A deafening silence came over us, causing both of us to hang our heads—as if hiding from something that wasn't even there.
It was hard to imagine that just a moment ago—although I'd never admit this aloud—my sister and I were actually having fun.
I took a glance at her from the corner of my eye. She had gone completely still, like the life had been drained out of her body. A part of me even felt bad for her—kind of—seeing how shaken up she looked.
Still grasping the blanket, I lightly threw it at her, snapping her out of her daze.
She stumbled back slightly due to the impact and clutched the blanket tightly with both hands. She didn't say anything. But in this case—the silence told me more than anything she could have said.
I swallowed hard and put a sarcastic grin on my face. "If you keep living with a face like that, you'll become a wrinkly old lady before you know it. You're not gonna get a boyfriend like that, so stop."
She slowly looked up at me, still holding onto the blanket for dear life. But it looked like her skin had regained a little bit of its flush.
She tried putting on a little smile of her own. "Y- you don't have to tell me that! I know that already…"
It came off as a bit meek, but it was better to put in some effort than none at all. Still...
You are so much more annoying when you act like this, you know that?
I slowly lifted my hand and flicked her on the forehead.
"Ow!" she cried, rubbing her forehead. "What was that for?!"
I shrugged. "Just felt like it."
"That's not fair! Let me have a turn too!"
Her hand flung toward me, but I stepped away from it and swiftly retreated from her room. Every step I took felt like wisps of ice tearing through my skin, but that was fine. At the very least, she seemed to be doing better.
I made my way into my room and got changed, carefully picking out which clothes I should wear. I was quite into fashion, if I did say so myself. Not to the extent that I wear exotic clothes with peacock feathers on them, thinking I'm the most beautiful man alive, but enough where I'm not satisfied wearing one of those discount graphic t-shirts. I opened my closet and took out a large grey-white hoodie, baggy fit jeans, a light blue jacket, a silver dangly cross earring, and put them all on.
After finishing, I exited my room and made my way downstairs. With each step I took, I felt the weight on my shoulders growing heavier and heavier. But at the same time, my face grew more and more relaxed, as if the muscles had loosened up completely.
With a small smile, I finally arrived at the living room.
Dad stood at the center of the living room, doing his daily morning stretches. For someone so small, he took up an annoying amount of space whenever he did. Then, I shifted my attention toward the kitchen. Mom was currently in the middle of making him breakfast. She usually only made breakfast for him since neither my sister nor I ate breakfast.
Noticing me arrive at the living room, Dad stopped what he was doing and greeted me with a beaming, childish smile.
I didn't like being stared at, but I tried to ignore it at first. It was much easier not to say anything than to speak up.
I waited a few seconds, but his gaze never left me. And worst of all—he never said anything.
Unable to take it any longer, I asked, somewhat as a joke: "What are you looking at, Old Man?"
Dad let out a loud, obnoxious laugh. "Hihihihihi, I am only 47 years old. I am not old yet," he said with quite a heavy accent.
My parents were immigrants, so they were not too fluent in the language we spoke here. And when they did speak it, they struggled to say the words cohesively. It's honestly kind of funny and… cute? At least, that's the wording my sister uses.
"There are some cakes in the fridge if you want some," he added.
I had a little bit of a sweet tooth, so the moment I heard that, I hurriedly went to the fridge. After grabbing a slice along with a fork, I made my way over to the dinner table and took a seat where I usually did—which was the very far right corner.
After finishing his stretches, Dad took his usual seat next to me. "So, was everything all right up there? You didn't bother your sister too much, did you?"
"You don't have to keep doting on her," I stated flatly, taking a bite of my cake. "She's 15 years old now. She can handle herself."
Dad raised an eyebrow at me, as if I had just said something preposterous. "Of course, I will spoil my daughter. She's my daughter!"
I stopped for a moment, then let out a soft, overdramatic sigh. "You don't have to rub it in that you love her more than me. I already know that."
Of course, it was just a joke—even if I said monotonously. The joke seemed to fly over his head, however, as he looked at me with a hurt, pained expression. But that only lasted a moment, as the next time I blinked, he was already laughing again. If I didn't know any better, I would've thought a coyote was nearby. It was infuriating how contagious that laughter is. Any poker face alive wouldn't be able to stand strong in the presence of that laugh.
"I never said that," he protested. "I love you both the same!"
"Yeah, yeah, whatever."
By the time we finished talking, Mom had just finished preparing Dad's breakfast. She briskly made her way to the table and set it down for him. After giving her a quick thank you and a kiss on the cheek, he began eating.
With the end of the conversation, I returned to eating my cake.