When The Page Turns| ✍︎︎

Chapter Seven: Chopping Onions.

"January?" Pops called as the door slammed shut.

"Kitchen!" I call back.

"What're you making, sweetheart?" He asks as he settles on the chair at the head on the table.

"Roasted chicken," I answer.

"Sounds good," a third voice joins in, he's got to stop doing that.

"What are you doing here, Atlas?" I whirl around to meet his gaze.

"Your grandpa invited me over for dinner." He shrugged.

"And I'm starting to regret it." Pops mutters, making a smile overcome my face.

"You have a very warm feel in this house," Atlas sarcastically smiles.

"Dear," pops looks up to me, "I'm tired, is it okay that I go to bed early?"

"Of course pops, do you need anything?" I immediately start fawning over him and checking his temperature, he does look really tired.

"I'm okay, sweetheart, just a bit tired." He gets up, kisses my head and starts walking towards his room that's in the first floor, "and before you get any ideas, boy, the walls are thin so no funny business."

"Wasn't even thinking about it sir." Atlas sat on a random chair.

"You hungry?" I ask Atlas, already used to pops' overprotectiveness.

"Starving." He replied.

"Great," I chuck an apron at him, "start chopping the onions."

"Bossy," he mutters.

"Exactly."

ꨄꨄꨄ

"You don't know how to chop onions." I stated.

"Never said I did." He lifted up his arms in mock surrender.

Said onions are not doing great, they look like the giant from jack and the beanstalk crushed it and then had a nap on it.

"Move out of my kitchen."

"Gladly, bossy pants." He tried to ruffle my hair that is tied up in a low bun, but it didn't work in his favor. Ha.

"It's fine it's only the sauce, thank god I didn't let you touch the chicken." I sigh.

"You really are like an old lady." He commented.

"I'm taking that as a compliment." I turn back around so that I can chop up the herbs.

"Good, wasn't meant to be an insult." He leaned against the wooden table.

"Oh, that's nice." I nodded.

"What do you like cooking the most?" He asked.

"I don't really like cooking." I said. "I only do it so that pops doesn't, I like baking."

"That's really considerate of you." He said.

I finished adding all the ingredients into the pot and turned to him.

"He did so much for me, this is the least I could do." I admitted.

"Can I ask you a question?" He queried.

I nod.

"Where are your parents? I mean Walter is your eighty year old grandfather and he's raising you." His question made me freeze.

How to I gently tell someone that both my parents are dead and my grandparents on my fraternal side, who are much younger than pops, don't want anything to do with me?

"They're dead." Is my resolve, I guess it's not a very gentle way to put it but it's the truth.

"Oh I'm sorry, I didn't know." Atlas sheepishly rubbed the back of his neck.

"It's okay," I nod and smile softly at him, "they died when I was really little so I don't really remember them, but I do have my dad's dog tag and my mom's bracelet, so I know they're always with me." I shrug.

"Your dad was in the army?" Atlas asked.

"He was a mariner," I nod.

"I'm sorry for bringing it up," he smiled softly at me.

"It's okay, I like taking about them." I smile over at him.

"How can I help you?" He got up from the bench.

"You can dry the dishes." I stir the sauce.

"Okay," he hesitates for a moment, "if you ever need someone to talk to, you can talk to me." He resolved.

"Thank you, Atlas." I smile brightly at him.

"No problem, also while you were turned to the stove I put my number in your phone and texted myself so I will send you three hundred memes a day." He smiled right back.

"I'm blocking you." I deadpan. I, most certainly, am not.

"Great, thanks." He smiled.

***
Hey, hi, hello.

How are you?

I have no idea why but my fonts aren't working which is weird.

I have such a bad updating schedule so I think I'll start having one.

Maybe every Sunday, what do you think?

Anyhow, have a great day, love ya!

QOTC *insert font arrow here*

Byeeee