"I'm here!" Mom chirped, entering the kitchen after what felt like an eternity.
Death gave her a subtle, angry look, knowing this was probably the last time in her life that she could speak in such a happy tone.
Emman hopped off the sofa to join her in the kitchen. Even if he was whining about not wanting to do the family tradition of baking cakes during birthdays, Emman seemed eager to sift the flour with Mom.
I wanted to get up and follow my brother's lead, but suddenly, my legs didn't want to listen to me and it felt like jelly.
Dad, sitting beside me on the sofa, slowly got up. I could feel him seething with anger.
"Honey," Dad called out stiffly. "Come here for a sec."
"Huh?" Mom's voice held a hint of innocence, blissfully ignorant, as she paused her flour-sifting task and handed the sifter to Emman. "But I'm already prepping the cake–"
"JUST. COME. HERE."
Death whistled. The house fell into silence, tense and heavy.
I became even more immobilized, unable to muster the strength to rise from my seat. Mom and Emman looked at each other. Their same-colored eyes were wide to hear Dad so angry. This was probably the first time they heard Dad speak with such a tone.
"I'll be right back," Mom smiled at her son before taking cautious steps to where Dad and I were.
Once she was in the living room, Dad shoved the phone into Mom's face. Worriedly, she took the phone and looked at the screen, only to see it display the recent message exchange with what I initially assumed was the delivery rider. Oh, how wrong she was.
"Is this what we decided to buy for Emman's birthday?" Dad demanded. His voice oozed with venom.
The blood on her face drained while she scrolled through the most recent messages she received on her phone. Her eyes darted to her daughter, silently asking for an explanation.
"Y-you told me to show Dad if it received a message…" My voice barely escaped her lips.
"But this… Honey, this is…" Mom's voice trailed off as she faced Dad as she attempted to explain herself. "This is a misunderstanding."
I tried to summon my voice again, and you can barely even call it a whisper.
"You t-told me to…" But no one was listening to me.
Their parents started arguing, and Dad's voice was booming in the living room. Mom tried her hardest to explain to Dad, but he wasn't having any of it. While Emman was in the kitchen, frozen in disbelief at what was happening.
"I do not believe a single word coming out of your filthy mouth anymore." He shouted with his hands balled into a fist. "Complete utter bullshit!"
This was the first time I heard Dad swear. Wasn't it ironic that about an hour ago, he was scolding Emman for doing the same thing?
Tears welled up in my eyes. I wanted to tell them to stop and that they were scaring me. However, my body betrayed me – I remained immobile and unable to say anything.
"Honey, please. Think of the children," Mom's voice pleaded, invoking the 'children card' as a last resort. "It's Emman's birthday. I'm begging you. Not now."
"Get the fuck out of my house."
Mom stiffened at his words, and it took her to register what he had just said.
He walked away, ascending the stairs and disappearing into their shared bedroom. Sounds of shuffling and closets opening and closing were the only sounds that could be heard in the dead-silent house that was once filled with laughter and joy.
He returned to the living room while carrying a large suitcase.
"Please don't do this, dear." She begged with tears welling up in her eyes. "Please, can we talk about this?"
Dad ignored her pleas and threw the huge suitcase out of the door. He went back to their room and carried more items out. Mom's belongings.
Mom was grabbing onto him for dear life and trying to stop him, but Dad was too strong. He continued to throw her stuff outside the house.
"Do not come near the kids," Dad warned once everything she owned was lying on the hot asphalt in front of our house. "Do not show your face to me ever again."
He roughly grabbed Mom's arm while she continued screaming and wailing, begging him to stop.
"Please! Don't do this!"
After tugging at each other, Dad finally shoved her out of the house. He slammed the door and locked it, preventing Mom from running back into the house. He went to the back door and locked it in case Mom tried to enter.
The weight of the situation left Emman stunned, and his shock-frozen body suddenly moved to run towards the front door. But of course, Dad was faster and immediately blocked Emman's way.
"You are not allowed to see her anymore," Dad announced with his voice barely audible because Mom was still pounding at the door and was wailing outside.
He effortlessly picked Emman up, who was busy thrashing and kicking, desperately trying to escape from Dad's grasp. Dad then went to where I was and dragged me to the master's room. Once all of us were inside, Dad finally put Emman down.
Just as Emman was about to run for it, Dad slammed the door in his face.
Emman tried to twist the doorknob, but his lame attempt to open the door yielded nothing. Though it wasn't locked, it still looked like Dad was holding it from the other side, so it wasn't budging. Seeing that there was no point in prying it open, Emman turned to the glass window.
Knowing his intent, I ran after him to stop him.
"Emman! No!"
I grabbed his arm to prevent him from opening the window to jump out of it. Just like what he did with Dad, he fought against me.
Amid Emman's struggle, his fist accidentally connected with my face, breaking my nose. Blood mixed with my tears, dripping onto the floor, staining it in shades of red.
Emman, realizing what he had done, channeled his anger to his victim. His voice trembled with anger and sadness as he accused me.
"Look at what you did!" Emman's voice quivered with emotion. "This is your fault! Everything is your fault! This is the worst birthday ever!"
He pushed me down, seeking solace under the blanket on the bed, his sobs muffled by its fabric.
I stared at my brother with my mind grappling to comprehend the chaos that had just consumed my family. My focus shifted to the hallway outside, where the sounds of soft sobs indicated our father's state.
A warm liquid trickled out from my nose and mingled with my tears. I surveyed the blood-soaked blouse I wore, my gaze then shifting to the floor, where crimson stains marred the once-untouched surface.
As the reality of the situation took hold, I fought to hold back a surge of emotions. Everything had spiraled out of control. Emman's birthday was ruined, the gift never arrived, and Dad forcefully ejected Mom from the house. All this had been set in motion by my decision to show Dad the messages.
I searched for tissues in the room as hot tears and blood dripped from my face. I plugged some into my nostrils and pinched my nose bridge when I found a box.
Despite the afternoon sun shining outside, my energy was replaced by overwhelming exhaustion.
As the bleeding subsided, I moved to the chair in front of Mom's vanity desk and rested my head on the cool surface. The impulse to lay down on my parents' bed as Emman did was strong, but I knew such action would only invite more pain.
In the aftermath of this storm, sleep seemed like an impossible luxury. Yet, exhaustion claimed her in minutes, and I drifted to sleep. When the Vermillion siblings awoke, the master's bedroom door creaked open.
By this time, darkness enveloped the house, signaling it was already nighttime. Dad entered the room carrying two plates. He placed one plate-- one for his son--on the bed where Emman was lying.
From his arms, he placed a colorful package on Mom's former chair – Emman's birthday gift, a stark irony against what occurred that day.
Given the circumstances, the sight of the gift seemed utterly out of place.
"Eat," Dad said.
"I don't want any," Emman grumbled under the blankets.
Dad didn't reply and left the room, no longer closing the door behind him.
I didn't want to risk making more of a mess in the bedroom than I already had, so I went to the dining room where Dad was.
I joined Dad at the table without saying a word. I didn't know what to say anyway.
"Put your clothes in the hamper as usual. I'll take care of the laundry from now on." He must have noticed the red stains on her clothes.
I nodded in response. They both solemnly ate in silence. Afterward, he took both of their dishes.
"Wash your face and go to bed, Evangeline." Dad made a weak smile. "I'll clean these up."I nodded.