I picked up the call.
"Hello." I murmured.
"Sweetie, are you alright now? You sound sick..." a deep manly voice sounded on the other line. It was dad calling from India.
"Dad, you woke me up." I replied. "You would obviously sound sick when someone calls in the middle of night." I said in a dull tone. I heard dad cleared his throat.
"I'm sorry sweetie. But it's just 9pm there right?" he retorted in a pinch tone of apology.
I took a quick glance on the clock beside my bed. It was 8:58pm. "I'm sorry dad. I lost track of the time, I guess." I said. And there was silence.
"You should stop playing basketball sweetie." He then suggested with concern. Then I rose up from my sleeping position, rubbed my eyes and gave a big yawn.
"Dad, you called just to tell me this?" I responded. He cleared his throat again.
"No sweetie. I called to know if you're alright." He said in his father-like manner.
"Dad, I've been fine. Just worn out'' I replied, with sadness in my voice. I missed my dad.
He hasn't been home for almost a half a year now since he was assigned to be a regional director in Asia by his company. He has to take up such responsibility or either be sacked. That was his last two options when recession came the year before he left. And for the first time, we celebrated Christmas and New Year without my dad.
"I think you better quit your basketball and just focus with school." He proposed the idea again.
"Dad, you know I can never stop playing." I attacked the thought.
"But sweetie, your mom's been telling me that you're losing weight and has been looking pale these past days. You seem stress about juggling basketball and school work." He said.
"Dad, I just lacked sleep these past few nights due to some projects." I responded.
Then there was silence, again. I hear Indians talking in the background. Then dad abruptly hanged up the phone. And the line went busy.
The line probably has been cut off again. I guess the signal to where he was at was weak. Then I had a quick shower and went down to the kitchen to look for food.
There was a note pasted on the door of the kitchen. It was mom's writing,
"Food's ready. Went to your Aunt's place. Granny's vomiting again. I love you("
I placed my phone on the dining table, in case dad would call again and went to where the food was.
A bowl of Asian salad, steamed fish with lots of ginger and a plate of Chinese noodles were placed in the microwave. Mom loves cooking Asian cuisine; she got it from dad who was a mix of Asian blood. Dad was a quarter Korean and a quarter Arab and half American. No wonder I look complicated as well, some say I look like some pale Spanish with a little touch of Indian features while others believe that I look completely Arab with less hair. I don't even know any theory about Arabs being hairy, but dad told me that most are.
So I placed the dishes on the dining table and went to look for a drink. I grabbed a beer in the fridge.
Although I am not in the legal age to be drinking, mom and dad has allowed me to drink in the house. We in fact have stocks of hard liquors and all sorts of beer in our storeroom. It's not that my parents' are both alcoholic. They simply love drinking but won't go beyond abusing it.
I took my seat and started to eat. I ate slowly as I was not really hungry. I drank more of the beer instead.
Then there was a knock on the door. I quickly stood up and wiped my mouth with a napkin.
