The soft glow of the TV illuminates the dimly lit lounge as we immersed ourselves in our weekly movie night. It was Mom's turn to pick the film, and true to her hopeless romantic nature, she had chosen a Korean romance drama.
Dad, with his fifth beer can in hand, is already nodding off on the couch, his snores providing a subtle background soundtrack to the film. Mom, on the other hand, sits on the edge of her seat, her eyes sparkling with anticipation as she eagerly awaits the predictable love story on the screen.
Quiet frankly, she couldn't care less if her choice bored us to death. At least my choice of movies are based on facts and not feelings.
I glare at the TV screen wishing so hard to bore a hole into it.
"Awwwh," Mom cries out as the guy in the movie utter those 3 words to a girl he he clearly has no chemistry with. I can't help but roll my eyes so hard they almost get stuck. This is hurting my soul, it feels like a slow painful death.
Mom lets out a sigh, her hand reaching for a tissue to dab at the tears that welled in her eyes. "Isn't that beautiful?" she whispers, her voice filled with emotion.
I shrug, feigning disinterest. "It's alright, I guess," I reply nonchalantly, though internally, I couldn't help but scoff at the unrealistic portrayal of love on screen. To me, love is nothing more than a cliché, an overhyped emotion that people delude themselves into believing is something more than just a fleeting feeling.
Can it just be tomorrow already?
As I bore my eyes on the TV screen, the shrill ringtone of my father's phone interrupts.
My dad, always prompt in answering calls, reaches for the receiver with a furrowed brow as if he wasn't snoring a second ago.
"Mr. Mayor," His voice is low, cautious, and professional.
I flick my gaze over to my dad, as I strain to catch the muffled words on the other end of the line. It's not uncommon for my father to get a call late at night from the mayor, summoning him to the City Hall for an unexpected meeting or to whisk him away to some impromptu event across town. These late-night rendezvous have become a routine part of our family's life even when he is home for a break.
My mom's gaze flickers with apprehension, mirroring my own as she exchanges a glance with my dad. The tension in the room thickens, suffocating.
"Yes, Mr. Mayor," my dad responds, his voice barely audible over the clatter of dishes. "Of course, I'll be there right away."
Mom gives Dad a stern look upon hearing him say that.
Ending the call with a heavy sigh, Dad rises from the couch, his shoulders slumping with tiredness---from the five cans of beers he just drank.
Mom expression changes. "You could have said you've been drinking, you know?" she begins.
"Duty calls, Elen," Dad responds to Mom; there's a slight slur in his voice. "His son needs a driver back home from a party. I guess he had a little too much to drink."
"Not when you are off," Mom hollers. "You were supposed to be on leave this entire week, but your phone has been ringing the whole time. We haven't seen you for months although we live in the same town. The one time we get to spend time together as a family, you receive calls for silly errands. This is absolutely uncalled for, John."
Dad hesitates, his voice flickering between Mom and I before he finally speaks, his voice tinged with regret. "I'm sorry, honey. I promise I'll make it up to you'll. I have to do whatever he wants me to do, especially if he wants to help me build my logistics business."
Mom's jawline tightens, her expression a mixture of fustration and resignation.
Dad looks over to me. "Honey, I need you to drive the SUV. I've had a little too much to drink." My heart lurches as my dad's words hang heavy in the air.
"No, John! She can't," Mom exclaims, her voice filled with concern.
I straighten in my seat, feeling a surge of determination. I can do this, I tell myself. I've faced worse challenges.
"Yes, mom. I can," I assert, my voice steady despite the racing of my heart. I'd rather do activities that are beneficial for my independence than watch movies about a fairytale called love.
"Honey, it's late. It's dark out there," Mom protests, her worry evident in her tone.
Dad will be sitting beside me, I remind myself, trying to quell the rising doubts.
"I know, but you haven't driven a car ever since your father's bakkie gave up," Mom reminds me, her voice pleading.
"That doesn't mean I can't drive," I counter, my resolve unwavering.
Dad intervenes, sensing the tension. "Alright, alright," he concedes. "If Lily says she can do it, then she can."
Mom wakes up from the couch and doesn't say anything until she reaches the kitchen. Then she screams from the kitchen, "You'll better be home before my movie ends!"
I haven't spoken to Max in my entire life, and neither has he ever spoken to me, even though we sometimes clash into each other. And honestly, it's been kind of a relief. Avoiding Max has been my small act of rebellion against becoming a walking, talking political gossip column.
"Dad, but I haven't driven ever since your car gave up. I'm rusty as hell," I shriek, looking at Dad, then Mom hoping for her to say something.
"Well, your dad did have a few drinks," Mom says with resignation.
I swallow hard and shove the last bite of lukewarm spagethhi into my mouth and stand erect. I can't help but wonder if there's a support group for daughters of chauffeurs who have to deal with annoying mayor's sons. If not, maybe I'll start one. We could meet every Tuesday for pancakes and commiseration, sharing tales of our collective disdain for entitled brats and plotting our revenge. Seriously, it's like my dad's the designated chauffeur for disaster.
I sit behind the while of the automatic SUV, my hands gripping the steering wheel with a mixture of determination and trepidation. My father is sitting in the passenger seat beside me.
"Okay, Lily, you remember how to start a car, right?" My father asked, his voice laced with uncertainty.
I nod, trying to exude confidence despite the nervous fluttering in my stomach. "Of course, Dad. It's just been a while since I've driven, that's all."
My father offers me an encouraging smile before gesturing to the key in the ignition. "Just turn the key and gently press on the gas paddle."
Taking a deep breath, I insert the key into the ignition and turn it, wincing as the engine comes to life with a smooth cough. I shot my father a sheepish grin before tentatively pressing down on the gas pedal, causing the car to lurch forward with a jerk.
'Whoa, easy there, Pumpkin!" Dad exclaim, grabbing onto the dashboard for dear life.
"Remember, smooth and steady wins the race."
He used to say that all the time, he's used to teach me how to drive with his bakkie before it gave up.
"I told you I was rusty, Dad." I respond as I'm struggling to find my footing behind the wheel. That's just the struggles of a short person.
My father chuckles, patting me on the shoulder reassuringly. "It's okay. We'll take it slow and steady. Just focus on the road ahead."
With Dad screaming at me in the name of guidance, I slowly ease the SUV out of the driveway, my grip on the steering wheel tightening with each passing moment.
As the GPS let us know that we are approaching our location, I couldn't help but feel a surge of nerves coursing through her veins.
The streetlights cast a soft, amber glow over the quiet suburban neighborhood as I navigate the SUV down the deserted road. The night is alive with the gentle hum of cicadas and the distant murmur of city life, but inside the car, the atmosphere is anything but tranquil.
"Stop the car, that's Max," my dads sudden command causes me to jolt. I bring the car to a screeching halt in the middle of the road. I grip the steering wheel with white-knuckled intensity, my heart pounding in my chest as I forcefully hit the brakes, sending the car lurching to a stop with a jolt.
"When I said stop, I didn't mean in the middle of the road!" Dad yells, staring at me in disbelief. "I thought you want to get to college, get a job, get married, and have kids before meeting Jesus?"
I reverse the car slowly, while my dad rolls his window down. Max appears on my father's side.
"Max, my boy,"my dad greets him, his voice breaking the uneasy silence that hangs in the air. "Get in the car."
Max listens to my father like an obedient son. He opens the door and slides into the seat, his movements alert and steady. I stare at him through the rear mirror. Eyes the color of ground coffee, only to realise he is staring right back at me. Something softens him around the edges---alcohol, probably---but his gaze is sharp and clear. Alarmed, I shift my gaze to the road in front of me.
My father finally breaks the silence. "What happened out there? Aren't you supposed to be at a party?"
"I was." Max spoke plainly. "Had a little disagreement with the friend that drove us there. Nothing serious for you to come looking for me. Did my dad call you?"
I look at the rearview mirror again, and I notice that the left side of his cheek is crimson-red, scarred with a bruise.
"Yes, your dad called. He said you needed my help."
"I didn't call him." Max says. "Someone must have tipped him about my whereabouts."
"Thanks, John." He says. "Next time, my dad tells you to come pick him up from somewhere. He fist bumps my dad like they've been buddies for a long time.
As we pull up to Max's mansion, I can't help but wonder what lies beneath the surface of this enigmatic figure, what secrets he keeps hidden behind those guarded eyes. As the car comes to a stop and Max steps out into the night, I watch him walk into his driveway in silence.