Now You Know ✅

Chapter 31: Connection and Bonds

Aunt Fabia had been benevolent enough to insist that Pelham stay for dinner right after he and Lucio were done with another one of their mathematics sessions, no matter how much Pelham kept assuring her that he wasn't at all hungry - a lie, of course. He was downright famished. He simply wanted to head home and get a glimpse of his mother's face, perhaps eat one of her habitually cooked casseroles. Still, Aunt Fabia had her way of inveigling Pelham into the dining room by bringing her still-warm chicken paella all the way up to Lucio's room, its piquant odour already filling the interior of the house.

Of course, Pelham's hunger took the better of him. Eventually he agreed to stay for a few minutes, trying against will not to eat much, for he clearly wanted to have dinner with his own family. Surely his mother couldn't skip that one?

There was something about the way Aunt Fabia addressed Pelham that engaged his attention. Pelham noticed that she had a knowing look on her face - a considerably indicative one, if he had to point it out. And there were times when they were in the dining room where she would say a couple of things inscrutable to Pelham, and Lucio would simply flush crimson. It was as though they had inside jokes. Pelham couldn't help but think they looked more like siblings.

"Is she usually this excited when you have a friend over?" Pelham had asked earlier before he left, having stood on Lucio's front porch to see whether Aunt Fabia was out of sight.

"You heard her; you're the first guy friend of mine to come over," he'd answered, his eyes darting everywhere but Pelham.

Pelham had merely smirked then. "And she said you talk a lot about me? Like, all the time?"

In response, Lucio had stuttered before he said quietly, "I only talk about how good you are in Maths."

"Wish I was there to hear your compliments."

"Go home, Nixon."

Now, however, as Pelham stood on the portico of his house and was faced with the front door left open, followed by a muffled - and perhaps heated - squabble exchanged by his parents from inside the house, Pelham was having second thoughts. He wished he was still eating Aunt Fabia's chicken paella. He would rather endure her banters than stomach this one. He, after all, hated to be in the middle of one of his parents' quarrels.

The last time it happened, it had been about his favourite colour; purple. He was eight then, and until now, he still couldn't figure out what was wrong about that particular colour. His mother had noted that purple was for girls. Pelham disagreed.

Still, Pelham couldn't help but strain his ears, trying to discern the words that were exchanged between his mother and father. Alas, he couldn't make out what tirade was coming out of either of his parents' mouths.

Tentatively, Pelham stepped into the house, where the voices grew clearer as he made his way down the hallway. Neither of his parents were raising their voices, he knew that well enough. But he could also tell when they were having a dispute. Their vexed voices came from the living room, and Pelham was ready to head for the stairs, sensing that he had arrived at an inconvenient time. Not until he heard his name being mentioned did he come to a halt, one foot ready to tread the first step of the stairs.

Swallowing like someone being caught red-handed, Pelham gradually turned on his heels and leaned against the wall near the interior archway that led into the living room.

" ... not right!" his mother was saying, her tone aggravated. "I'm saying this one more time, Kenneth; it's not right."

"I don't see how that changes anything,"

"It changes everything!" she retorted. "Don't tell me you weren't surprised when he said it."

"Of course I was," Came his father's tender voice. "Neither of us saw it coming, Jody. But listen, you just have to accept him-"