Awkward

/PIXIE DUST/

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FEBRUARY.

9 (P.M)

"Ball with Kavi Turner; we're at the eighty minute mark. He's weaving left and right, taking four defenders with him. He DOES have teammates.. could this attack lead to something?"

"Ohh! Some flashy skills and Turner is free of the opposition! Can he make the pass? Yes he can AND —

Oh no.

How unfortunate. A great, great attack but Raphael Laralle j u s t misses out on the goal to put his team ahead. The score is still nil-nil. Goal kick."

Mum is staring at the TV like it might leap off the wall if she blinks. Ella's been wearing her birthday crown all day. She's sharing the sofa, glued to Mum's side, looking at her brother on TV with wide-eyed wonder.

My father sits across from me, not doing so much as glancing at the water bottle trapped between his laps. His titanic fingers are locked like he's arm wrestling himself, enslaved by the screen just like everyone else.

A kitchen maid tiptoes in with scones and sets them down on a tray on the table in the middle of the room. I politely ask her to bring some tea but other than that, nobody notices her.

The camera follows Kavi's movements as the game restarts. You don't miss a Kavi match around here.

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9:48 (P.M)

"Riiight! That was — goood! Time to sleep, everyone!" Mum says.

The post-match commentary is running, 0-0. Kavi almost scored like three times though.

My father has vanished while Mum, Ella and I haven't moved in forever.
I get a scone to have with my tea. It's cold now so the sugar in it becomes that much sweeter.

Ella tugs at Mum's sweater.
"Mummy... my presents, Mum..."

Ella had her friends over earlier, but Mum and I haven't given her anything yet and it is the first of February, her birthday.

Mum smirks in my direction.
"Oh. Ella, we're so sorry!"

"Sorry?" she asks, tightening her grip on Mum.

Mum's poker face is horrid.
"Yes, baby. We were so busy organising your birthday that... that we forgot to get you any presents! Roman, did you remember?"

I shake my head, simulating shame. My poker face is not horrid.

Lucy-Ella looks at me, then the floor, trying to hide her agitated heartbreak.
Mum squeezes Ella's whole body onto her with a side hug. Ella slumps into the hug, absently staring at a crumb on the floor. Her eyes look watery already.

She's so easy to fool.

She can't even tell that Mum's voice is quivering from laughter when she says, "Ella, we're... sorry." She hides a burst of laughter behind coughs. "Maybe.. maybe next year, princess."

Lucy-Ella looks at me, waiting for me to say anything but 'next year'. I hang my head.

"Maybe next year."

If her eyes get any wider than they've just become, she might scare off the crumb she's been looking at.
"Next year," she says, her voice squealing and squeaking like there's rubber in her throat.

Mum hugs her tighter.
"Yes, baby."

"Oh... okay Mum... okay Roman."

She sniffles and wipes her eyes. They're actually tearing up. Mum gets off the chair, picks Ella by the thighs and carries her like a bride to her room. I follow behind them, on foot.