Royally Kissed | ✓

47; the forgotten

n o t e

sorry, guys. it took me a short while to post as i was sick for days (and still is). however, i finally came up with something, amidst flus and stuff. this chapter will probably seem like it's half-assed. but it's necessary for me. read on x

ps. i feel so tired because of my flu right now, so if you find slight errors, you can help me point it out and i'll work on them immediately.

sky

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—fortyseven—

the forgotten

ARTHUR SAW THE look in his father's eyes when he came home from work that day. They were usually tired whenever he got off his shift as a dishwasher at a local eatery. But never once had he said a word to Arthur about how his daily struggles went. Arthur felt like his father was always withholding his thoughts about it like he was protecting him from the real world.

He was gleaming with joy now and in what looked like anticipation, humming a jolly tune as he placed a bag of fish in the kitchen sink before taking them out, moving them into a small basin.

The tips of his hair looked almost yellow as the late afternoon sunlight streaming in from the window in front of him bathed his face–the scalp by his pate was peeking through the narrow gaps of his thinning locks. Arthur could see it from where he was standing. But his father had gotten more livelier as his age climbed higher.

"Hey, dad," the twelve-year-old Arthur said, an arch of mischief twisting the ends of his mouth, a soccer ball bouncing up and down in his hand. Then he stopped it with both hands when Jude turned to him. "What's up with the humming?"

Jude lifted up a wide smile, his expression in pure mirth that made his forehead wrinkle. "Your mother's coming home today."

His eyes widened. No, he was sure they were round as saucers in utter surprise and excitement. "Really? But why?"

Whipping to him, Jude frowned. "What do you mean 'why'?"

Arthur shrugged, even though his father had already turned to his task once again. He then plopped on one of the chairs by the small square table. "Mom hasn't been around for months. It used to be once or twice a week. Now it's like four to five times every six months."

"That is correct, kid. Her employer must have needed her around for longer hours. She did tell us in the letters that her boss might require her services that would, in return, cancel her leaves in the meantime. Would you say you don't like the ball we bought from the benefits your mother has sent to us, then?"

The little boy shook his head, his long fringes down his forehead brushing side to side. It was dampened by sweat when he'd played soccer with the other kids in this neighborhood of tatterdemalion tenements. Life wasn't so easy here. But Arthur never quite understood the duality just yet. He was too young to understand how reality worked.

"Not really. Can't a son miss his mother?"

"'Course you can," Jude said, rolling his sleeves up further and Arthur craned his neck aside. His father was busily taking out the guts of a fish. It didn't sit well with his stomach so he looked away. Then he was silent, only leaving the slosh and moist sounds of his revoltingly gross activity in the room. "Have you forgotten? It's our wedding anniversary today. She promised to come home in her previous letter. Your mother misses you as well."