Chapter 8

The rest of the walk was full of playful banter. 

Antonio told me about his experiences when it came to salt baths. I giggled as he explained how Joaquin tricked him for taking a salt bath after a gnarly training. “He used his claws to cut me. Deeper than normal because he was not in a good mood.”

“Uh-huh.”

“I completely forgot about them when I wanted to take a bath.” He continued. “Do not do what I did.” He added with a snort, “The pain was horrible. Salt and open wounds do not mix at all.”

“I’ll try to remember.”

“You do that.” Antonio said as he strolled into our yard. “Let dad and papa know that I’m going to finish up my run with Joaquin. Will be back home a bit later.”

“Kay!” I chirped as I carefully climbed down from my brother's back. Accepting my bag, I turned around and scurried towards the house. I know Antonio wouldn’t leave until he physically saw me entering our home. 

As soon as I entered the house, I could hear my parents arguing. It isn’t something that happens too often. Playful banter and teasing is more normal for them than an actual argument. Maybe it was because they tried to hide it from us. Maybe it was because it really isn’t something they do a lot.

I do know I was curious.

Carefully creeping into the living room and placing my bag down, I tried my best to listen to their argument.

Neither of them sounded particularly angry. Papa was lightly screeching, which wasn’t too odd. It doesn’t always mean he’s angry when he does that. He tends to do that whenever his emotions run high. Whether the emotion is anger or if it’s happiness. 

Dad was talking normally. I could sense some tiredness lingering in his words. 

That told me they’ve been arguing about this for a while now.      

Shuffling towards the kitchen, I poked my head into the entryway, “I’m home.” 

“Noémie,” A strained smile made its way to papa's face. “How was practice?”

I climb into the chair, settling in my seat. Facing my fathers, I frown at their nervous faces. “Fine?” My frown deepened, “Is everything okay?”

“Well-” Dad started.

“Everything is fine!” Papa interrupted. Dad opened his mouth again, only to pause at the sight of dad’s stern glare. Satisfied with the silence, papa whirled back to me. “How about I whip you up something?”

“Uh-”

“You usually enjoy something light after ballet. How about some fruit? I could make you a nice fruit salad? Or maybe a small bowl of soup? Or maybe a few ham sandwiches? How about I just make you all of it, hmm?” Papa rambled. He moved over to where I was, helping me from my seat. “Everything will be ready when you're done with your bath.”

A bath sounded amazing. 

“Can I use a bomb?”

“As long as it's not one with glitter.”   

I happily made my way upstairs. 

I needed a long soak and my hair desperately needed a good scrubbing.

Taking my time, it took an hour for me to emerge from my foggy bathroom. My skin was back to its original softness and it smelled of roses. My hair was drying, folded up in a towel of mine since I was not in the mood to keep drying, and I still couldn’t use a hair dryer by myself.

Clad in my softest sweater and shorts, I wandered back downstairs, now hungry for my snack.

“Why you?!” I could hear papa shout as I neared the kitchen. Joaquin and Antonio were lingering beside the door, skin glistening with sweat and a confused frown staining their lips. Papa continued, “Is there really no one else qualified?!”

“They wouldn’t ask me if there was.”

“But-”

“Joan,” Dad interrupted sternly, “Throwing a tantrum is not going to help things. Everything is going to be fine.”

“How do you know that?”

“Because I’ve met him.” Dad answered, “He’s antisocial at best. Nothing like his rotten siblings. I wouldn’t even be bringing this to your attention if he was.”

There was silence.

Looks like dad won the argument. 

Papa isn’t one to be silent easily. Even faced with logic, he would still try to worm his way towards being right. Not hearing another rebuttal from him, means that he was sulking. It’s a feat that doesn’t come by too often for dad, but I know it was something he was probably happy to accomplish at the moment. 

Whatever they were arguing about sounded important.

“We should tell the kids.”

“How about we tell them after dinner?” Papa offered, “We can’t just spring something like this on them. We have to be gentle.”

“They’ve been listening to us for the past five minutes, Joan.”