We Used To Be Best Friends

Chapter 17

"Where have you been?" he asked.

"Oh, I was just walking and running in the park. I didn't wanna wake you up that's why I didn't ask permission before leaving. Sorry," I responded and looked at him apologetically. He waved it off and lifted the eggs he was making. "Breakfast is almost ready!"

I smiled and locked the door behind me. I froze when a thought came to my mind. Didn't Mom say that the four of them were the best of friends? Maybe Dad knows the entire story.

I strolled to the kitchen and slid into one of the bar stools in front of the kitchen island. I spotted sausages, toast bread, orange juices, and some pastry already prepared on the table. I wanted to grab one but refrained from doing so. I was starving after seeing what was on the table. "Dad? Can I ask you a question?"

"Sure, hon," he allowed while sautéing whatever it is on the pot. And whatever it is, it smelled delicious.

"It's about Loui. Aunt Hillary and Uncle Wayne's son?" I queried. Dad's shoulders tensed for a while until he took a long breath, dropping the wooden spoon on one of the plates near the sink. We were silent for a short while except for the cooking noises the pot is making.

"Pass me the salt?" he pleaded after some time of being quiet. I blinked, not processing his words. I look to my left only to see the salt container. I grabbed it and handed it to him.

"Where did your mother leave you off?"

"Huh?" I got confused with his question.

"The story."

"Oh," I squeaked. "Well, she stopped where Loui and I started to become friends. I wanted to know why they suddenly left Port Angeles without any word." My father nodded and continued cooking.

"How old did you say you were again?"

"Dad," I complained. "Can you just get to the point? It's been ten years already."

My dad raised his hands in surrender. "Hey, knowing your age is a must! I should know your pain tolerance whether I should cut to the chase or tell it to you like a fairytale."

"Dad," I warned. "I'm not nine."

"Fine, fine," he sighed and then put the most perfect omelet on a plate. He picked up some chopped meat from another plate and put it in a new pot with new golden oil that was already heated up.

"Hillary and Wayne had a daughter before they got married. You still remember Ashley?" he asked, looking at me in the corner of his eye. I nodded at the small encounter I had with Ashley when we first met. She usually doesn't play with us because Loui said she was just shy. What I know is that I only get to see her when we're having dinner with them. We don't speak much.

"You see, unlike me and your Mom, Hillary and Wayne weren't in love. They were forced to get married because of Ashley," he recalled, his face told me he remembered the days just like it was yesterday.

I stopped myself from gasping. Oh no, it wasn't like that when I was young. Aunt Hillary and Uncle Wayne looked so playful and in love before. I was already eighteen but I think my pain tolerance was still a baby. I was starting to get emotional.

"Eventually, we thought it wasn't a big deal because they had a son afterward. We thought they were now in love," Dad continued, pulling another plate and then putting the last food he was cooking neatly. He put it on the table and sat right next to me.