Heirs Unapparant | A Miraculous Origin Story

Chapter 2: All That Glitters (كل ذلك البريق)

"Al'umu! Ab! I'm home!" Nicholas called, twisting the key into the rusty lock and heaving the door open with his shoulder. The old oak gave under his weight and swung open, nearly taking him with it, and he barely had time to step foot into his living room before the incurable hurricane that was his brother came whooshing down the hall, over the furniture, and around a potted aloe, to wrap himself firmly around the first part of Nicholas he could reach--that being his legs--and squeezing tightly.

"Ah! Akhi!" Nicholas exclaimed, the sudden explosion of weight throwing him slightly off balance. His arms pinwheeled backwards and he grabbed the nearest wall to steady himself, already chuckling at the innocent brown eyes peering up at him. "Kalimati! You're going to kill me one of these days!" he laughed, kneeling down to ruffle his sibling's hair to show him he wasn't actually upset. "How's my favorite little brother been today? Behaving himself, I hope?"

"I'm only little brother," Nino retorted with an indignant huff, stepping away and crossing his arms to pout.

At this, Nicholas grinned, slowly standing up as his brother finally let go. The only one for right now, he thought. But possibly not for much longer, his mind quickly flashed as he heard the footsteps from the kitchen and, scooping Nino into his arms and dangling him on his head by his feet (much to the child's both amusement and horror), grinning wickedly as his mother appeared around the bend, a spatula dripping with cake batter in hand.

"Nikulas! Bihaqi alsama' , 'unzil bi'akhik qabl 'an tusqitah ealaa rasihi!"

Loosely translated, that meant, "Nicholas! For Heaven's sake, put your brother down before you drop him on his head!" and Nicholas was proud of his ability to immediately transition to French.

"Sorry, Mother," he apologized in Arabic. "I guess I got a little carried away. Wheeoop!" he cheered, flipping Nino back over and setting him down gently on the carpet. "All right, squirt. Go play with your toys. The adults need to talk."

His mother snorted, responding in her native language. "You're only sixteen. You're not a man yet, Nicholas."

"Not that he doesn't act like one every day," came the booming voice of his father as he popped his head around the corner to see what all the commotion was all about. Nino laughed and ran off to play near the Christmas tree, his mother eyeing him nervously as he came dangerously close to the presents.

His mother said something to his father in Arabic and Nicholas sighed, stretching and dropping his book bag by the door to go sprawl out on the couch for no reason whatsoever. It was peaceful like this, to hear his parents squabble teasingly while he watched his brother play. This felt like home. It was a kind of serenity that he didn't feel when he was at school surrounded by all of the students that he couldn't understand half of the time. It had been almost four years since his parents had uprooted themselves from their small Moroccan life to bring him and Nino to France for a chance at a better life and he appreciated it, really, but there were times he just missed the stillness of the small villages. The bustling city just wasn't the same.

Of course, Nino was having no trouble fitting in. His French was incredible. Then again, he was only six and he hadn't really been speaking much Arabic before they left. The same couldn't be said for his parents, who barely knew a lick of French (ironic, out of all of the countries they could have selected to move to). Nicholas had translated many a parent-teacher conference with moderate success.

"No feet on the table!" Ali called again, his voice a little softer now as he and his wife, Layla, turned and started back into the kitchen now that the excitement was over.