Straighter than Parallel Parking

≈ t h i r t y - s e v e n ≈

{ Chapter Thirty-Seven: Thank You For Existing }

THE KETTLE WHISTLES, like the sky flapping through newly budded trees outside the window of Marcus' kitchen. He silently pours the tea into two cups—one with crumpled pasta shavings and the other pristine in floral print—before walking to the graphite counter.

Maria accepts the cup graciously, taking a warm sip. "You might have grown as a man," Maria says, wrinkling her nose, "but goddamn can you learn how to put sugar? You monster."

Marcus spins the spoon in the tea. "At least I don't look twice my age."

Maria narrows her eyes, accidentally kicking her brother as she stands to get some condensed milk. "Talking back to our parents once and you're already a smartass, felicidades."

Marcus snorts, focusing on watching the tea inside his cup swirl. He could feel his head twitch, a dull ache that hadn't gone away since yesterday's confrontation with the very last people he ever wanted to go head to head with.

His cheek still throbbed from the slap his mother had given him after a few choice words finally broke through his lips. The only sound afterwards was the sound of the children outside screaming in delight, oblivious to the tension in the house making its way to dangerous heights.

"Think of it this way," Maria says, as she sits down with a plate of tea biscuits, "at least she didn't throw one of my heels at your head."

"I'm so grateful," Marcus retorts sarcastically, "thanks for looking at the bright side. My parents hate my children, but at least I don't have a three-inch indentation in my neck!"

Maria raises an eyebrow. "Tone it down. If you want a therapist to deal with your issues, I demand $100 every time you want to... What do the kids call it now the days? Spill the tea?"

"Cute. Especially for someone who doesn't even pay rent."

Maria sighs, her fingers combing through her awful bed hair. The sticky residue of sugar sticks to her palms, and she wipes them off on the table counter. The feeling remains, though.

The two siblings stay in quiet, so different from the cacophony of angry voices that broke through the walls last night. Despite their efforts, there was no way to avoid the thickness of the air, choking everyone so deeply that Marcus had finally ordered for Maria's husband to take all the kids out.

"I don't care where," Marcus had told him, a hollow shell of what he'd been yesterday, "just away from here."

Instead, Maria and her brother had been left to choke in the tension themselves. They were used to the fragmented crusts of their family falling apart and weakly weaving themselves again before spiralling out like an open stitch, so it was best for them to recollect themselves.

"I lost my job," Maria says, slicing through the quiet with a controlled manner only a season Diablo was capable of.

Marcus almost spits out his sip of tea. "You had a job? Someone actually hired you?"

"Insensitive jerk. I hate you. Te odio."

"What did you even do?" Marcus asks. He and his sister were almost as estranged as him and the rest of his family not too long ago, so this tidbit of information was news to him.

"Believe it or not, I was a social worker."

Now Marcus does spit out his tea.

"Look, I might not be good with teenagers or... whatever your children are—honestly, why are you always telling me to move out when Karlo should first—but I swear I'm a child whisperer."