Nicco

Ch. 20: Above and Beyond

ARIA

After work, I hurry to meet Appa. When I enter his flat, the enticing aroma of chicken biriyani welcomes me. My mouth waters as we sit down at the table together. Appa and I make small talk as we eat.

He coughs. "I made your favorite tonight, duwa."

I cough, too. "I noticed. Thanks, Appa."

"How's work?"

I take a bite. Keeping my expression as blank as possible, I make a conscious effort to leave out the, ahem, extracurricular activities I've been partaking in with my boss. "Good. It's pretty busy, though."

"Just... good?"

"I mean," I mutter, "I can't complain."

Well, no complaints aside from the time Manning nearly fired me and the fact that I'm still working as a PA rather than a financial analyst.

Appa frowns. "Are you able to keep up with the workload? Remember to work hard and aim high, duwa, at a place at Jackson & James. Anything less will not get you noticed by your superiors."

Grumbling, I remark, "Don't worry, Appa. I've been pulling more than my fair share at the office since day one."

Although, to be fair, Nicco really has been stepping up and pulling his weight as of late.

My father nods in approval. "In that case, keep it up, then. But do more if you can."

I force out a chuckle. "I'll try."

"Good, good. I'll be eagerly awaiting the news about your promotion."

It's kind of sad how my dad and I always have conversations where absolutely nothing of consequence is shared.

Toward the end of dinner, Appa surprises me by asking, "Can you stick around for a few minutes?"

His request is unexpected—doesn't he need to go finish packing for his flight?—but I agree to it. We reconvene in the living room, and I take a seat on the couch. That's when my father pulls out a glittery pink gift bag. It's a garish eyesore. There's even matching hot pink tissue paper poking out from the top. He hands the bag to me.

"What's this for?" I inquire tentatively. Judging from the glitter alone, it looks like a gift meant for a prepubescent girl, not a twenty-four-year-old woman. But I digress.

"Consider this my apology," he supplies, "for missing our Cornwall trip."

At this, my mouth parts slightly. The gesture stuns me. Appa has never apologized to me for anything. Missed birthdays and holidays have never meant much to him.

"Open it," my father urges.

I remove the tissue paper and find a small turquoise box with a white ribbon wrapped around it. I gasp. It's from Tiffany's. With eager hands, I pop open the lid and find a dainty gold locket inside. A thick emotion runs through me. The locket is shaped like a heart, and it looks exactly like the one I wanted for my twelfth birthday. All the other girls at Hawkins were flaunting necklaces just like it. But I never got my birthday wish because Tiffany's was too expensive, at the time, for my family.

A sting hits my eyes. "You... remembered."

Appa gives me a small smile. "I did. I hope this will make up for some of your disappointment."

His sudden show of affection is concerning. I don't know how I feel about it. Yet, there's also a part of me that wants to be less of a cynic. To simply be happy about the fact that my father cared enough to buy me a gift. It's actually quite moving.