Thε Spαrklε Tooƒus (ACT I: Fall Term) ✓

thirty-one

Bon Appetit

"Yo."

With one word, he managed to knock the breath out of me. What was he doing here? Why was he smiling at me so sheepishly, obviously seeing the shock that must be written all over my face? And most of all - why did I feel like jumping across the front porch and giving him a hug?

Before I could get a chance to do that, I felt my father's presence behind me.

"Damien!" he seemed just as surprised to see my friend, but didn't hesitate in opening the door wider and welcoming him in. "Makayla, where are your manners? It's awfully chilly out there."

Although Damien gave my father an appreciated smile, his eyes were still fixed on mine, searching my face for an answer to how exactly I felt at his sudden visit. My silence rubbed off on him the wrong way as he held up a hand at my father and shook his head slowly, shame settling into his features.

"N-no, sir. Forgive me. I don't wish to impose."

"What are you talking about? The more, the merrier! Isn't that right, Makayla?"

I could hear the threat in dad's voice. Something along the lines of 'if you don't invite him in, I will ground you'. My dad was genuine in his invitation, and although I didn't mind Damien showing up on our doorstep minutes before Thanksgiving dinner commenced, I sure had a bad way of showing it.

Wordlessly, I nodded and stepped back to allow more room for Damien to enter. I could feel his eyes on me as he passed through the doorway before turning to thank my dad.

"No problem son. Coincidentally enough, we have an extra place setting," he chimed, pointing at the dining table. "Didn't I tell you, May?" my dad winked in my direction. Damien didn't say anything but merely watched the exchange, taking off his coat and scarf.

"I'll take those," I spoke quietly. I knew he was waiting for me to say more than just that but what did he want to hear? What did I want to say in the first place? My dad continued his conversation with Damien as I hung his coat and scarf on the coat-stand near the front door.

"Hush. We don't mind the extra dinner guest. We're more than glad to have you here. Makayla's cooked up such a big meal that I'm happy there's a third belly for it to feed."

Dad was drawing out the chair for Damien to sit, playing the role of a great host. I went past the two of them to the kitchen to grab an extra soup bowl for Damien when dad asked the question that had been plaguing my mind.

"No family dinner at your place, Damien?"

I couldn't see Damien's face having turned my back on the two to rummage through the cupboard but could make out the slight hesitation in his voice as he answered.

"N-no sir." he paused before continuing, allowing his voice to slip into a perfectly composed tone. "My dad and I don't usually celebrate as he's usually busy with work even during the holidays."

"What about Jessie?" I asked, walking out of the kitchen and set the bowl in front of Damien. His green eyes lit up in surprise at my question. "She's your cousin right? Surely, your aunt and uncle would have invited you."

"They did but..." he muttered, then shrugged. "I'm not exactly close to them so they might have felt awkward with me crashing in on their Thanksgiving dinner."

I narrowed my eyes at Damien. He was lying. That, or he was cunningly mixing in fact with the smaller half of the truth that he didn't want to say. Nevertheless, this wasn't the time to interrogate him. Heaven knows what would happen if I tried that again. Pressing my lips together into a straight line, I begun to serve us all the starter on my menu.

"Well, you're always welcome here Damien," my dad said, flashing him a broad smile. There was an awful lot of sympathy embedded in his voice and I wasn't at all fazed to hear it.

Through his bonding session with Damien the time when he'd caught a cold, dad had learned what I already knew: that Damien never got to know his mother who had passed away when he was a young boy, and that his father's profession as a lawyer kept him quite busy. Since then, he never failed to ask me how Damien was doing whenever he returned home from work. It was one thing Damien and I had in common, I had discovered - a parent whose job kept them busy. On the nights that I had enough energy to stay up and wait for dad to return home, I would wonder if Damien's dad was like mine. If his dad didn't let his job get in the way of maintaining a good relationship with his son. I was thankful that my dad loved me the way he did, and could only hope that Damien was on the receiving ends of such affection at his home too.

My eyes lingered on his longer than they should have as I handed him his bowl. It was still there in the green that filled up his orbs, a cold emptiness, a space waiting to be filled. But in an instance, it was covered by a smile as the dark green shone brighter.

"Thank you May," he spoke softly, looking down at the soup swimming in his bowl. "This looks delicious, as does the rest of the food on the table. What is it you've cooked?"

"Oh um," my eyes scanned over the meal I had spent hours making. "The soup I've made is curried butternut squash. That's green pea salad, dad's favorite. Extra buttery mashed potatoes, also made per dad's taste. Cranberry sauce in that bowl, and well," I gestured at the turkey, "a traditional oven-roasted turkey."

Damien licked his lips, positively drooling at everything set on the table. I fought a smile and sat down on my seat, right next to Damien's with dad on the other side of the table directly opposite us.

"Sounds delicious."

"Tastes it too," my dad complimented, having taken a purposefully loud slurp from his soup. "And don't forget the dessert."

"Oh, right. There's pumpkin pie in the kitchen which I'll serve later."

Damien stared at me, eyes wide in awe.

"What?" I asked, starting to blush.

"Nothing. I just didn't know you could cook." And as if to prove his point, he took an exceptionally large sip out of his bowl and released a satisfied hum.

"I'm glad you like it," I said and turned to focus on enjoying my own portion, trying to fight the blush that was making its way to my cheeks (and failing miserably). From there on, the evening started to pick up. Conversation filled the dinner table, mostly between my dad and Damien as I watched, listened, and from time to time, helped serve the food. Unbeknownst to Damien, I kept sneaking in secret glances to judge his reaction to my cooking. And with every smile and compliment he gave, my spirit rose higher.

With him here, Thanksgiving dinner felt more perfect than it possibly ever could. 

--------------------CHAPTER END---------------------

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