After a year and a half of trying to move on from the what-ifs, the tides have pulled Alexandra Rivera and Zachariah Kim back together again.
*****
In the h...
Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
When the engine shut off in front of the house, alerting me to Anthony and Dad's return from the airport, I'd just completed the finishing touches on the sauce simmering on the stovetop.
I was welcomed by my brother's surprised expression at seeing me, while my dad somehow looked less shocked. I am who I am because of him, so my dad being able to see right through me was a given.
"Smells good," he said as he shoved his bags against the wall and tore off his jacket.
"Spaghetti. My specialty."
"You mean one of the only things you know how to cook?" Anthony laughed. He made his way into the kitchen and stood next to me, leaning down to inhale the savory aroma. "Shit, I forgot how much I missed this."
"Well, maybe I don't want to give you any," I huffed. After he dipped a finger in the sauce, I hip-checked him out of my space.
Anthony used his brotherly intuition to pick up on why I was still here and excused himself before retreating into his bedroom. The door shutting behind him echoed back at us.
"I know you cooking food means you need to talk," my father correctly guessed.
He didn't look worried, but the bags under his eyes made him look tired. To be fair, he'd just gotten off of a six-hour plane ride, but I knew it was more than that. It was always more than that when it came to our family. Genetics only played against us so far.
I dismissed him with a brief wave of my hand. "We don't need to go there right away. I'll make you a plate and we can eat first."
My dad gave in and went to sit down in his favorite chair. After a couple of minutes, I slid a plate down in front of him with a glass of water.
"At least I broke even this time," he remarked of his trip to Vegas. "Probably would've made more if I had my lucky charm with me."
I laughed and picked up my fork. "Maybe you should invite me next time."
"You always complain about the smoke in the casinos," he huffed through a bite of food.
"I complain about everything in Vegas," I countered. "Inside is a bunch of smoke. Outside has, like, zero moisture so I feel like a crusty, dry sponge. There's no winning there."
"Not when you're not there."
I smiled at him. "I thought you broke even?"
He pointed at me with his fork. "Breaking even means not losing. It doesn't mean winning."
"Whatever you say," I laughed.
It was one of the more civil conversations we'd had alone together in a long time. If Anthony wasn't there, it felt like we needed to prove a point to the other. If my brother was there, he could at least play mediator.
I still wasn't sure what had us at odds so much these days. He missed having me around, but even when I was still living here, we bickered more than I cared to admit.
