Rose's Rush Hour.

Chapter Seventeen.

Sunday afternoon and evening was always my perfect time to stay at home and relax. I didn’t know why, but there was always a lazy feel about Sundays, and most people closed up their workplaces. Madam Monica was included in most people, so I didn’t have to leave my home after lunch, unless an emergency occurred at LightHouse.

“You’ve been in such a good mood today,” my darling brother mentioned as I poured myself a cup of evening tea.

He sat across the dining table from me, and watched me with narrowed suspicious eyes.

“What makes you say that?” I put the teapot down and reached for the sugar bowl.

“You haven’t dissed me once since morning,” he replied. “Actually, since you returned last night.”

Images of my day with Callum and riding home with him caused a huge smile to sprout on my face.

“Blegh! There’s that yucky smile again!”

I looked up and showed him my teeth the best I could and he recoiled, bringing his hands up to block the view. “The witch’s rotten teeth are actually blinding!” he cried.

I rolled my eyes. “I haven’t dissed you because you’re my darling brother and I lo...and we’re of the same blood.”

Catch me dead saying sappy words like ‘I love you,’ to this mine own.

And the dramatist started to twist and writhe his body like an undead earthworm under sunlight.

“Urgh! The witch spitted sweet acid onto me!” he wailed. “It burns! The sweetness burns!”

For a ten year old, he sure acted like a five year old with an overactive imagination.

“It’s spat, brother-mine,” I corrected him as I stirred my tea. “And you should seriously think of a career in acting.”

He gasped, his eyes wide. “Sugary names and career advice in one evening? I’ll have returned to dust by the end of the day!”

It was really hard to not throw something at him.

“Salutations, familia!” Ed’s unmistakeable voice boomed from behind me. In a matter of seconds, she stood by the table assessing its contents.

Her expectant face turned sour when she didn’t find what she was looking for. “What the hell? Where are the doughnuts?”

“And why do you always come here to eat our food?” Jerry returned.

“What a hospitable and mannerful young man you are,” Ed remarked. “You can always come to my home to return the favour.”

“My dumb sister says your birthday is soon, and I want to come to the party so I can eat all I want.”

“Who says I’m having a party?”

“Don’t you want one?”

At that, Ed turned to me. “Nkwanzi, do I want one?”

I scoffed, bringing my cup to my lips. “Who would you invite?”

“Touché,” she agreed and said to Jerry, “I’ll think about it, little man. Now pass me those cookies, will you?”

“Glottan,” Jerry said but obliged anyway.

“Glutton,” I corrected and he stuck his tongue out at me.

Ed picked a cookie but froze and her eyes went wide like she’d just remembered something. “Your mother baked these, right?”

I nodded and she let out a sigh of relief, biting into the cookie.

I knitted my brows at her odd behaviour. “Why?”