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001. Roots Of The Tree
THE sweet smell of pancakes wafted through the hallway from the kitchen, tingling Priscilla's senses as she descended the staircase. The loud slap of her flip-flops against her wooden tiles announced her presence, along with her tired voice which was ━ unsurprisingly ━ arguing down the phone.
As Priscilla walked into the kitchen, she found her little sister, Wheezie, and step-mother, Rose, sat together on the island, happily eating their pancakes as the summer sun beamed through the open windows. "Yes, fifteen minutes." Priscilla spoke to the person on the other side of the phone. Her voice was somewhat stressed and bothered, an obvious tiredness evident on her freckled face. "See you soon ━ yes, okay ━ bye-bye."
"Who was that?" Wheezie asked curiously. Wheezie was always the inquisitive type, wanting to know all the gossip and drama surrounding her siblings life. Being the youngest of three, she wasn't allowed much freedom when looking at parties and going out and had partially strict curfews, most of which were set by her siblings themselves. Wheezie sure as Hell looked up to Priscilla, but nothing could excuse the older girl's ridiculous rules that she had set in place.
"Zach," Priscilla told her through a huff. She put her phone on the counter face down, making sure the ringer was on before doing so. She noticed the pile of pancakes on the table, the taste already brewing on the tip of her tongue as she gazed over the assortment of fruit and toppings. "Any going spare?"
"All yours, sweet girl." Rose smiled softly, watching her step-daughter carefully. Rose and Priscilla had an . . . interesting relationship to say the least. Surprisingly, Priscilla got on better with Rose than she did with her actual father. Unlike Ward, Rose noticed. From the smallest to the most obvious of things, whenever there was a small fraction of Priscilla's usual spark missing, Rose began an island stretched search to get it back. Despite her mother-like tendencies and warm tenderness, Priscilla would never be able to call Rose her mother. That spot was already taken, whether it was physically vacant or not, it had been reserved since the first light of her life was shed.
Priscilla gave her thanks through a girlish smile. She drenched her pancakes in honey and filled them with fresh fruit, the colours of the ripe bananas, big blueberries and crimson strawberries painting a picture on the fine china plate. Wheezie giggled at her sisters ravenous acts, the unlady like manner in which she stuffed her face with food and sipped her orange juice like there was no tomorrow. Rose, who looked slightly concerned, spoke up cautiously; "Slow down, Cilla, you don't want indigestion."
Wheezie snickered, earning a playful nudge from Priscilla. In return, Wheezie slapped her back with her foot. "What are you doing with Mr Spencer today then?"
"Mr Spencer?" Priscilla coughed, both shocked and confused by Wheezie's odd choice of words. She sat from her seat and began washing her plate, making sure every spec of a crumb was no longer visible. "God, you're weird, Wheeze."
