Fable (on hiatsu)

6. Grandma Robin

When we got home the sweet smell of cookies and pastries filled our noses. With a happy sigh, I took off my shoes and climbed the stairs in a hurry. Down the hallway and through the door to my bedroom I raced. T'Ko went and sat on the railing overlooking the living room. In a flurry, I pulled off my kimono, and raced back downstairs, passing T'Ko. I skidded into the kitchen, my socks losing all grip on the tiling. I fell splendidly with a loud bang and a mute pain spread across my bum.

Not to be discouraged, I got up in a leap and smiled as I saw Grandma Robin. Her white hair was twisted into a neat little bun and her ageless smile shone like a beacon. I gave her a great hug. It may seem girlish, but I love my Grandma and I had missed her for the past few months she had been at the hospital. She wasn't as frail as she had been then and her skin was a healthy weathered pink colour.

"Why hello, Craft! We all thought you were going to be late! Or you had gotten lost in the woods!" she said, her blue eyes glowing. Not literally, though.

A ways behind her, my family were scattered around the kitchen. Sophie was strewn on a chair, deeply absorbed in a horror movie of some kind, on her phone. Though she wore ear buds, I could still hear the sound of screams of terror and the sound of destruction across the room. Kyuu was as far away from Sophie as she could get without appearing too scared. Hiding behind the counter, her usually peach face as white as a... ghost.

Except ghosts are kind of a smoky blue-gray, but I guess whoever came up with the expression didn't know that. Whatever.

My mom was nowhere to be seen, probably still holed up in her study, trying to finish her manuscript for the upcoming deadline. Dad was in a heated argument with the oven and seemed to be wrestling with it at the same time. I would have offered some help, but knowing him, he would just get even more exasperated and begin to cuss after the infernal machine.

"I was at work, Grandma, I just saw the time and rushed home." I smiled at her, "My co-worker gave me a ride home!"

She looked rather surprised. Putting her arms on her hips, which made her look like a great, big creampuff because of her beige dress, she gave me a look.

"Well that person better be trustworthy!" She huffed "Else I would be very worried for you, Craft!"

"Don't worry about it, he's the most trustworthy person I know, other than you of course," I replied, grinning like a fool. She gave me a secretive grin, the kind only your family can give you.

"So, Craft, any girls in your life now?" She had a horrible, knowing glint in her eyes. My face flushed with embarrassment. I mean Plum isn't that close to me to call a girlfriend-but-we-kinda-like-each-other-I-think-so-anyway-and-I-hope-we-can-be-together-but-thats-kinda-problematic-with-her-being-a-spirit-and-all and, and...

"Well, there is someone I have a thing for...." I muttered under my breath. Talk about an understatement! I like like Plum and I think she does too, but I'm not sure...

"AHA! I knew it!" exclaimed Grandma, in a less than insanely obvious voice. My dad banged his head against the oven-top with a loud BONG~ and a swear. He turned and stared at me like I had grown a third arm. I checked, just to be sure.

Yep, still only two arms.

Funny how dad seems to forget I'm a teenager sometimes. I forget sometimes too. Like when a show I watched when I was a kid passes on TV and I sit and watch it. Then I remember that I'm way too old for this. Then I decide to tell society to go hide in a hole for the next few days as I watch all the reruns.

"You have a girlfriend?" asked the younger sister, finally gaining the attention of the older one.

"Craft has what?!" Sophie yelped giving me a look. I hate it when she does that.

"I do not have a girlfriend. I have someone I like, okay? We're just friends." I tried to convince them. And myself. Don't let your hopes get too high. Ending the conversation, I left the room. I plopped onto a sofa and lay there, staring a hole into the ceiling. Grandma walked over and sat beside me.

"How is the Sight thing going, Craft?" she asked, in a soft voice.

"It's fine. I've been able to See since I was born anyway. I'm pretty used to it, you know."

"No," she whispered, almost to herself, "Since the day you were born..."

"What's the difference?"

"Twenty-four hours." She grinned, almost sadly, at me.

Sometimes I wonder why she speaks like a fortune cookie. Then I accept it.