"I'm home."
Usually, when I get home, I don't say anything. I just go in silently, and my parents will always have that shocked expression of 'when did you get home?'
But I just felt like changing it up today. As I've grown older, I've been experiencing this more often. Sometimes you just get this sudden burst of motivation to try something new.
It's a pain.
"Ah! This is rare! What's wrong with you today?!"
As I walked into the living room, Dad was doing his usual evening stretches when he noticed me. His eyes and mouth were comically wide open as he stared at me—almost like he was looking at a stranger.
There's no way my saying 'I'm home' is that big of a deal.
Mom, who was in the kitchen, turned around, her smile just slightly more mechanical than it usually was.
"Welcome… home?" Her normally angelic, soothing voice was now tinged with a faint sense of confusion—though there was a bit of happiness mixed in.
If it were Dad, I could brush it off. He's always joking around and being overdramatic. But Mom too? Then maybe it was more strange than I thought.
Even so, I continued moving into the living room as if nothing was wrong. "You don't need to be so overdramatic. I just wanted to change it up a bit—don't get used to it."
Dad chuckled. "Hah! Don't worry, I won't. I'll probably forget about it in a couple of hours."
Well, at least he's self-aware about it.
Mom sighed, giving Dad a piercing glare that made him let out a pathetic, high-pitched yelp.
"I-I won't forget it until the day I die! It's a once-in-a-lifetime occasion after all!" he said, scrambling to correct himself.
I didn't know what was worse—Dad's neglect or Mom's overattachment.
"How about you guys just be normal…" I murmured.
I knew that was an impossible request, though. I don't think our family even has what it takes to be normal anymore.
"Yeah, that's not happening," Dad snorted. "Anyway…"
He abruptly stopped his stretches and walked over to the closet we had next to the doorway. That closet was usually used for storing winter gear—jackets, snowpants, skates, snowboards, and other things like that. We were in the middle of spring and approaching summer, so I had no clue what he could be searching for.
He opened the closet and searched around until he found what he was looking for. He stuck his hand inside and pulled out a long, bulky black tarp cover that had a silver zipper running down the center.
"Tadaaaa!" he exclaimed with a childish grin, basically showing it off.
I narrowed my eyes. I had no clue what I was supposed to be looking at. I wasn't some genius. I couldn't figure out what was inside the tarp, even if I tried.
"...I don't know what that is."
Dad snickered, shaking his head. "My dear Son… that's the surprise! You have to guess!"
I get wanting to play a quick game with your kid and everything, but I just wanted to get this over with.
"No."
Dad frowned. "Ughhhh, fineeee."
He grabbed the top of the zipper and pulled it down. The tarp opened outwards, revealing the garment bag hidden inside. Dad gently placed the tarp on the floor like it was a newborn baby and grabbed the coat out.
I let out an involuntary, impressed whistle. It was a long, black trench coat laced with what looked like a high-class blue fabric on the inside.
Granted, we are approaching summer, so I didn't know why he'd buy something like this now when he couldn't even wear it. But purely in a fashion sense, it looked pretty good.
Actually… it looked like it'd fit my tastes perfectly. Dad usually had terrible fashion sense, so I never bothered to take his clothes—but there might be an exception now.
I felt a devilish grin tug on the corners of my lips, but I suppressed it and kept my detached facade.
I walked over to the trench coat and ran my finger along its surface, feeling the luxurious material against my skin.
Hmmmm. Not bad.
"So, why did you get this now? It's summer," I asked, confused.
"That there lies the secret!" Dad said, his chest puffed out. "It was on sale! That's why I bought it! Winter clothes always go on sale when it's summer because no one buys them. So, I took it upon myself to take advantage of it!"
I didn't know whether to call it smart or dumb for falling for such a classic corporate scheme. But… it isn't my problem anyway.
"Here, try it on!" he said, offering me the coat.
I acted reluctant at first, but he kept egging me on, so I had no choice but to do as he said.
As I slid my arms into the sleeves, I realized that the fit was uncanny. It was as if the coat had been specifically tailored for my frame.
A happy grin crossed Dad's face as he nodded in approval. "Yeah! It looks good on you—not as good as it did on me, but not bad."
Mom, who was preparing dinner, stopped what she was doing and stepped into the living room. Her smile widened in an uncharacteristic girlish awe the moment she saw me.
"Oh, my God! My Son looks so good in that!"
If this were anyone else, I'd brush it off. Especially if it's your Mom. They'd praise their kid for wearing anything. And mine was no exception.
At least—that was until I hit middle school and developed my own fashion sense. My Mom actually hates my fashion sense and complains about it all the time.
So for this much at least, I could genuinely trust her opinion.
Mom pulled out her phone and aimed the camera at me. "Son, give me a smile!"
Is she really trying to take a picture of me...?
"Uhhh, but I don't want–"
Her grip on her phone tightened, and her face darkened slightly—an eerie contrast to her bright smile. "Shut up. Hurry up."
Yikes. Guess I have no choice.
I shot Dad a glance, hoping that he'd come to my aid. He shrugged and chuckled.
I internally clicked my tongue.
You can't even defend your Son? I see how it is.
I sighed, shoved my hands into the pockets, and struck a half-hearted pose.
Mom squealed, the shutter clicking in rapid-fire bursts. Apparently, one photo wasn't enough.
I don't understand why Moms have this urge to take pictures of everything. It shouldn't be that serious.
"Okay, all done!"
I let out a breath of relief. Thank God…
Once the photoshoot was done, Dad walked over to me and stuck out his hand.
I looked at it before tilting my head in pure ignorance. "What are you doing?"
Dad's brows furrowed into a playful, yet annoyed crease. "What does it look like I'm doing? You had your fun, now give it back to me."
The devilish grin that I had been holding back finally broke free. His eyes widened as he realized what was going on.
Suddenly, his hand shot toward me—but he was too slow. I had already stepped back, my hands still in the coat pockets.
"Yeah, sorry, Old Man. But I think I'll be keeping it."
Dad scoffed and closed the distance between us in a mock-intimidating step. "Excuse me?! That's… mine! I bought it with my—money! So you can get your own!"
Even though he was yelling, his speech broke a few times as he struggled to contain his laughter—so I wasn't scared.
Also, this was a useless argument. The jacket was mine the moment I tried on on. But its fate was sealed when…
"Stop yelling. That jacket belongs to my Son now. Get another one."
A dominant, sweet, yet overbearing voice suddenly cut between us.
We both turned toward the voice—toward Mom.
Mom didn't bother to look at us as she continued scrolling through the photos she had just taken on her phone.
Dad's face portrayed a look of pure shock as he stared at his Wife that had just betrayed him. "B-but it's mine–"
"Okay? And I said get another one," Mom interrupted. "He's your Son, you're supposed to give it up for him. Stop being a crybaby."
This battle ended the moment it began. No matter how much Dad protested, once Mom decided something, it was final.
Dad stared at her, then at me, like he couldn't believe what was happening.
Maybe a part of me would have felt bad—if not for the occasional broken, suppressed laughs that slipped from his mouth.
He took a deep breath, ready to say something. But before he could speak, the sound of heavy footsteps descending the stairs filled the room.
All three of us turned. Even Mom, who had been on her phone this whole time, had set it down.
Slowly, the fourth and final figure of the house joined us in the living room.
Long black hair that seemed to absorb all light around it that resembled mine. An oversized gray T-shirt—that was also mine.
And an angry, yet playful scowl.
"Behold!" She raised her hand dramatically and pointed to Mom. "I, Lily! Will settle this debate once and for all!"