Sitting on the plastic chair with his hands resting peacefully on the high armrests, Jesse tore his attention away from Mdachi and Jarold and focused on the two minions to his left: Tini and Tola. They had been incessantly giggling and mumbling for a while—deliberately, it seemed—to irk him and draw his attention.
"Can you just stop that already?" His voice came out cold and edged with irritation.
Tola paused the game, set the console on her lap, crossed her arms, and turned to Jesse. She was sitting closer to him than Tini.
"No!" she shot back bluntly.
"Excuse me?" Jesse retorted, mildly shocked. He had expected them to be at least a little compliant, considering it was his console they were playing on.
"She said no, Jesse," Tini chimed in calmly, her tone laced with casual defiance. "And I second her. Let us just play, will you? You already had your turn."
Tola pouted, raising her brows at Jesse in amused agreement before making a mocking face that exaggerated his helplessness.
Glaring at them with boiling fury, Jesse gripped the armrests tightly, restraining himself from saying or doing something everyone might regret.
"Oh, so the big bad wolf is huffing and puffing now?" Tola teased, eyes glinting with mischief. "What are you gonna do, huh? Growl at the two little piggies?"
But Jesse didn't respond. He simply looked between them with a shallow smile, then turned away, directing his gaze elsewhere.
Tola felt flustered. Why didn't the hornets come out to sting her? Should she poke the hive a little harder? She parted her lips. "Jesse—"
Tini stopped her, holding her shoulder. "Let him be," she advised quietly. "Let's just go back to killing the zombies, shall we?"
Tola sighed, nodded with a small smile, then handed the console to her sister. The two resumed their game.
Noticing they were back to playing—and blessedly less distractive—Jesse redirected his focus to Jarold and Mdachi. He watched them grill the steaks with chef-like precision, Jarold patiently teaching Mdachi how to ensure the meat was evenly cooked inside, tender and juicy, perfectly marinated in that custom-refined barbecue sauce that gave it a soul-debauching, mind-blowing flavor.
He admired their indulgence—their bonding. He'd admired it enough to want to join them, but he wasn't quite cut out for it yet. "If Jenevive hears about you joining us, we'll be roast," they had joked earlier. To spare them the trouble, Jesse had chosen to sit back and watch instead.
"Hey, guys," Edward's voice suddenly broke through as he came down the porch, a tray full of teacups carefully balanced in his hands.
Jesse's attention immediately snapped toward him.
"We thought we could bring you some fine-quality tea samples as a refreshment to help…" Edward's brain scrambled for words. He came up with, "To help quench your thirst under this unbearably scorching yellow burning ball of gases in the sky."
He walked over to the large table—neatly set with utensils, flowers, snackish delicacies, and other feast-like paraphernalia—and placed the tray on it.
Several chairs were missing: those of the women, who were seated near the shed chatting away, and those of the three kids, who sat adorably close to each other a safe distance from the grill, the two girls completely absorbed in their game.
Edward leaned on one of the remaining chairs, hand on his waist, as his gaze lingered on the table. The spread looked excessive—and somehow inappropriate—considering they had just come from Hallington's funeral.
"I don't think they heard you, Edu," Anita remarked quietly as she set the last cup and the sugar jar beside the tray.
She rubbed her eye, glanced around, and spoke again. "Edward," she called out sharply.
He spun to her. "Hm?"
"I said they didn't hear you."
"Well… I did," Jesse announced suddenly, appearing from nowhere.
He picked up a bagel from a plate, leaned on the table with his elbows, and glanced around. "The others just seem too engrossed in their indulgence to care," he said, taking a bite.
"Well, that's just obvious," Edward replied, disappointment coloring his tone. He crossed his arms, surveying the compound. "And sad," he added.
"Shouldn't you, like, try to call again or something?" Anita suggested.
"No need," came Renee's voice from behind them.
They both startled.
"Aunt Renee," Edward began awkwardly. "Uh—when did you—"
"Get up and walk here? Right about now." She reached forward, grabbed a shrimp, and popped it into her mouth. "Mmm. Tasty."
"Aunt Renee," Edward said, gesturing toward the table, "when and how did all this end up here?" His tone wasn't exactly thrilled.
"Hmmm," Renee licked her fingertips. "You don't seem too happy about it."
Edward stayed silent, staring at her.
"Fine," Renee sighed. "Some of it was ordered and arrived while you guys were upstairs. The rest, as you know, was just from the house."
"What I meant was—"
"To ask why we have all this here?" she cut in, her tone softening but still stern. "Edward, I… we—"
"You?" Edward pressed.
"We were just honoring one of Hallington's death wishes," Miridald stepped in gently.
They turned to her.
Edward grimaced.
Oblivious to his reaction, Miridald reached for a shrimp and took a bite.
"Mmm… mm… mmmm," she hummed, savoring the taste with her eyes closed. Opening them again, she looked at Renee. "Delicioso, sizi. Do tell—ulininunua wapi?"
But Renee didn't respond. She just gawked at Miridald in disbelief. Wasn't she reading the room?
Then Miridald looked up and caught Edward's face. Guilt struck her instantly. "Oh… Edward," she murmured, "I'm sorry. I didn't quite clarify what I meant, did I?"
Edward shook his head silently.
Miridald exhaled, walked over, and gently took his hands, guiding him into a chair. She sat opposite him.
"I… I mean we… didn't want you to feel uncomfortable with all this," she began softly. "But we thought—why not celebrate Hallington's life rather than just mourn him? Think of it as a kind of memorial, okay? One shared with this feast—" she gestured to the table, "—and the family," her hand swept in an arc toward everyone scattered across the compound.
With a sigh, Edward's face softened. "Yeah. Okay."
Miridald shone him a pleasant smile.
"And besides," Edward added, "Hallington would have wanted us to celebrate him rather than just cry and mope. I know he would."
"I couldn't have said it better myself," Miridald recounted. "You know, Edward, he once really did tell us to throw him something like a party after his demise." She chuckled softly, then her tone dimmed. "I just thought it was a joke… because I could've never imagined he'd be gone this soon. But I hope… that wherever he is"—she looked up at the sky—"Nyasaye ntie kode."
Edward quickly jolted from his seat. "Dad, wait!" he cried anxiously, stretching his hand forth.
Jarold froze mid-motion, a teacup halfway to his mouth. He was bamboozled—or maybe beyond it. They all were.
"Dad?" Jarold replayed in his mind, almost dazed. Did he just call me Dad? He slowly set the cup back onto the tray.
That was when Edward realized what he had just done and caught the stunned stares from everyone in the compound. He adjusted himself awkwardly. "Sorry about that, Father. I didn't mean to shout. I just… I just prefer that you all take the tea together, so I can get your distinct and honest opinions about it."
"Why? What's in it?" Jarold asked, still recovering from the earlier moment.
"There's nothing in it, Father," Edward said lightly. "It's just a new variety of tea, and I'd like you all to tell me how it tastes."
"You mean there are more varieties of tea apart from purple—"
"Yes, Father," Edward cut in quickly. "There are."
"It has to do with a fundraising project at school," Anita jumped in. "So your opinions would be really appreciated."
Jenevive and Neema, who had been standing nearby, stepped closer.
"So, I assume it's our opinions you want? The adults?" Jenevive asked. "Or am I wrong? Because I only see five cups."
"Precisely, Mom," Anita said as she handed her a cup. "Have at it, Mom."
Jenevive smiled and accepted the cup, balancing the saucer in one hand and the cup in the other.
Seeing that, Mdachi quickly scooted closer to Edward. "Edu, but Jenevive—" he began to whisper, but Edward cut him off quietly.
"Hers is just tea."
"Oh."
"So can we take them now, son? Or is there something else you'd like to tell us first?" Jarold asked, sounding rather impatient. He was eager to taste the tea.
"Go ahead, Father. I have nothing else to say."
Jarold promptly picked up his cup.
Neema, Renee, and Miridald followed suit. Renee and Neema added sugar.
The twins approached the table, curious to see what was going on.
Edward watched, heart racing, as the cups neared his parents' lips. His breath quickened.
Mdachi, Anita, and Jesse looked just as tense—maybe a little less, but still uneasy.
"You really want this tea to be good, don't you?" Renee teased lightly, setting her cup down on the saucer.
Edward's attention snapped toward her instantly.
"Relax, nephew. No need to sweat blood." Renee waved him off. "This tea… is simply divine. Nothing short. I'm sure you'll do well with your project. But I have to ask—what's the fundraising for?"
"Why don't we save the questions for later, Renee?" Anita cut in quickly. "Let's wait until everyone's given their remarks, okay?"
"Fine. Okay."
Anita gave a smile of appreciation.
Edward's focus returned to his parents. His heart thumped harder and faster.
"I couldn't have credited it better than Renee, son," Miridald remarked.
But suddenly—Jarold began coughing.
Edward's heart stopped. His eyes widened.
"...Dad?" he called out, stepping closer, eyes gleaming with hope, relief, and something deeper—something raw.
Jarold looked up slowly, stunned. Edward had just called him Dad again.
Twice. In the same day. In the same afternoon.
That wasn't like Edward. He'd been calling him Father for months now.
Was he finally reaching out… to mend what was broken?
Overwhelmed with emotion, Jarold set his cup down and pulled Edward into a tight, long, warm hug.
When he pulled back, he placed a hand on Edward's shoulder and smiled through glassy eyes. "Don't worry, son. It just went down the wrong pipe, okay? I'm fine. And your tea is heavenly." His voice trembled with joy.
Miridald watched them with a sweet smile. Something warm bloomed in her heart. She had prayed so long to see them like this again.
But Edward wasn't in the same sentimental boat. Not this time. His heart churned with confusion.
His parents… were they even his anymore?
Not with how they were reacting—or rather, not reacting—to the tea.
Nothing about it made sense.
"S… so you're… you're okay?" Edward stammered, his energy draining.
"I'm fine, son," Jarold assured with a smirk.
Hell broke loose inside Edward. Everything felt like it was collapsing in a handbasket straight into chaos.
He didn't know what to feel.
"The tea is superb," Jenevive chimed in suddenly. "But could we get a cold Coke? You know, considering the temperature."
"What are you talking about, Mom?" Anita asked, flustered. "It's not even that hot. It's just the sun being bright."
Jenevive gave her a subtle look, then turned her eyes to Edward.
That was when Anita noticed him—quiet, pale, emotionally shattered.
"We'll get the Coke right away," she said quickly. Without another word, Anita walked around the table, took Edward's hand, and led him inside.
Mdachi and Jesse followed right behind.
"Hey," Neema said, "I didn't get to give my credit."
"So all four are going to get the Coke?" Renee questioned, finding it odd.
"You know how they've always been—inseparable," Miridald said softly.
"Hm." Renee shrugged and took another sip of her tea.
---
"They… they aren't my parents, are they?" Edward blurted out once they were inside. His eyes gleamed with tears and overwhelming sadness.
"Nonsense," Mdachi dismissed. "With the striking resemblance you have to your mother? I beg to differ."
Edward looked up, his voice trembling but resolute. "You're right," he said quietly. Then, a spark of desperate hope flickered in him. "You're right."
He hurried toward the kitchen island and knelt before it. "The leaves must be faulty. Yes, that's it. That's it!"
But just as he reached for the cabinet where they'd hidden the remaining leaves, Anita placed a hand over his.
"I'm sorry, Edward," she whispered, shaking her head as tears streamed down her cheeks. "I'm so, so sorry." She knelt beside him and pulled him into an embrace.
The tears Edward had been holding back came flooding down. He sobbed bitterly as he clung to her.
Mdachi and Jesse watched with heavy hearts, silent and still.
"They aren't my parents," Edward cried. "They... aren't."
Then suddenly, he stood up and wiped his tears away. "I know what to do. Just give me five minutes, okay?"
And with that, he bolted upstairs.