Hymn of Ame (COMPLETED)

[03] Foresteo Guvat

CHAPTER THREE

PENELOPE

"AND WHO could that man be?" said my mother right after I set foot inside our house (I hadn't even closed the door yet). She was trying and failing to hide the giggles in her voice. She must have seen Ame. She was so invested in my love life like any other mother was.

"Nothing," I said, depositing the umbrella in a basket waiting by the door. "A friend."

I wanted to keep it short and simple, because my mother tended to make issues out of almost everything. But then I realized there was no perfect time, but today, to introduce him. "No, actually, he's Ame, and he helped me that night at the park. You remember? The one that I mentioned to you?"

"Ah, right!" said my mother with a glint of recognition in her eyes. "Your knight in shining armor!"

I chuckled. "That's a fancy way to say it. But, really, he's just a friend."

My mother nodded, visibly not contented but settled with my words. "At least my daughter is friends with such a handsome man like him. What do you think?"

"What?" I asked, because I seriously didn't get her.

"How do you find him, Penelope?" she said, almost frustratingly.

"Gorgeous," I said unconsciously. Color flamed high on my cheeks as I heard myself. I cleared my throat, and repeated it, this time matter-of-factly, and not like I was gushing over him, "He was gorgeous. But so what?"

At that, my mother smiled and looked overly contented. She nodded and guided me to my seat. I frowned when I saw the chair across mine was still vacant, no sign that it had been recently occupied. I worried too much that my tongue wasn't able to taste much of the food. But I was able to convince myself it was good by the looks.

"Don't worry," said my mother suddenly, "he'll be fine."

"It's okay," I replied, "it's not like I'm not used to this."

I took another spoonful of rice, hoping the negative thoughts would go along as I swallowed. I lied. I was still not used to this. Every time something like this happened, I couldn't help myself but worry. My mother worried as much as I was, but she had a better way of handling it. Out on the surface, she looked fine. Underneath, though, peeled her eyes off of its defensive layers, she was weak. She was an old version of me, just calloused with experience.

My mother rested her hands, which were still clutching the silver utensils, over the table, at either side of her plate.

"Think you can convince him to go to the hospital?" she whispered, as though my father could still hear her over the rain outside. I doubted we were audible, but I still answered in the same quiet manner, "I'll try."

"So, how was school?" she went on with our usual conversation.

"We played badminton," I said so excitedly I almost failed to recognize myself. But then the excitement to tell her everything died down almost immediately when I remembered I didn't win.

"And . . . ," she paused, her eyebrows were pulled together to meet in the middle, genuinely curious, "did you enjoy it?"

"Of course," I replied, "I didn't win though."

"That doesn't matter," she said wisely.

I knew my father would decline, but as I finished my plate, I was sure I would do my best to convince him. My mother, as it seemed, didn't go in their room so much today, maybe just to check on my father and feed him, but that was it. She didn't clean around, because I still saw the empty medicine mat from earlier. My father didn't want a lot of movements around him, but I couldn't stand the mess. I did my best to clean everything silently though.