aurora
It was saturday once again and the sun was shining through the windows of my house. due to it being early in the morning it's warmth was very prompt through the front windows of the kitchen. i was in a good mood and that caused my desire for pancakes. it also gave me the easy decision to make some for the people in my house as well. i stood on the tiled floor barefoot and my legs shown.
the only thing i consisted of was a big that fit mid thigh. there were strands of my hair falling from my bun in the process of cooking food. i hummed softly along to the music i played on my phone. my father was the first one down the steps and rubbed his eyes when yawning. he lets his eyes scan the room and i offered him a sweet smile in return once his sight fell on me. "morning." i say and he furrows his brows but walks a little closer to me and gazes over the plate of eggs, bacon, and batch of pancakes i was now cooking.
"you're making breakfast?" his voice is mixed with confusion and surprising tones. i scoff still having a grin placed on my lips from his words.
"yeah, i was hungry and i'm not that selfish to just make for myself." i say although now that i think of it, i totally would if i was in another mood. yet somehow today was a different day and i was ignited with this energy of contentment.
"okay, well, that's very nice of you sweetheart." he states and i let my smile grow a little from his comment.
"no problem and i was going to make platano maduros, queso frito, and fried salami but apparently we haven't been down the goya isle in awhile." i state and my father chuckled from my words when i flip some pancakes over.
"your brother got some awhile and i think he ate it all if i'm being honest. i would get it myself but i don't know how to." he explains and i smile from what he speaks of. my father has grown accustomed to some parts of spanish. my mother was the one who taught us of the language and our father more of english when were little. but mostly she gave us the gift of being bilingual.
the hispanic culture was always very taught in the household. i was always grateful for that. ( quick author's note but same here ;-) for all the hispanics reading this i luv you! oh and p.s i'm puerto rican, dominican, and ecuadorian if you were wondering a quick fact about me ) however as my dad says this it causes the uprising of my brother and i hear his footsteps down the stairs that were similar to my father's.
his hair is messy and his eyes are droopy from just being awake. however i don't pay much mind to the look of muddled features that was painted on his face. "speak of the devil." my father voices as i gaze at the food i make now.
"dad, you made breakfast?" his question causes me to turn my head to finally gape at him again. my father shakes his head and takes a piece of bacon and puts a piece in his mouth.
"no your sister did." he says after a couple seconds of chewing. jude then glances over to me and begins to walk over to where i stand. he then stares at the stove and nods with a smile.
"nice, thanks sis." he says and rubs my head to mess up my hair purposely. i groan in response to his actions. he only laughs and i suck my teeth when placing finished pancakes on a plate.
"eres un puto." i scold and jude laughs a little harder when he opens a cabinet to reach for a mug. i assume he wants coffee and it makes me cringe from the thought of it. i always despised the taste of it.
"hey, aurora! watch your language. your mom never taught me spanish but i sure as hell know what that means. she's called me that enough times in my life." i faintly smile at his words and was about to say something about it to defend myself. yet i am interrupted once the doorbell rings causing all of us to look at one another unaware of who could be ringing our doorbell at this moment.
