Chapter Three: La Familia
"Mijo! ¡Despiértate! You've got five minutes before I come up there-"
Quin shot upright, eyes wide and hair in total disarray, halfway between a bird's nest and a war crime. His blanket twisted around his torso like a failed cocoon, Mordred perched crookedly on his chest like she had been trying to smother him in his sleep.
She failed, unfortunately.
The shout echoed again from down the hall, this time accompanied by the unmistakable slam of a cabinet door.
"You said we were meeting at noon!" he yelled back, voice gravely with sleep.
"It is noon!"
"WUT"
Quin jumped out of bed, dragging the entire comforter with him and nearly faceplanting when it caught around his ankle. He threw on the nearest clean-ish shirt, swiped deodorant like it was cologne, and combed through his hair with a panic usually reserved for bomb defusal.
"Mijo, you better not be bringing that damn plushie again!"
"She's my advisor!"
"Oh Quin…."
She half regretted buying him that damn thing… but it at least had him talking more.
He sprinted out of his room, socks skidding on the hardwood floor, Mordred tucked underneath one arm like a football. His mother stood at the front door in a denim jacket, oversized sunglasses, purse slung like a satchel, the engine of their busted up car already rumbling outside.
"Shoes. Phone. Wallet. Sense of shame."
"Two out of four!"
"That's a passing grade these days," she muttered, ushering him out the door with one hand while tossing him a granola bar with the other.
The sun outside was way too aggressive for someone who'd barely escaped the abyss of sleep twenty seconds ago. He squinted up at it like it had personally wronged him. Maybe it had.
They piled into the car, and by the time the seatbelt clicked, Quin was already peeling back the wrapper on the granola bar like a feral animal.
"You think they'll ask me questions?" he mumbled through a mouthful.
"They always ask questions."
"…You think they'll believe I'm taking advanced calculus?"
"You failed Algebra last semester."
"That's a no, then."
She gave him a side-glance. "Just be polite, don't swear too much, and for the love of all things sacred, don't start talking with that little advisor of yours."
"Mordred is not just a plush-"
"Mijo."
"...Fine."
He leaned back in his seat with a dramatic sigh, letting the sunlight slice through the car window and warm his face as they sped down the street.
He half wished his father was here to shield him but… he didn't exactly have a perfect track record with his in-laws.
This would be fine. Awkward, probably. Stressful, definitely. But fine.
He just had to make it through lunch with two judgmental grandparents, one highly suspicious plush, and a growing sense that the world was waiting to shift under his feet again.
And after that?
Well, he'll cross that bridge when he gets there
The restaurant was nestled between a laundromat and a vape shop, its faded red awning still clinging to the ghost of its former glory. Painted dragons curled around the windows, and a tiny, slightly flickering neon sign read "Golden Lotus – Authentic Cantonese Cuisine."
Quin's breath caught in his throat as they pulled into the narrow lot. The same koi fountain still burbled out front, half-choked by algae. He used to throw pennies into it and wish for extra egg rolls.
He sat there for a second, unmoving.
His mother noticed. "Nostalgic?"
Quin nodded once. "It's… smaller than I remember."
She smiled softly, brushing a strand of hair behind her ear. "You were smaller too."
Before stepping out, Quin closed his eyes, drawing in a slow breath through his nose. He whispered under his breath, the words instinctive, old, grounding:
"Dios, dame paciencia… porque si me das fuerza, lo voy a usar."
(God, grant me patience… because if you give me strength, I'm gonna use it.)
Then he popped the car door open and followed his mom toward the entrance.
Inside, the Golden Lotus still smelled like memory: soy sauce, ginger, and a hint of lemon-scented cleaner. The carpets were the same dark maroon, the fish tank still cloudy, and the music still some looping playlist of erhu instrumentals from the early 2000s.
They spotted the grandparents immediately.
They were hard to miss.
His grandfather sat with perfect posture, salt-and-pepper hair slicked back, a navy suit that probably cost more than Quin's entire wardrobe hanging flawlessly off his frame. His grandmother wore a pearl-white dress with lace cuffs, her lipstick a sharp crimson slash… both looked like they had made a wrong turn on their way to a Michelin-starred steak house.
"Oh my god," Quin whispered. "Why did they dress like this were a business meeting?"
His mom didn't respond. She simply gave him That Look. The one that promised doom if he opened his mouth and let any of the thoughts in his brain fall out.
He straightened up, tried to smooth his shirt, and reluctantly tucked Mordred under one arm like contraband.
Then, with a final breath, he walked toward the table.
His grandmother rose first, graceful despite the heel height, and immediately drew his mother into a double-cheek kiss. "Mi sol, you look thinner. Are you eating? You're working too much again, I can see it in your eyes."
Then her sharp gaze cut to Quin, and softened… if only for a moment.
"My little cielo."
Before he could protest, she was already kissing one of his cheeks, then the other, her perfume wafting like rosewater and powdered sugar. His grandfather followed in near-perfect sync, nodding curtly to his daughter before planting a dry, ceremonial kiss on Quin's forehead, the way a general might christen a new war banner.
Quin stood there like a glitching NPC, smiling like an alien who couldn't exactly remember how to behave around real humans.
"I've missed you, cielo," his grandmother said again, her voice carrying that warm gravity only grandmothers could summon. She motioned toward the booth. "Come, sit. We ordered the duck, you used to love the duck."
Sure, maybe seven years ago.
He slid in beside his mother, opposite the looming image of his grandparents, still perfectly poised even beneath the harsh overhead light. Mordred was unceremoniously shoved into the corner of his seat beneath a napkin, his mother's antics, as if hiding the plush would delay the inevitable questions .
His grandfather folded his hands. "We've heard… interesting things," he began, formal, "about your studies."
Quin blinked. "From who?"
His grandmother just smiled, gently patting his hand. "We have ears everywhere."
His mom gave a pointed cough, cutting off further elaboration. "Let's eat first."
But Quin's stomach was already churning with questions.
He'd only just found out they were in town. He wasn't told why. And this, this wasn't a social call.
This was the setup to something. Something with weight.
He reached for the teacup in front of him, his hands steadier than he felt.
"...So," he practically muttered, "what brings you back? Last I heard you two were in Europe."
"You... well, we came back cause your Abuelo had something important to discuss," his grandmother said gently, her fingers delicately folding a napkin, like she was crafting origami out of tension.
"Important," his grandfather echoed. He leaned forward slightly, elbows resting on the off-white tablecloth. "And overdue."
Quin glanced between them, his heart doing that stupid, slow hammering thing it always did when he started to panic.
His mother shifted in her seat, quietly stirring her tea with a faint clink. She didn't meet his eyes.
"Okay," Quin said slowly. "You came all the way back from Europe to have lunch in a rundown restaurant and talk about something important."
He half wondered why this couldn't be done over the phone.
His grandfather smiled faintly. "Something vital, actually."
His grandmother reached into her handbag and pulled out a neatly folded envelope. She slid it across the table. "We've made arrangements. Tomorrow, you won't be going to school."
Quin blinked. "I... what?"
"You'll be coming with us," she said, her voice almost apologetic. "There's someone we need you to meet."
"Is this-" Quin's voice caught, then dropped. "Is this about the internship? The one Mom mentioned last year?"
His mother finally spoke. "It's not an internship, cariño. It's... more than that."
His grandfather tapped the envelope gently. "We'll explain everything tomorrow... but for tonight, eat, rest you'll need your strength."
Quin stared at the envelope like it might unfold itself and crawl across the table.
He had so many questions.
But none of them made it past his lips.
Lunch had ended the same way it had started, quiet.
Despite the weight of the envelope burning a hole in his brain, no one brought it up again. His grandparents shifted effortlessly into small talk, asking about grades, the weather, traffic, even the soup. All with that polite sharpness that made Quin feel like he was constantly being graded.
He didn't eat much. Picked at the duck, nodded in the right places, and pretended not to notice when his grandfather occasionally glanced at the clock like he had a plane to catch.
By the time the check arrived, his stomach felt heavier than the plate in front of him.
No one hugged goodbye.
Back in the car, with the radio humming low and the AC set to death by frostbite, Quin slumped in the passenger seat, arms folded, Mordred wedged between him and the door like a sullen co-pilot.
The envelope sat unopened in his lap.
"…So," he finally muttered, turning his head just slightly toward his mother, "no hints?"
She exhaled softly through her nose, not looking away from the road. "Not my call, mijo."
"Is it dangerous?"
Her fingers tightened on the wheel. "No, just vital to your future."
"Cool, super comforting... just love that for me."
"You'll understand soon."
Quin looked out the window. The same streets rolled past- corner stores, faded murals, chain restaurants pretending to be local. They all looked smaller now, like he was watching the world shrink around him.
"Why now?" he asked.
This time, she did glance over. Not long, but long enough.
"Because they're getting older, and neither I nor your father exactly want to follow in their footsteps."
Guess that was a lie... she did end up giving him a hint in the end.
So... inheritance, was it? Some pretty serious stuff then.
He didn't respond. Just leaned his head back, stared at the envelope again, and let the silence settle between them like dust on an unopened door.
The traffic light turned yellow.
Then red.
And the car eased to a stop with a soft groan of brakes, the AC barely filling the space left by everything left unsaid.
Quin's eyes were still on the envelope in his lap. It was glossy, thick, heavier than it should be. His thumb traced the edge of the flap, hesitating.
Then.
A blur.
Not out of the corner of his eye, not something distant, no build-up, no screeching tires.
Just impact.
CRACK
The world exploded sideways.
The sound was indescribable, metal shrieking, glass shattering, bones of steel twisting into a scream. Time stuttered, jittered, and stilled.
Quin didn't even register the semi-truck until the entire driver side imploded with a force like a bomb.
The door caved in.
The window detonated into a thousand glittering knives.
The seatbelt bit into his chest like a bear trap.
And then came the spin.
The car lurched, half-lifted off the ground, pivoting with a sickening, weightless tilt. Airbags burst like muffled thunderclaps, spraying powder into the chaos. Quin's head slammed back, forwards, sideways, backwards, and sideways again.
He barely noticed the scream.
He barely realized it was his own.
And just when the world threatened to settle.
SLAM.
They hit the traffic light pole. Crushed into it. Metal crumpled around metal like tinfoil.
Then silence.
A hiss, the ticking of something broken, and a stutter from the engine, trying to pretend it wasn't dead being the only thing that filled his ears.
Quin hung from the seatbelt, sideways now, his legs twisted awkwardly. Blood dripped from somewhere on his forehead, warm against his cheek.
Everything was hazy. White dust filled the cabin like fog. His ears rang as the world around him pulsed.
He turned… painfully, slowly… and saw Mordred.
The plush sat upright against the ruined dashboard, perfectly balanced, a smear of blood on its face, Its stitched eyes ztaring at him.
Unblinking.
Still.
"Hey..." Quin croaked.
The lights overhead flickered.
The envelope was gone.
And then
Black.
The world faded out like a TV switching off, the sound of his strangers calling for help echoing as if deep under water.
2134 Words
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