Daffodil Sprouts🌼

Ch. 29 ' Nostalgic Cookies.

By the time I get home, it's 8:00 PM, and Phillip and Mom are sitting on the porch. Apprehension builds in me as Rahman slowly brings the car to a halt.

Why are they home? When did they get here?

"Stop looking like you're about to cry."

"Look," I tell him, nudging my head towards the porch.

He whistles when he sees them. "Looks like someone's in trouble," he sings.

I glare at him. "What's funny?"

I turn back to see Mom walking towards us, and I end up fighting with the doorknob to get down.

"Careful," Rahman cautions.

I hiss, grabbing my bag and jumping down from the car to meet her. I have no idea what to say. I'm ordinarily not a good liar and now I've been caught unawares. If I had known she would be home, I would've at least thought of something, I had all the time to.

"M—"

She walks right past me, towards the car. She looks inside and maintains eye contact with Rahman for a good number of seconds before turning to me. "Who is he?"

"Nobody," I spit, then quickly correct myself. "A . . . A friend."

She looks at him again before talking. "Where were you? Why was your number not going through?"

My mouth flies open. I put off my phone when I was in class, then I forgot to put it on after I got back my hoodie. I dip my hand into the pocket and bring it out.

"Sorry, I . . . I put it off."

I wish I could come up with something that would wipe the glare off her face, I really do. She's angry; a first, and I don't even know what to do that can calm her.

"I'm s—"

"Answer the first question."

Rebooting takes a moment. "Uhm . . . A park, and then—" I spot Rahman mouthing, 'bye', and I wave at him.

"Stop it!" Mom yells, and I jump back.

She swirls to face Rahman. "What are you still doing here? Get lost!"

Rahman lowers his head twice and babbles, "Sure, Goodnight. Sorry." Then he reverses as fast as he can and drives out of the compound.

Mom turns back to me, sighing heavily. I look at the porch in a bid to avoid her harsh gaze. Mr Philip is standing, staring at us from the distance. I wish he would come to save me from his wife.

"You were saying something," Mom says steely.

I stumble back as she comes closer. I don't remember getting beaten up by her as a child, but I'm not willing to take chances. "To a park, a beautiful park. Then I wanted to know how it feels like to enter a train."

"You're telling me you skipped school to mess around."

My eyes enlarge as I look up at her. She knows.

I look down again. "Something happened, and I just had to get my mind off it."

"What happened?" She comes closer as she talks, dragging 'happened'. Her tone is sarcastic. "What did you need to get your mind off? The fact that you were caught in the Boy's locker room?"

I gasp. Jason is such a tattletale! "It's not like that!"

"How is it like then?" she shouts. "How?"

I'm rooted at the spot, too shaken and pained to move. Or even talk.

"I am embarrassed and ashamed of you. So ashamed."

My sight blurs as a tear drops onto my cheek. Mom turns and walks away from me, but stops after a few steps. When she turns back, there are tears in her eyes.

"I was scared. Worried to death! And you were with a boy all that time. Is this who you are?" I start to shake my head. Her hands fly up. "You are just fifteen, Yesmi. Fifteen!" Then they fold to form fists. "I . . . "

She drops her arms and condescendingly shakes her head. Then she walks inside.

For the next few minutes, I just stand there crying. Stepdad Philip walks over and puts his arm around my shoulder.

"You should come inside now. It's getting cold."

I sniff and without looking up, ask, "What?"

"The cookies she made."

I follow him without another word. I'm too hungry not to, and besides, even on the brink of death, I wouldn't reject food.

———

I take my time on each of the cookies, chewing slowly while thinking of a way to get myself out of this mess. I truly wish I had thought thoroughly when Rahman invited me to skip school with him, I truly do.

Mr Philip, seated opposite me on the other side of the counter, watches me closely. Like I'm a physics equation he has to solve. I continue eating unbothered though, hoping he offers to help pacify Mom without asking for an explanation.

When I'm done eating, I look back at him. "I'm sorry."

"For?" he asks without reaction.

"Keeping you out."

It has only occurred to me that he was waiting alongside Mom for me outside.

He smiles. "Do you want some more cookies?"

I've only had twelve, so I nod.

He chuckles and picks the cooler the remaining cookies are kept in and drops it in front of me.

"Thank you," I murmur.

"You eat a lot," he says.

I nod, transferring the remaining cookies to my plate.

I stop when he adds, "Like Stephanie."

My fingers press on the cookies in between them. Mr Philip doesn't seem to notice my discomfort though, he keeps talking.

"It's not very obvious, but she does." He laughs right after.

I nod crookedly, not knowing what else to do.

"Do you cry a lot?"

I blink. "I've been told so."

He smiles wistfully. "So does Stephanie. It's like the tears are always lurking in the corners of her eyes, waiting to be let out. She cries at the slightest disturbance, the slightest good thing."

I force a smile. To say this is weird would be an understatement, I'm creeped out. I wonder what he's leading to, hopefully, it's not a bad thing.

"But today . . . today . . . "

I hold onto the cookie with my other hand —both my hands are now holding it— and look at him. His eyes are trained on the counter tiles, and he seems to be staring through them.

"What about today?" I ask quietly, as quiet as I can be, hoping he doesn't hear.

"She didn't cry. When we came home, and Jason told us he couldn't find you . . . she just . . . shut down. She . . . " He sighs, then shakes his head. "She seemed out of her head, in so many places at once. She sat at the front porch and kept dialling your number. She didn't stop, not until that car wheeled in."

He looks up, and his eyes meet mine. "I was scared. I still am. I think we all were." He chuckles. "Probably Jason more than me. He's never seen her like that."

I grit my teeth and squeeze the cookie into my mouth, so I don't have to say anything or look at him.

"Yesmi?"

I pick up another cookie. This one is almost burnt, much browner than the rest. "Yes?"

"How do they taste?"

"The co—" I rethink the question. "Good. Very good." I manage to smile. "It's . . . they're kinda like the ones . . . like the ones Felicie makes."

He smiles. "That's what your mom was aiming for."

———————

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