Sweet afternoons

Chapter Twenty

"Quickly; seven letters and 25 points. I think you'll find that I've won," I smirked triumphantly at Andres, placing the letters down on the scrabble board in front of us. This was our fourth round and so far Andres hadn't gotten even close to winning.

To pass the time on this long journey, we had decided to play some games. Andres admitted to having a small stash of travel games in one of the cupboards that he rarely got the opportunity to play and appeared particularly excited to be able to use them. Most of his plane rides were long and the few people he would usually fly with weren't the playful type, so I understood why the games were nearly obsolete. I was still surprised to find he had a love for classic board games and even collected special editions. Those were safely stored away in his house, however.

When Andres showed me the games, I was quick to remark that I had an unnatural affinity for Scrabble. It was the only game my family had played together and my grandmother, before she passed away, had taught me everything she knew about the game including strategies on how to win. While I had wanted to play it, I did warn the man that I was very good at the game.

Andres was not scared away by my declaration and confidently announced his own talent for word games. Apparently, he was terribly competitive and had the cockiness that matched his winning attitude. It was a shame that I inevitably thrashed him.

"How do you keep doing that?" He spoke, exasperatedly, with wide unbelieving eyes. It came as a surprise that the man had persisted in playing so many rounds, especially since he became more and more agitated after each defeat. While he was suffering from frustration, I couldn't help but laugh. There was no reason to feel bad, since I had warned him before we began playing, and the look on his face was a picture of comedy.

He sighed dramatically, pushing the scrabble board aside causing the letters to spill into the bed. "That's enough of that." There was a pout on his lips now, the frustration turning to spirited disappointment. I knew he was jesting, making out as if this were a big deal to continue the amusement, and so allowed myself to giggle delicately.

Moving close to the man, I leaned my head again on his shoulder and smiled when his arms came around me in a cage of warmth. He brushed my hair away from my neck before pulling me in closer. "Are you worried?" the soft whisper reached my ears while my eyes closed.

It was a question I had been thinking silently about for a while, never finding the right answer to settle on. On one hand, my father was in the hospital struggling to hold on to his health and that in itself brought bad feelings with it. But I wasn't sure if those feelings were in the account of it being my father or just sympathy for a person in need.

I couldn't decipher whether I was truly anxious about the state of my father since he was, in my eyes, not so different to any other person. Would I feel the same way about a complete stranger? That's what he was now; a stranger.

"I think I am," I answered finally, trying to make an effort to see my parents as something more than ordinary people. Since I was already putting in the effort to go and see them, it felt necessary to think of it as something important.

It was obvious from the uncertainty in my voice that the answer wasn't easy to give and Andres picked up on that quickly. "If you cry, I'll support you. If you don't, I'll still support you,"

I smiled at his silly promise. Andres knew that the emotional attachment I had for my parents had always been weak and although the situation was a sad one, I was unsure that I could act as a daughter should.

"Thank you, Andres, it means a lot," I whispered back softly, closing my eyes and leaning into his warmth. "How long do we have left?"

"A little over five hours," His lips pressed lightly to the shell of my ear, an intimate exchange that promised comfort. I felt my shoulders relax at the movement. "Are you tired, love?"