Part Jeans: Jeans' Part
"Once again, Jeans. The third note of the chorus is off. Start all over again."
Since I can remember.
"What? Oh, no. I was talking to my daughter."
Mom kept talking to someone on the phone and stirring the hot coffee in the cup.
I don't even remember how old I was at the time. I just know that I turned around and asked a sweet voice of a person walking around in a flustered manner.
"Mom, can you please not go anywhere yet?"
Hearing only that, the person who was restrained sighed with an annoyed expression, walking over and speaking in a fierce voice next to the piano.
"Mother's Day means its Mom day, Jeans. Don't you feel sorry for your mom who's been working so hard and wants to rest? Your dad will be back in the evening."
"..."
"Auntie Chai will make lunch for you. Mom has a reservation at the hair salon."
Aunt Chai is a housekeeper taking care of the kitchen. Mom picked up the phone and spoke to someone on the line after finding the leather bag on the table.
I didn't continue playing the piano, I forgot which part the song was playing to. All I could do was stare at the owner's back today, knowing deep in my heart that it would be useless to whine. At that moment, I felt suspicious.
Mom and Dad, how long will they be like this?
Will there be a day when the fatigue that mother spoke of will end and they will stay with me for a long time?
And when I grow up, will I become like that too?
"Young lady, the cookies I baked are done."
Aunt Chai's daughter's came over and told me about the cookies I asked her to teach me how to make. I mixed them myself, but I just asked her to help me bake them because I didn't know how to use the oven. What a pity! No one was there to eat them.
"Sister Fai,"
I turned away from the piano and looked up at the older person.
"Sister Fai, do you think the cookies will still taste good until Dad gets home?"
"Of course, young lady. The cookies that were given as New Year's gifts were made several days ago. They still taste good when they reach us."
"That's right."
I must have been too young to clap my hands in delight when I heard that.
"Thank you, Auntie."
"Yes"
.
.
5:35 p.m.
They said today is a public holiday, but my dad just flew back from overseas, so someone at school said today is a holiday, they lied to me.
In this world, I was glad to see two cars standing in line at the entrance: my mother's white BMW, which she often drove to work or wherever she went, and a jet-black Benz that someone would drive to pick up and drop off my father.
The driver was someone under my mother's care. Even though my father was not yet a high-ranking official at that time, because the surname was transferred to my mother's side, everything changed.
"Dad, do you want some cookies?"
"Wait, Jeans."
Dad walked past me, up the stairs, exhaustedly removing his suit. I watched him walk into the room.
