The Girl with Cherry Earrings | ✔

14

I took a step out of Dad's navy blue Honda Civic, finding myself face-to-face with the tiny bungalow of Grandpa and Grandma.

Self-consciously straightening my back, I knocked my knuckles gently against the faded gray doorway.

"My Little Prince! Quel surprise! Comment ça va?"

After a minute, Grandma appeared in the doorway, kindly beckoning for me to come in. Her short gray hair was parted evenly across the middle of her forehead, and she wore a floral patterned shirt paired with casual maroon sweatpants.

I was surprised she held onto that nickname.

"Ça va bien," I replied, giving her a friendly nod of acknowledgement as I took a step into the home. "Et toi?"

With a wide smile of what looked like satisfaction, she watched me intently as I slid off my navy blue sneakers, placing them gently beside her pointed leather flats on the very top of the shoe rack.

"Quand tu es ici, tout va bien mon chéri!" she finally responded, grinning wider than ever. "Alors, did you eat yet Little Prince?"

"Yeah, I ha-"

"D'accord, let your grandma fix something up for you."

With slight hesitation, I followed Grandma as she began walking down the hall.

My eyes wandered over the many paintings hanging over the plain whitewashed walls, adorning them with beautiful pictures of blooming cherry blossoms, clouded mountains and small, orange spotted koi fish. Each highlighted the other side of the family, expressing the Chinese culture that came from Grandpa and his ancestors.

But the most amazing thing about them was the fact that each and every one of them had familiar characters on the bottom, 郭 全, representing none other than Grandpa himself, the painter of the pieces.

Speaking of Grandpa, I couldn't help but think of him as I sat down on one of the chairs circling the kitchen table, a creak erupting from one of the shabby wooden legs the moment I did.

"Where's Grandpa?" I asked, turning my attention towards Grandma who was busy cooking over the stove.

"He's in his room. But don't dwell on it little prince, il est seulement un petit peu fatigué. He'll be here soon."

Just a few moments later, I heard another chair squeal beside me.

"Tu vas bien Maman?" Dad asked, his voice ending the comfortable silence beginning to settle among the kitchen.

"Oui mon chéri...As-tu contacter Sara?"

The air seemed to hang still as a tense stillness engulfed the kitchen.

I stiffened at the sound of the name.

"Sara" set off many bells in my mind, and quite frankly, I wasn't in the mood of thinking about Mom.

After a few seconds, Dad finally spoke up, his voice hinted with shame.

"Non..."

"Tu devriez le faire Leon. Toujours fait face aux conséquences."

Pouring what looked like some sort of soup into a white bowl smothered in vivid blue swirls, she shot Dad a "look", handing me the bowl along with a silver spoon.

Sensing the tension in the air, I dipped my head, concentrating on the lumpy grayish liquid sitting in my bowl.

I sucked in a breath, sinking my spoon into it.

Judging from the way it looked, I'd say it was a hybrid of both congee and oatmeal. The old, distant cousin of rice pudding maybe. But then again, my gut told me it was oatmeal.