Your beautiful self

Once you’re washed and dried, you take the time to put on a clean long sleeve black shirt and black jeans. To commemorate the special day this is likely to become, you even go as far as a little makeup. You pick a light teal to complement your eyes, and smear it on your eyelids with your bare finger.

Satisfied that you look like the child of Jack Frost and a theater tech, you flip a peace sign into the nearest reflective surface and head out to meet your family. Other than leaving your room, there’s not much of a trek. Your entire house is pretty much an open floor plan with the exception of the six individual rooms at the rear side of the house. Your room is closer to the west side conversation pit than the east zone where your family is preparing today’s meal.

At a distance, you can see your mom chopping onions and Hannah washing dishes. That suggests the pair is almost done preparing the roasted citrus-vegetable medley that your mom is convinced is your favorite meal in the world. The preheat light is on, so you’d guess food is at most a half-hour away. Upon stepping next to the counter that demarcates the “kitchen,” you notice what your relatives are wearing.

Your mom is dressed somewhat strangely. Her shirt seems to be a raggedy T-shirt with holes from wear and tear marking the surface, the most notable being a large one just under her left sleeve. On its own, this would suggest that your mom is treating this as a casual event, if not for the pants she has on. She’s wearing her “mighty oak” pants, a pair of bell bottoms with a tree trunk pattern that flatters her frame more than you expected when she first bought them. The pants are conservative enough that she doesn’t usually wear them to dates or raves, however she does still save these for special occasions. She tends to hold off on wearing her “Oakies” for the occasional tattoo artist convention, or dinners at restaurants that she thinks are too fancy for her. Which is why it's so odd to see them paired with a borderline rag for a shirt.

Hannah for her part is dressed a lot more consistently. She’s wearing a softened peach leotard tucked under a slightly pleated thigh length olive skirt. It’s the sort of thing you used to see her wear to school, almost certainly found on the 20% off rack at Eternal 24. Your sister’s gaze is far more suspicious than her attire. Every few moments, Hannah glances at her mother’s activity, eyes lingering far too long to be subtle.

While cutting onions isn’t grueling in small quantities, it does involve enough movement there is no doubt where your sister is looking. Every Chck-Chuk of your mom’s knife causes her ample and unsupported chest to bounce slightly. The gap in the fabric on Hannah’s side doesn’t help the predicament. Your mother hasn’t noticed, but you’re almost certain Hannah has spent the entire time she’s been helping watching Mom’s sideboob as it danced.

“Hey!” you call out, more to avoid falling into the same siren’s trap as Hannah than for any other reason. To justify your interaction you continue, “any way I can help?”

Your mom smiles up at you. “Aw, thanks for the offer Spring Flower, but this is just about ready for the oven!” She points at the baking tray that will have everything ready as soon as she adds the onions she’s currently working on.

“Do you think you could set the table?” your sister asks while trying and failing to find a leerable part of your body. The all black outfits have certain advantages when it comes to masking your form.

“Yeah sure Sis!”

Hannah finishes up the last pan she was working on. “Thank you!~” she sing-songs out. “I gotta gussy up a little more! I can’t let the Devil Spirits player out-dress me.”

You roll your eyes at the jab. “Well my games teach preparedness.” You stick your tongue out at her as she walks off. You start to collect the forks and plates.

Your mom scrapes the onion bits onto the baking tray before putting the whole mess into the oven. She sets the oven timer for twenty-five minutes. “I should probably use the little angel’s room too, you’ll be okay on your own sweetie?” she states questioningly at you.

“Definitely! Get ready! I love you!” you affirm while making a friendly shooing motion.

Reassured that she has permission to, she leaves. Now that you’re alone, you go about setting the small dining room table. You lay out silverware for the three of you, plus a row of awaiting plates. You mark the spot you want to sit by leaving your phone there, in between the seats for your two lovely relatives. Since you weren’t involved with food prep, it also falls on you to finish the clean up, so you spend most of the bake time washing. A few knives and a cutting board later, the stage is set.