Owen

2 - The Cussing Angel

2 - The Cussing Angel

"Amy?"

I put down the piece of paper and use my hands to tuck these 'bangs' behind my ears. The voice, a bit raspy, must be from Grandma Rose.

"Good morning, Grandma Rose," I greet as I open the door. Hearing the roosters from our neighbors crow, it must be about six thirty or seven in the morning.

Her lips stretches into a warm smile while she shakes her head. "We're the only morning persons in this family. Your parents are already in the restaurant, grumpy as ever. Well, your Mom is. Come, come."

I step out of my room, joining Grandma at the hallway. Grandma Rose hasn't changed much and looks about forty, although she's almost sixty four. It must be her hair. She's always made it a point to dye her hair black.. Back then, Grandma would always ask me every week the same question. "What color is my hair?"

Her shirt bearing the words, "World's Best Cook", I recall, has been given to her by Mom on Mother's Day when I was in fifth or sixth grade. I guess she wore it often, as the shirt's purple color looks uneven and faded.

"It looks as if you're recalling or something," she suddenly says as we head towards the restaurant, walking slowly.

"I am," I answer truthfully, a bit embarrassed.

Taking a stroll through our old home is like a trip down memory lane. Pictures on wooden frames are hung on nails, decorating the deep blue walls. Grandma Rose, obsessed with plants but has the opposite of a green thumb, has painted sloppy silhouettes of roses and leaves on the wall, giving it an imperfect but homey look. I also pass by an image of me, Mom, and Dad hugging with a wooden bench in the background. Glancing at it for the second time, I also note a big red balloon tied to my wrist. So it's taken on that day, huh?

Suddenly, Grandma Rose turns right and stops abruptly before a screen door. She sighs before looking at me, her brows furrowing.

"Here's the restaurant, dear. I know you've haven't been here before. So I hope you won't take offense. I mean your Mom and Dad think it's okay ..." Grandma Rose's voice trails off, so I get startled and look at her in the eyes. By eyes, I mean her oval-shaped glasses.

"Offense?" I repeat. Never in all my years do I remember Grandma Rose doing something that would make me "take offense". Well, other than confiscating my crayons back when I was in the first grade, 'cause I drew all over my walls. But aside from that, nothing else.

"Yeah."

"Why should I take offense?"

"Because I named the restaurant after you."

Wait. What?

That moment, I'm like, "Whoa".

You can have your car and your new tops, Erica. I have a restaurant named after me.

"Offense, Grandma? I'm thrilled to bits! Thank you!" I say, my eyes largening. Stepping closer to Grandma, I give her a hug and she pats me on the back.

"It's nothing, dear." After I get myself off her, I can see that there's a new spark in her eyes. Surely, she must have really missed me and Mom.

Dad? I can't tell. I mean, back then, Dad's the one who worked in the city and seldom went home. But the roles have reversed when Dad's company crashed due to its rival. When the said rival offered Dad a position, he declined, saying that he has better things to do. But truthfully, it's just Dad's way of saying, "That's what you get for destroying our company." He's that kind of person.

Grandma opens the door, making people's heads swivel to our direction. She chuckles softly before getting inside the home-based restaurant.

"Here we are. Amy's Eatery, where the food is heavenly," recites Grandma, reading the sign that hangs over a wooden counter, even the subtitle bit. This restaurant really is named after me.