home," I told.

"Oh, but wait, have you eaten?"

"Not yet," I honestly said.

"Well then. We have not eaten yet too. Why not you join us?" Dinner with them? Uh, no. No! Of course, was not it awkward? Me, Asher, and his mom, eating dinner at one table? Uh, no. No again! "Uh, I will just eat at home, Tita." The curve on her lips faded and formed a thin line.

I felt Asher move closer at my side. "If someone refused to eat with us, she always thinks that she is not good at cooking," he whispered. It was just a minor thing but why does it make me guilty?

I sighed. "Okay, Tita. I just remembered I forgot to cook my dinner." Of course, it was not true. I just made an excuse. His mom smiled widely and clapped. "Good then. Come in."

Did I make the right decision? What if Tita does not know how to cook? What if the food tastes bad? I looked at Asher with worry in my eyes. Of course, not worried for him but for the food that I would swallow soon. "Do not worry. She is a chef," he whispered. That was a relief. We followed her inside.

The moment that I stepped into their house, I was amazed at its light blue and white interior. It looked like a grand rest house! Ah, it was very relaxing. When we arrived in the kitchen, my mouth gaped open as I stared at the super long, wooden table where a lot of food was served. What the . . . was there a great celebration here? A feast?

"H-hey, Asher, is it your birthday?" I asked in a low voice. He shook his head and said, "No."

"Then, what are these? So much."

"I have no idea."

"The food is waiting," Tita called that making us turn in her direction, "Sit down and let us eat." We occupied the middle part of the table. Asher sat on my right side while Tita, on my opposite seat.

"Um . . . Tita, i-is there a-an occasion?" I shyly asked. She nodded, the smile was still evident. "Moving here is already an occasion." Oh, she had another definition of it.

"So, why have you decided to move here, Tita?" I asked after I took a sip from my pineapple juice. She wiped the white tissue on the left side of her lips. "We want a new environment."

"Yes. The city is polluted. You know . . . smoke from vehicles, factories, garbage . . . we want to try a fresh surrounding," Asher added.

"Oh." Well, they had a point. Our place was located far from the cities.

"Scarlette, right?" I smiled with glee. Asher seemed to have told her mother about me. "Yes, Tita. That is me."

"Where are your parents? Are they home?" I stopped. 'Mom . . . Dad . . . are they home? None. They are not with me anymore.' It had been a long time since they left me and never came back. I tried to smile as I responded, "No, Tita."

"When will they be at home then?"

"They will neverー"

"They are in heaven, Mom," Asher cut me out. Of course, he knew. How? Probably, my aunt told him. Her smile was gone. "Is it true?" she asked, confirming it from me. I just nodded as an answer. "I am sorry." A smile was still on my lips, assuring her that I am well. "It is fine, Tita."

'Asher's mom is a great cook!' I kept on telling that in my mind while I was having a heavenly time eating. It was miraculous that I had eaten triple times than my usual meal amount.

Tita gave me a pink container when I was about to leave. "What is this, Tita?" I questioned, lifting the container and looking at what was inside from its base. "A pink container," she giggled at her own joke, "Oh, come on, dear. You are in high school already. Do not tell me you did not know."

Now, I believe in the passing of traits from a parent to a child called heredity. Asher got his weird ways from her mother.

"I-I know, Tita, but what I mean is what is inside this container." She giggled again. Uh, what a happy, beautiful creature. "Vanilla cake, dear. He requested," she told as she pointed her forefinger to her son who stood beside her. Asher smiled, showing his white teeth. "My mom's specialty. You will love it," he said before he winked. If I was just an easy-to-fall girl, I already shouted in happiness.

"Thanks then, Tita."

"Anything for you, my niece." All of sudden, I looked at her with surprise. "M-my niece?" She laughed awkwardly which made my forehead crease even more. "M-my niece. Oh, come on. Oh! I forgot to tell you." She tapped her son's left shoulder. "Every friend of him, I treat like my nephew or niece because I do not have one. Just like him, I am an only child, too."

"Oh." Why did it feel like there was something wrong? Uh, right, it was just me imagining impossible things again. "I am honored then."

"Thanks for the dinner, Tita, and welcome to our place. I hope you would not regret going here."

After I got home, I ran towards the kitchen and brought out a fork. I sat down at my dining table and opened the container. The white triangular thing inside came into view and it shouted, "Eat me! Eat me! I am yummy!" That was a joke. A slice of cake does not shout because, in the first place, it cannot talk. It has no mouth, no voice box, so definitely, it cannot talk. I just sighed at my stupidity.

While eating the precious food, that exact words flashed in my head, 'Anything for you, my niece.' It felt somewhat . . . real. Maybe, I just missed Aunt Cecilia.