But yes, thinking back to most of the nights since that day, I've not had any "teenage-y" dreams either. Like, you know what I'm saying, don't you? The so-called phase never came to me and I never pondered about it. However, when I told Anwir about this, his immediate gut reaction was to ask me if I was gay. Honestly, the jury's still out. That's a different discussion altogether. But what he did next was definitely atrocious. I'm not going to mention those because thinking about those days makes my skin crawl.
After taking a long enough shower which would make my dad inspect me with his beady little eyes, I went into the kitchen and hopped up on the counter. Oh, the smell of fresh pancakes and chocolate chips first thing in the morning is something no other thing can replace.
"Hey gorgeous," mom greets enthusiastically.
It was a miniscule of pride before I realized Dad entered the kitchen right behind me.
"How did you know he was here?"
I asked her while I was clutching onto my heart, quite hurt.
She looks at me like I'm asking if I could elope with Anwir. Which, believe me, they thought was definitely going to happen by now. And if there was any chance of it, we would've proven them right.
"That atrocious perfume of his. I recently noticed that it's been only two weeks into this month and he's out buying another bottle."
Dad just simply shrugs.
Wanting to create more drama because my own life is, oh so boring, I say, "Maybe someone else likes his fragrance," I finish the sentence, wagging my eyebrows up and down.
All Dad does again is give a suggestive shrug.
That's when the spatula hits the batter and the batter splatters around on the counter. Some happened to fall on my arm, which I artistically licked away. Tasted a little off. Probably the sugar.
What I'd missed during my pancake speculation was that Mom had started chasing Dad all around the house. All because he hadn't denied the prospect of an affair.
Due to a cologne?
Sure, Mom.
Looked like I should get started on making breakfast for everyone. I wouldn't say I should be on MasterChef America or anything but I'm pretty good in the culinary area. Something mom is proud of and has repeatedly mentioned on several occasions, "Men also belong in the kitchen".
That's a sticker on our kitchen wall. Yep, hangs right above the stove platform.
But then again, I don't think she should be really "proud" that I took after her in the kitchen? I don't know. Society is stupid or whatever. While I was flipping the pancakes, I heard a noise. A grumble, to be specific. Cave people. Turning around, I see two faces that belong and one that's hovering around here for no reason.
"Let me spell it out, I'm not making pancakes for Anwir."
A rather elaborate gasp, the clattering of a plate against our very old wooden table, and then I get tackled.
Then the voice, "If you don't cook for me, I am not "un-tackling" you. Or whatever the technical term is, you get it?"
He thinks he sounds so intimidating but he knows that I'm not very easily unnerved. A plus for efforts though.
I push him off of me but damn, his grip is strong.
"You imbecile, get off me!"
"Agree to my terms and you shall be set free."
"Never," I say, just to see how far he'll take it. Right before he can say anything else, "Cut it out, you guys. Get out of my kitchen before I eat either of you because of hunger," shouts Mom.
"Oh please, you love it when I'm over here," Anwir retorts with a wink directed towards my mom.
"I love it when you're not breaking my very newly laid tiles in my beloved house even better," she shoots back. What seemed like a dig at him, turned out to be a taunt at me too. Unfair, but moving on.
"Did you finish off the calculus assignment yet?"
"Jesus crap, no! How come you didn't remind me of it yesterday?"
"Because you were beaten to crap and you couldn't even lift a finger?"
My eyes go wide at what he said. His hands fly over to his mouth because it hit him too. Surely enough, Mom and Dad both have alarmed looks on their faces.
"You were what?" she asked, voice so shrill I was worried she'd break all the glass.
Now Dad's turn. "What the hell did he even say?"
Quick! Think of a lie. One that wouldn't blow up in our faces later.
Wait. Blow up.
"He was just talking about this online video game we found. Super interesting, very violent though."
I look at Anwir, in hopes he won't blow the cover. Thankfully, he sees what's going on. Picking up on the lie, "Yes, totally awesome. Simulations and everything. Torpedoing at submarines, fighter jets, just lots of crash and boom. You get it," he stops his flow of over-compensation with a big sheepish grin.
Both the elders have such looks on their faces that say, "This is complete horseshit but whatever."
Sneaking out of their laser-pointed glares, we run to my room. Baby Yoda says it's 7, it's 7. One hour to finish the assignment and get to school. Yikes, calculus and less than an hour.
"Just take mine," Anwir offers. Sure, I mean, it makes total sense but I cannot just copy down his work. Majorly because he doesn't know calculus either.
"I know what you're thinking and I suggest you stop thinking that. It's offensive to me, your best friend and brother. Write the solutions down and we'll sit on it tonight, cool?"
Stupid moral compass vs. time crunch. Classic superhero problem.
"Alright, alright. But we cannot take this class lightly or Mr. Miller will whoop our asses in the midterm."
Anwir groans, falling back on the foot of my bed. "Don't even remind me of that guy. I so wished he would get fired before we'd get to junior year and would have to take his boring math class."
Even though I don't exactly have the time to remind him, I have to.
"Just because his niece rejected you doesn't mean he should be sent out of the school."
"Hey, hey, this is not because of that. I'm over it. I'm above it," he says with pride that's struggling to come back into his voice.
"Yeah right, this happened about two weeks ago and you're not even over your break up with Jane."
"Jane who?" he asks, so nonchalantly.
"Uh, your very first girlfriend who you dated for about a year and, then stomped on your heart with her high heels?"
"You're talking to the wrong guy. That doesn't sound like me." He scoffs.
"I do not have time to knock sense into you now, let me focus on these differentials for now," I shout back at him.
"Alright, I'll get some pancakes and then we'll be good to go!"
"Sounds good, oh, and get me a hat and a pair of sunglasses. I've decided that I'll disguise myself so my bullies won't recognize me."
"You'll be back with a punching bag-like body with a wasted hat and broken sunglasses," he says in a very annoying sing-song tone.
I give up.