I wake up to the soft roars of thunder. I look out the window and see light grey clouds quietly shifting in the sky, going westward at a turtle pace. I see the time and find that I’m neither early nor late. Turning off the alarm so it wouldn’t buzz me when I’m busy, I sit over on the edge of the bed and check out the messages Em sent over after I fell asleep last night. She sent a bunch of pictures, the one we clicked in the theater.

 I look over them, then check whether there’s any news from Nick. I don’t see any messages from him. Though Sky has sent me another message as a reminder to pick him up from his home in Nick’s car.

I told him last night others might think we are Nick’s people if they see us in that car. But he was adamant that he wanted to go to school in that car once, that he’d rather be infamous than be a nobody. I had to take the car back anyways so I agreed.

I personally don’t care what others might or may think about me. I can always make them think what I want them to think after all.

Sending him thumbs up, I put the phone down to get on with my day.

I’m not keeping the car. I only borrowed it for a day.

The date is over, and now it’s time for me to return the car to its rightful owner. Partners in crime we might be, but I don’t want to take others' things unnecessarily -- not anymore. Besides, it’s probably a lease from his dealer. That guy doesn’t scare me, but it’s a hassle to clean up the mess if you spill something on the floor. A bit of caution is a good habit to have when dealing with strangers.

I take the car to Angel’s house for breakfast. I only eat there when I don’t have anything in the fridge. And I don’t have anything in the fridge this morning. Mrs. Davis cooks a simple breakfast, but it’s the simplicity of the food she cooks that has made me a regular of hers. Sunlight through the window, breakfast together with everyone on the table, the smell of freshly melted grease in the air, it all reminds me of home, of family.

I stop the car outside Angel’s home and I can hear Junior barking from the door before I get off. When the door opens, she jumps at me with her tail going bonkers behind her. I try to give her a treat when angels prop her hands up, asking for It instead.

“Me, me! Brother, brother, give me. Give me. I’ll give it to her!”

I oblige, but Junior doesn’t. She snatches the treat from Angle’s hand, startling the poor child. Angel flinches back; her eyes open wide in panic, but she doesn’t cry.

“Take it inside,” I tell Junior. She juggled the meat bone in her mouth for a better grip then rushes inside the house.
Angel stares at the retreating dog and jumps after her, shouting, “Stop, junior. Stop!” Her footsteps ring the hardwood floor like a heavy drum.

“Don’t run in the house!” I shout after her. Angel does slow down upon hearing me in the hallway, before picking up speed again when she sees Junior turning in the lobby and getting out of her sight.

“Why don’t you listen to me!” I hear while I’m closing the door. I wonder if I should tell Junior to listen to Angel or not and whether the dog would even understand the girl’s words.

I smell eggs in the air and know Mrs. Davis is in the kitchen. I don’t see Mr. Davis inside at his usual spot on the table. He’s usually reading the newspaper there whenever I have come around for breakfast. He did mind me coming to his house every morning at first, but I took care of it, the way I take care of everything else. Now, he’s very supportive of me. It happened a long time ago. I was anxious then… and jealous.

I hear the clinks and clangs of pans and pots in the kitchen and hear Mrs. Davis calling Angel as I approach. That’s unusual. I know I’m early but she’s usually done with the housework by this time. She’s unusually late today.

Then she rushes out of the kitchen with a pink plate of eggs and bacon like a loose train. I hear the panic in her footsteps. “Angel! Dear!” She shouts into the house, her voice breaking with each word.  “Come out! Breakfasts ready!”

“Morning, Mrs. Davis,” I say approaching her.

Perhaps, I startle her because she runs around to hide behind a chair, almost dropping the plate in her haste. Panic covers her wide-open eyes, arms raised to her chest in defense. I find it funny how she flinches the same way Angel had when Junior snatched the treat from her hands.

Then I notice her disheveled appearance. Her hair is all over the place. Forehead lathered in beady sweat. Her eyes are red, her face pale. Her panic retreats when she sees that it’s me. Then I remember that Mr. Davis’s car isn’t outside and neither is he home.

“Is everything all right, Ma’am?” I ask politely, softly, to give her a sense of comfort.

“Oh, everything’s good, everything’s good.” She says, shaking her hands to deny anything. But I see tears coming to her eyes and know that something’s wrong. She wisely turns to place the plate on the table, and wipes her face on her shoulder, expressing as if she’s wiping the sweat from her forehead. I go to ask her again when Angle comes running from the room and takes a seat at the table.

“Did you wash your hands?” I ask her when I see her getting ready to pick the omelet. See cringes. Squeezes her face like someone had thrown old socks at her. She raises her head to stare at her mom, and seeing no help from her, reluctantly slides off the kid's chair and sulks into the bathroom.

I wonder how to approach the topic with Mrs. Davis. Something’s definitely off, but I know she wouldn’t confide in me. No proper adult would to a high school student. More so, because she knows my days aren’t exactly sunny and filled with rainbows.

I decide to change my approach.

“What are you making today?” I ask.

I would not command her to tell me anything until necessary. That’s not a line I would cross with friends and family, unless absolutely necessary.

“Huh,” She looks stupidly at the plate on the table and says suspiciously, “Eggs and bacon?”

“Can I have some? I’m hungry.” I ask. A familiar, vibrant smile comes back to her face. The sadness goes away as if it never existed in the first place.

I follow her into the kitchen, pull out a white ceramic plate out of the cupboard, and clean it with a napkin while she breaks four eggs in a bowl. She looks for the whisker and finds it in the sink. I wash it and then take the bowl from her to beat the eggs.

She doesn’t stop me and gets busy dicing some vegetables, green onion, cabbage, and capsicums to mix in the eggs. It’s not the first time I’ve helped her around in the kitchen. She does that and pulls a packet of bacon strips from the fridge.

Turning on the gas, she butters the pan and lays two strips on it, then looks at me and adds another two, forcing a chuckle out of me. In a few seconds, the bacon starts sizzling and releasing a creamy, and savory aroma into the air.

All her concentration on the pan, she even forgets I’m standing next to her.

“I’m done whisking the eggs,” I say.
“Huh?” She almost shoots up in surprise, only to realize it’s me, and starts giggling. “Oh, you scared me, again. What were you saying?”

 “I said the eggs are ready.”
“Oh,” She looks around. Seeing that the bacon will take some time to cook, she pulls another pan out of the dishwasher and turns on the gas to heat it.

While she’s working on the eggs, I observe her, waiting for her to confide in me, but she doesn’t. Like a good wife, she doesn’t tell the things between her husband and wife to someone who’s not a real member of her family. I decide to take the matter into my hands. If even this doesn’t work, then I’m sorry, but I’ll have to command her to tell me everything. I don’t want to see her sad -- not her, too.

“Mrs. Davis,” I pause to gather my thoughts and say, “ever since my parents passed away I thought I don’t have a family anymore. I felt alone when I came back to the city. The empty house used to seem like a monster waiting patiently to eat my heart. Mrs… Jessica, you took me in when I was losing hope and made me a part of your family. You gave me a place I can call home. You took care of me and you treated me like a son.” The words come out easier in my heart than I expect them to. “You and Mr. Davis have helped me settle back into life when I was going astray. Now I won’t call you mom, because you way too beautiful,” I snicker and she does too, even though she has her head down and she’s ignoring me.

“but I do think of you as the elder sister I never had. I don’t know what happened between you and Mr. Davis, but I don’t want to see you like that. You know my parents were always fighting before the accident and they were when the car crashed. They fought so much that it’s all I remember when I think about them. You know I consider Angel my little sister. And I don’t want the same for her. I just want to say that you can confide in me. Maybe I won’t be able to help you, but I can share your grievance. Do you think you can do that? Share with me so I can tell you everything will be fine?”

“He gambled away our savings.” She whispers and I’m taken by surprise.
“He did what?” I say not realizing I am shouting.
“He didn’t tell me everything but he lost all our savings… That’s fifty thousand dollars. He lost them all!”
Mrs. Davis starts crying. She dabs her eyes with the helm of her apron, and the tears soak through the pink fabric, leaving a dark wet spot. I bring her the box of tissues from the table and she takes one to wipe her tears.
“Did he get scammed?” I ask after getting rid of the tissue box.
“I don’t know.” She shakes her head, strangling the tissue in her hand. “He says he lost the money over a few months.” Her voice breaks. “He said he’s been gambling ever since his trip to L.A.”
This is bad. “Where is he now?”
“He’s been at the casino since last night.” I sense anger in her voice and betrayal. I have never seen her get angry, not once in the year I have been coming to the house. “He said he’ll win the money back.”

I know she is not hurt over the money, but more because she can’t believe her husband could do something like that to them. Fifty thousand dollars is not chump change for regular middle-class families.

“That’s what all gamblers say, Jessica.”

I thought I could help, but I can’t make her happy. I can make James hate gambling, but that won’t change the facts that he lost so much money. Even if he doesn’t gamble again, that won’t fix the cracks that have already grown in their marriage. I can slow them down, but I can’t stop them.

I can’t directly force James to change his newly required habit either. I’m not that strong yet. I can tell him to stop gambling, it won’t work forever. He needs to hate gambling enough for the command to take hold. So when I tell him to stop gambling, it doesn’t conflict with his inner thoughts. If I don’t do that the inner conflict that will arise because of the command will destroy him.

I take my time to make a plan, then raise my head and ask her. “At which casino did you say he gambles?”