Mikaal

44: Mikaal

"The washing is never going to dry at this rate!"

Although her mother's 'complaining voice' was one she habitually tuned out, Dalia looked up from her plate of pasta, recognising her chance. "The weather hasn't been that bad," she said nonchalantly.

"Easy for you to say. You don't do anything around the house."

Dalia dodged her mother's attempts to push her buttons and maintained her composure. "Nah, seriously, we've had pretty clear days for winter. In fact, the weather was so nice I went to the beach the other day."

Her mother dropped her fork with a clank. "What?"

Her father and brother had also stopped to look at her, initially with startled expressions before they quickly turned to her mother.

Dalia fought hard to suppress a smile. Funny how when she expected it, her family's reaction was actually amusing. It was like watching a rerun of a TV sitcom. And so in her head, she counted down, 'Three, two—'

"Are you crazy! What are you doing, going, what—" Her mother caught her breath as she stumbled over her words. "Why the beach? The beach is dangerous!"

'Time for the popcorn,' Dalia thought, but playing her part, she rolled her eyes. "Mum, you're being ridiculous."

"What are you doing at the beach? Stay away from the beach!" Her mother's tone had turned high-pitched.

Dalia met her mother's flustered gaze, her tone calm as she said, "You're not making any sense. The beach is serene, beautiful. People meditate there..."

Her mother cast her eyes over to her father, her expression desperate. She had picked up her fork again, her knuckles white from her tight grip.

"Sweetheart, you're not, uh, swimming...in this weather?" Her father's tone was cautious, measured.

Dalia raised an eyebrow. "Swimming? Dad, it's winter." She glanced from father to mother, then her eyes rested on Daveth. "Do you all think something's wrong with my head?"

This was her brother's cue—his opportunity to give her a hard time. But as expected, again, silence and nervous glances around the table.

Unable to subdue her grin any longer, Dalia stabbed the last coils of pasta adorned with speckles of basil pesto, chewed hurriedly and swallowed, then she broke into the widest smile. "Well, Mum, thanks for a delicious dinner. I've got an early start tomorrow to—" She stopped herself. They didn't need to know. It's not like she needed their permission. She picked up her dirty dishes and popped them in the dishwasher before disappearing into the hallway that led to her room.

About to push open her door, she stopped, curiosity prodding her on the shoulder. She quietly tip-toed back and leaned against the concrete wall just next to the opening to their living and dining areas before straining her ears.

Their voices were hushed, but thanks to her supersonic hearing, she could just make out their words.

"Darling..."

"Yeah, Mum, do you think she remembers?"

"Shush. Let's not talk about it now. She might..."

"Shouldn't we just—"

"No." Her mother's tone was resolute.

Loud sighs were let out before the table turned quiet.

When it seemed the rest of dinner would be in silence, Dalia returned to her music-filled room, turned off her speaker and threw herself on her bed. She stared at the ceiling and chuckled to herself. 'Ardelle's right,' she thought. 'That was actually fun.' It was more than fun—for the first time since her world was turned upside down, she felt at peace, content in the knowledge that she was back in control. It was funny how such a tiny shift in her thinking could lead to a huge change in her mood.