𝐒𝐔𝐂𝐊𝐄𝐑 𝐏𝐔𝐍𝐂𝐇

XXXI

— RORI —

𝙰𝙿𝙿𝚁𝙾𝚇𝙸𝙼𝙰𝚃𝙴𝙻𝚈 𝚂𝙴𝚅𝙴𝙽 𝚈𝙴𝙰𝚁𝚂 𝙰𝙶𝙾...

It is Zephaniah's birthday today, and i baked him a cake.

Wyatt might have done most of the work, and i might have agreed to help on the basis that he let me lick the spoon at the end, but, nevertheless, i baked him a cake.

Papa isn't home. I don't know where he is, but he isn't usually around anyway. I am not disappointed though, as the day would only be ruined if Papa were here.

Mama is home, and she is fussing incessantly because Zephaniah would rather spend his twenty-first birthday anywhere else as opposed to here, with us.

I reckon he will end up going out later on. Not that him going out would be any different than usual. He is home even less than Mama and Papa these days. Sometimes he is missing for weeks at a time.

I don't understand why he wouldn't want to spend at least some of his birthday with us. I love birthdays; they are one of few occasions in which Mama spends time with us.

The two of them are currently arguing in the other room, but i tune it out. Wyatt plays songs from the nineties on his MP3 player, and i giggle as he takes a handful of the flour into his hands and blows on it, so that it clouds the air.

He lets me write a message for Zephaniah on the cake, but i choose to draw a picture of me and my eldest brother instead, and he snickers when he sees the final result, causing me to pout.

My older brother carries the cake through to the adjoining room, Zephaniah and our mother seated at the dinner table.

My eldest brother doesn't seem pleased with my mother, as he looks into her eyes with a detached expression, but her eyes discreetly gesture to the door as Wyatt and i enter, and my brother sobers up ever so slightly.

"Look, Z," my mother begins, using a snide tone that i can't detect. "Your sister baked you a cake. Don't you have something to say to your sister after she baked you a cake?"

Zephaniah's jaw clenches at her words, and he shares a knowing look with Wyatt, who places the cake onto the table in front of him.

I offer my eldest brother a shy smile, and, to my surprise, he gives me a smile in return.

My mother stills at the sight of flour sprinkled on my head and on my clothes, and sends a harsh glare in Wyatt's direction.

"She's a mess!" my mother exclaims. "Your father will throw a fit if he sees the state of her. How could you allow her to play with the flour like that? And in her new pinafore, too. I payed a pretty penny for that, you know? She needs to learn to take care of her belongings."

"It's flour, Ma," Wyatt reasons.

Our mother ignores him, now ranting about the state of the kitchen; how it better be spotless by the time our father comes home and how she can't do everything herself.

Zephaniah glances down at the cake in front of him and frowns at the picture of the two of us.

I don't think he likes it.