"The meals we remember most are rarely about the food. They're about the people we shared them with."
The old staircase creaked softly beneath our feet as Mama and I made our way downstairs, the rich aroma of chocolate growing stronger with every step.
By the time we reached the dining room, my stomach had already won the argument.
Our dining table sat near the window, exactly where it had always been. It wasn't the newest piece of furniture in the house—in fact, the varnish had long faded, and tiny scratches covered its surface—but to me, it was perfect. Every mark told a story.
One corner still had a faint dent from the time Zero accidentally dropped Papa's toolbox while insisting he could "fix" a broken chair.
The opposite side bore a thin line carved by my compass during one of my architecture projects. I had spent the entire afternoon panicking, convinced Papa would be furious.
Instead, he'd simply laughed and said, "Now the table has graduated with you."
I smiled at the memory as I pulled out a chair.
"You've been smiling to yourself a lot today," Mama observed while setting two bowls on the table. Steam curled lazily from the freshly cooked champorado, filling the room with a comforting sweetness.
"I have?"
She nodded. "Either you're very happy..."
She placed a spoon beside my bowl before narrowing her eyes playfully.
"...or you're hiding something."
I looked away, pretending to be deeply interested in the basket of toasted pandesal.
"I have no idea what you're talking about."
"Oh?"
Mama rested both hands on the back of the chair across from me.
"So you didn't come home suspiciously late yesterday?"
"I wasn't that late."
"It was almost nine."
"The traffic was terrible."
"The mall is fifteen minutes away."
"...There was a lot of traffic inside the mall."
Mama let out a quiet laugh, the kind that told me she wasn't convinced for even a second.
"I've raised you for twenty years, Zera."
"I know."
"I can tell when you're keeping a secret."
I reached for a piece of pandesal, carefully tearing it in half to let the steam escape.
"It's not a bad secret."
"I figured."
She smiled softly.
"You've never been good at hiding surprises."
That nearly made me laugh.
If only she knew there was a wrapped blue box tucked beneath a pile of sketchbooks upstairs.
I could already picture Zero's face when he opened it.
He'd probably pretend not to cry.
Then cry anyway.
The thought warmed my heart.
Just as I was about to take my first spoonful of champorado, the sound of the front gate rattling open echoed through the house.
A familiar voice followed almost immediately.
"Honey! We're home!"
Papa.
Before either of us could respond, another voice rang out from the front yard.
"Liar!"
I froze.
Then I looked at Mama.
She looked back at me.
"...Zero?" we said at the same time.
"I said I can carry them!" my brother protested from outside.
"And I said being stubborn isn't a personality," Papa replied between bursts of laughter.
"I am not stubborn!"
Mama sighed, though the smile tugging at the corners of her lips suggested she'd heard this exact argument a hundred times before.
"Would you check on them?"
I stood, already laughing.
"I'll save whoever needs saving."
"You mean the groceries?"
"I was actually thinking of Papa."
Mama shook her head with an affectionate smile.
"Go."
The morning breeze greeted me the moment I opened the front door.
Standing at the end of the pathway was Zero.
He had four grocery bags hanging from both arms, his face flushed from the effort. A few damp strands of hair clung to his forehead, and despite trying to stand tall, his shoulders trembled ever so slightly beneath the weight.
Behind him, Papa strolled casually with nothing but a loaf of bread tucked under one arm.
He looked entirely too relaxed.
I blinked.
Then looked at Papa.
Then back at Zero.
"...Papa."
He smiled innocently.
"Yes?"
"Explain."
Papa lifted the loaf of bread as though presenting evidence in court.
"I'm carrying bread."
"I can see that."
"And he's carrying groceries."
"I can also see that."
"So?" I placed both hands on my hips.
"Why does it look like you hired your own son as a delivery service?"
Papa let out a laugh that echoed across the yard.
"I offered to help."
"I declined," Zero interrupted before his father could say another word.
He shifted the grocery bags higher onto his arms, determined not to show even the slightest sign of weakness.
"I told Papa I could do it."
I slowly walked toward him, unable to hide the grin spreading across my face.
"Oh?" He nodded proudly.
"I'm stronger now."
I looked him up and down with exaggerated seriousness. "Hmm..."
"What?"
"I think the grocery bags disagree."
"They do not."
"Really?"
"Really."
As if the universe had perfect comedic timing, one of the plastic bags suddenly slipped from his fingers.
He caught it just in time.
I folded my arms.
"Still confident?"
Zero refused to look at me. "...Maybe a little less confident."
Papa burst into laughter so loudly that even a neighbor watering her plants glanced over before smiling at the three of us.
Without saying another word, I reached for two of the grocery bags.
This time, Zero didn't pull them away.
Instead, he let out the most dramatic sigh I'd ever heard.
"I was going to make it."
"I know," I said with a smile. I nudged his shoulder gently as we walked toward the house together.
"But you don't always have to carry everything by yourself."
For reasons I couldn't explain... He looked at me for a second longer than usual.
Then he smiled. "...Good thing I have you, Ate."
Something about the way he said it settled quietly in my heart.
I smiled back without thinking.
"Always."
None of us knew it then...
But those would become the easiest words I'd ever promise—and the hardest ones I'd ever have to keep.
End of Chapter 2
— IamPrecious —