A Little Bit Of Joy | ✔

Chapter Nine : The Boy Stuck Between Family

My dad, mum, Shaun, Gemma, Logan and I were sitting at the dining table, saying our grace. We weren't particularly religious, but we always prayed during occasions like birthdays, anniversaries, thanksgiving etc. Grandpa and his cousins had gone out to party at a local restaurant where they usually hung out because they had their own fun to catch up on so this left us with only my family and Logan. I expected Logan to grumble about how he had to endure the pain of sitting through the unbearable silence which prevailed because of my mum's and my brother's recent argument. However, he seemed to enjoy the silence since he looked like his usual self, awkward, but a bit calmer.

We started to dive in the food which comprised of Vietnamese cuisine which my mum had specially prepared for grandpa since he used to always love what my grandma used to cook for him. Usually, at our home, we didn't have Vietnamese food because my sister couldn't digest strong spices like ginger, garlic, shrimp paste, so for her, we had ordered a pizza. Besides, my mum had to check on the internet two hundred times for the correct recipe as she had not learnt how to cook certain dishes from her mum.

"This broth is called Canh, it's strong on ginger," my mum said, trying to put on an accent as she said it when Logan gingerly drank it. "Is it good?"

"Yeah," he said politely, coughed a little when he didn't expect to get the sudden burst of spices, but he seemed to like it because he continued to drink from the bowl.

"This is Goi Cuon," she said while passing the plate to Logan who was seated beside me. "It's Vietnamese spring rolls, it's quite tasty. Even Gemma likes this one, don't you?"

Gemma who was nibbling on her pizza and was in her own trance suddenly straightened her back in attention. She slumped in relief when she noticed my mum's smile and nodded coyly.

"Here's sticky rice, what's it called in Vietnamese?" I asked mum because I didn't know Vietnamese names, passing the bowl filled with rice to Logan.

"This isn't sticky rice, it's normal rice, dear," my mum said with a small laugh. "Here are the grilled fishes and tofu."

Logan didn't hesitate to take the food when it was offered which my mum particularly liked. Whenever he ate the food, his expressions eased and that flattered my mum. She was focused on feeding Logan more than anyone of us, for the first time from when I got cancer, even more than me.

"Once take Logan to the city where we usually go for Pho," my mum said lovingly and I nodded. "You'll like it."

Logan awkwardly pursed his lips, trying hard to crack a smile, but failing miserably.

"Maa," Shaun spoke up meekly and my mum's head whipped towards him. "Pass me the rice bowl please."

My mum's relationship with my brother had never been like this. Their relationship was how whenever my brother did any mischief, my mum would twist his ears playfully and then ruffle his hair, forgiving him almost immediately. Of course, everything changed when I was diagnosed with cancer and my brother was somehow obligated to look after me and my sister in the absence of my parents.

Shaun was always the cool, carefree brother who let us do whatever we wanted. Suddenly, the immense responsibility thrown on his poor shoulders was overwhelming, but he never complained. Shaun, Gemma and I never bonded with my father much because he used to work abroad and could visit us only during the holidays which was twice a year. Of course, ever since I was diagnosed with cancer, he left that job and took a job in the city which was a one-hour drive from our town. Even my mum started to manage work from home and during meetings, Shaun was always there, he had to be there.

"Of course," my mum said sweetly, too sweetly that it was sickening. "I'll never get to serve you rice when you'll run away to France."

Everybody froze, including Logan since he sensed some tension in the air. Shaun had gotten an internship to learn filmmaking under a prestigious studio and French director Victor Armel in France. It was a once in a lifetime opportunity which other students who studied with him would be vying for. He had to go in a few weeks time which was reasonable because I was expected to live at least over seven months. If I didn't die, he didn't have to wait for my death so he could go, it was his dream. He had been saving for this since such a long time. I shouldn't be a hindrance and I most certainly didn't want to be one.