I woke up feeling extremely confused. My room had a bright orange glow to it and I was overwhelmed by the smell of garlic and tomato sauce permeating through the small crack between the wall and my door. I blinked my eyes a few times and read the clock on my nightstand.
4:38 p.m.
Nice. I turned back over to look out my window. The orange sun was just setting and the sky was a bright shade of pink. It looked as if I had finally converted to Nocturnality.
Memories from last night suddenly came flooding back as I stared at the gaping window. I replayed the image of Harry hopping out, letting out a bitter laugh as he did so. I regretted pushing him so far last night, but it was like I had no control, no mental awareness that was I was doing was reckless. We were both at fault though. He did spit some pretty harsh words at me.
I sighed deeply before rolling out of bed and stretching my arms above my head. I noticed the fully packed duffle bag lying on the floor and cringed with even more regret, sadness, and disappointment.
I decided I should probably head down stairs to assure my parents that I was still alive and somewhat functioning. Also, the wonderful aroma of Italian food was making my empty stomach growl in anguish. I could not remember the last time I had a meal.
When I arrived in the kitchen my mother’s back faced towards me as she chopped an onion. She wore the infamous lavender apron and fluffy slippers.
“Morning,” I yawned and sat down at the small kitchen table.
She gasped loudly and twitched. Her body tensed up before finally turning around to glare at me. “You scared me,” she breathed, “I could have chopped my finger off.”
“Sorry mom.” I offered up an apologetic smile before examining the apples in the bowl on the table. I picked the most appealing one and joined her by the sink to wash it and chop it into wedges. I had this weird inability to bite into fruit unless it was cut. Something about it skeeved me out.
“What are you cooking?” I asked as I leaned against the counter and nibbled on one of the apple slices.
“Well, I had this idea,” she began. Her voice rose in excitement over this simple question. “I decided to make the breaded chicken breasts like you love, but put some Parmesan cheese over the top of it and then bake it. I’m going to top it all off with some homemade tomato sauce and a sprinkle of more Parmesan.”
I stared at her quizzically while I finished chewing. “So chicken Parm?”
Her eyes flicked back and forth between the cutting board and the stove until something finally clicked. “Yeah I guess that is what I’m making,” she sighed in defeat, “I thought I was being inventive or something.”
“That’s okay mom,” I laughed, “I’m sure whatever you make it will be lovely.”
She smiled at me softly before returning to her task of chopping ingredients.
“Where’s dad?” I asked. “Wait—don’t tell me. The hardware store?”
She laughed, “How did you know?”
“It’s like his second home. I swear he spends more time there than here.”
“You’re telling me.” She grinned.
We talked about my father and his crazy obsession with power tools for a few minutes until she precipitously changed the subject.
“Listen Waverly,” she sighed as she dumped the contents of the cutting board into a buttered skillet. She waited for the loud sizzling sound to settle down before continuing. “We should talk about last night.”
YOU ARE READING
Neverland
Fanfiction"There could not have been a lovelier sight; but there was none to see it except a little boy who was staring in at the window. He had ecstasies innumerable that other children can never know; but he was looking through the window at the one joy fro...
