"Dinner's ready!" Mom's voice shouted from across the house.
Those tomatoes and cabbage sure boil fast, how much time had passed? Three or five minutes?
I lifted myself up from my father's bed, before turning back to him and asking.
"Will you be dining with us at the table or should I bring the bowl to your room."
"You can bring it here, please. These damn legs aren't being helpful today."
I nodded before opening the door and closing it behind me.
It wasn't fully shut, as I would be coming back in a couple moments, the wood thumped against the frame, the lock's click missing.
As I approached the kitchen, the wood creaked beneath my boots. I wasn't focusing on my surroundings, my hip ended up bumping against the counter at the kitchen's entrance.
"Ouch..."
I rubbed the spot where I had bumped into. Darn it, right in the bone.
"You alright there?"
My mom's voice spoke out as she glanced at me. It had a hint of concern.
"I'm alright, I just wasn't being careful."
Walking the pain off, I got close to mother as she was serving soup in different bowls.
"Will your father be dining with us today?"
"He said he wouldn't, so I'll be needing the other bowl type."
We had two different types of bowls.
The standard ones, made out of ceramic, resembling a half, hollowed-out sphere. A small flat circle as their base.
And, the anti-spill ones. They had vertical interior walls, that redirected the trajectory of whatever spill back into the bowl.
My mom tried to reach for the upper cabinets, where we stored some of the tableware.
She groaned and tiptoed, but was unable to reach it.
"Could you help me out?" She said, stretching her back, with a face of slight discomfort.
Mother was getting quite old. Her body was the result of 56 years of hard work, and keeping up with her family and daily activities.
I reached at the upper cabinets with ease. I was a head taller than my mother after all.
Rummaging through the plates, bowls, cups, and jars, I managed to found the exact bowl I was looking for.
Among these anti-spill bowls, of which we had one for every family member, my father's was a special one.
In one of my mother's 'we are family' moments, she asked each of us, excluding my dad, to cover one of our hands with paint, each with a different color. Then pressing it down on the ceramic to leave our handprint.
A nice detail from years ago when my father was at his worst.
A fond memory of mine.
I put the bowl down on the counter next to the pot mother had boiled the soup in.
Had I been wearing my protective glasses they'd have fogged up in seconds from how much steam was coming out of that pot.
Its aroma was a pleasant one, the tomatoes definitely added something to it, a nice deep smell that entered your lungs and embraced them in warmth.
I love soup.
Stepping aside, my mom scooped two spoonfuls of soup into the bowl.
The broth was a clear red-orangey color, miscellaneous vegetables floating on its surface.
Broccoli, potatoes, carrots, and the tomatoes and cabbage I had brought.
Faint spots of oil were also lounging around the surface.
"Go give this to your father."
Mom gently slid the bowl towards my direction.
I took it in my hands, the heat seeping through the ceramic, warming my palms up.
Going back to my father's room, I opened the door with a gentle movement with my foot, the reason why I hadn't previously closed it.
My father was making an effort to sit up to eat.
I placed the bowl on the small table we had at the bedside for moments like this, when father couldn't stand up.
I helped father out with his legs, making them dangle off the side so he could properly sit.
After some struggling he was now sitting on the bed, facing his bowl.
"Thank you, son." he scooped some soup and brought it to his mouth, quietly slurping. "Mmm, its good, is there any bread I can have with this?"
"Hmm, I'm unsure. I'll go ask mom."
Father went back to eating his soup without making any noise as I stepped out of his room once more.
"Mom, is there any bread?"
I interrupted my mother who was serving her own bowl of soup.
She facepalmed.
"Ugh... I forgot to ask you to go buy some!"
"Is there really none?"
"Yeah, I used the last bits of the loaf for your siblings' lunch this morning, I was gonna ask you for it along with the tomatoes and cabbage, but it just went past me."
I sighed in disappointment and looked around for a moment.
"And, when are Jiran and Misha arriving?"
Mom leaned against the counter as she looked at me, fidgeting with her spoon.
"They sent me a message 15 minutes ago that they were on their way..."
"That's a long time ago!" I interrupted.
"They probably got lost, or took a different path."
The path towards their school was on the same street that ran along the beach.
I accompanied them on their first day of school, and the walk only took us 10 minutes.
However, there's a small neighborhood next to the school, and I've heard one of the residents lets their dogs loose, and said dogs end up causing ruckus around the zone.
Barking at students, growling at them.
I'm surprised there have been no biting incidents.
Yet.
"Misha is afraid of dogs..." I muttered in my thinking.
"Hmm?"
"The neighborhood next to their school has a lot of dogs around, and Misha is scared of them, so maybe they took a detour... But even then, the detour shouldn't be so complex for them to get lost, or too long for them to take that long."
"Or maybe, you're overthinking it."
"Yeah, that could also be it- I'm sorry, what?"
Mother covered her mouth as she gently laughed, taking her bowl in her hands and sitting down on the dining table.
"They're kids, they get distracted, let them be."
"Shouldn't you be concerned that I'm more concerned over your children than you are!?"
She shrugged taking a loud slurp of soup.
"You were just like that when young, and look at yourself now. You're practically the family's backbone."
I sighed again, looking down and back at mother, who was scooping another spoon of soup into their mouth.
"Will you be eating without us?"
"The question is why YOU aren't eating with me, right now."
"'Cause I'm waiting for Jiran and Misha!"
"By the time they arrive you'll be starving, come on, you must be tired from work."
"Its disrespectful to eat without everyone else in the family, y'know..."
She sighed and laughed. "Seems I raised you too well."
Not even a second had passed when I heard the front door slam open and shut.
"Seriously how could you make a wrong turn, are you actually stu-" Misha's voice was raised with an angry tone.
I was staring right at both of them as they entered, leaning on the kitchen's entrance frame.
They stood still for a moment before awkwardly waving, their movements stiff.
"H-Hi, Farsi." They both muttered in unison.
Mom stood up and walked out of the kitchen.
"Do you know how worried I was for you two?"
They both looked at each other, bracing for impact.
"You had me so scared, you took so long to come home! I was already thinking the worst had happened to you two! I even added the police to my speed dial, just in case something had actually happened!"
She hugged both of them, her voice was raised, almost as if screaming, only the way a mother could do so.
"Why are you two late, your route shouldn't be taking you so long." I stood behind mom, looking down at both of them.
"It was Jiran-!'
"No! It was Misha!"
"Well, I didn't take a wrong turn!"
"Well, I'm not afraid of simple dogs!"
Their voices overlapped eachother's as they argued.
Mother just stared at both of them, looking back at me as if saying 'get a load of this' with her face.
"Kids, stop."
She spoke out, interrupting the chaos.
"One at a time."
"Well fi-"
Misha covered Jiran's muzzle shut.
"We were just at the gate when I sent you the message and we were taking a turn so we didn't have to deal with the street dogs. However, one of them kept following us, and we BOTH got scared and began walking faster-"
"But the dog kept up with our pace so we started running!"
"Silence, Jiran, not your turn." I interrupted.
"We turned a sharp corner and hid behind some trash can. Luckily, that was enough for the dog to walk away."
"And, after that, what happened?" Mother asked.
"Can I talk now?" Jiran spoke out.
"Fine."
"Then we tried to go back home, but I misread one of the street names... Long story short we ended up walking in circles around the neighborhood..."
I'm unsure if its more surprising that, that whole thing only added 5 minutes to their arrival time or that they managed to walk in circles for those 5 minutes.
"What matters is that you're both here. Now go greet your dad, he's dining in his room. Then, hurry to the table, cause your brother is starving."
"I never said I was starvi-"
Mom pinched my forearm's scales so I stopped talking.
I squirmed in pain as Misha and Jiran headed on to father's room.
- - - - - - - - - -
Jiran stepped into the kitchen.
His scales were a uniform black, matte rather than glossy like most of us.
Wearing a bright grayish-blue jacket that contrasted his darkness, zip only halfway, revealing his red shirt underneath, and his pants were a loose, blue, with far too many pockets to keep track of, as I had only seen him use two of those at once.
Misha stepped in after him.
Her scales were a grayish-brown, much like mine, although mine were more a greenish brown.
The pale-green winter jacket hung loosely from her shoulders, I'd never seen her properly wear it. Its open front framing a red crop top beneath.
Much like the one I used, although mines were white and hers hung closer.
Her pants were a blueish green that was carefully fitted for her shape without restricting movement.
We were all sitting around the table.
Mother was in front of me, Jiran at my side and Misha across him.
Oh, how I'd miss times like these.