The weekend

It was a Saturday morning, and the sunlight struggled to pierce through the thick clouds that painted the sky a soothing shade of grey. Raindrops tapped gently against the windowpane, creating a melodic backdrop to the day. I had been looking forward to this movie day with Aunt Marica for weeks. We had a tradition of indulging in back-to-back films, armed with our favorite snacks: popcorn, ice cream, and soda. These simple pleasures made our movie days complete.

As we settled down on the couch, Aunt Marica placed the tubs of ice cream on the coffee table, her eyes filled with concern. "Bell, I can tell something's been bothering you. It's not just about your dad, is it? Remember, you can always talk to me," she said gently, her voice laced with genuine care. I mustered a nervous smile and replied, "Honestly, Aunt, I'm not okay. Everything feels like a rollercoaster ride. But when I'm ready to talk, I promise I'll come to you. Don't worry yourself." I embraced her in a hug, finding solace in her comforting presence.

Aunt Marica, engrossed in the movie, wiped away a stray tear that had escaped her eye. I playfully teased her, "Don't tell me you're about to cry again." She chuckled softly and responded, "Oh, come on, Bell pepper. Kate's story is heartbreaking. She never got the chance to spend more time with Charlie or marry her high school sweetheart." I sighed, empathizing with the sentiment. "It's life, Mari. We don't always get what we want," I said, my thoughts drifting to my own circumstances.

"You know, Bell pepper, I once had a high school sweetheart," Aunt Marica revealed, grabbing another tub of ice cream. Intrigued, I turned toward her, giving her my full attention. She continued, "He wasn't your typical bad boy or popular guy. He was our school nerd. I noticed him on a science expedition trip, and he caught my attention. He was nerdy, but also cute, adorable, and incredibly handsome. You had to pay attention to appreciate his features. And the best part? He lived just across the street."

Curiosity burning within me, I eagerly asked, "What happened to him? Did you two date? How did you know you loved him?" Leaning in, Aunt Marica shared more details, "Yes, we did date. I knew I loved him when our eyes locked for the fifteenth time during the expedition. His eyes were intoxicating. But when we graduated, he was offered a full scholarship to study medicine in Cuba. He was a brilliant science student, and I was genuinely happy for him. He went to study in Cuba, but he never came back."

Surprised by this revelation, I pressed for more information. "Did you lose contact? Did he change?" I inquired, my curiosity piqued. Aunt Marica's voice quivered as she replied, "We did lose contact, but our connection never broke. One night, I received a call from a detective named Conan O'Brien. He was investigating a homicide, and he asked me if I knew a Peter Johnson. Peter was a suspect in the case, and all the evidence pointed to him."

My eyes widened, and my voice lowered, "He killed someone?" Aunt Marica continued, her voice filled with emotion, "I went to visit him in prison in Cuba. He was set to graduate in a month, but he was locked up with pending court cases. He denied everything, begging me to believe him. And I did believe him. I was ready to stand by his side, to help him prove his innocence. But... the night before his final hearing, he was murdered in prison. Later, he was found innocent. He died while trying to prove his innocence."

Shocked and saddened by this tragic story, tears streamed down my face. Aunt Marica broke down, and I held her tightly, offering comfort. "I'm so sorry, I didn't know. You must still be carrying so much pain," I said, my voice filled with compassion. After calming down, Aunt Marica smiled through her tears, sharing more about him. He was a wine lover, a tall man from Nigeria—intelligent and passionate.

"Auntie... you know, my mom's death has taken a toll on me. I don't think I can ever move on from it. She was murdered because she sought justice and wanted to free a man and his family from injustice. My mom was brave. She fought for me, for dad, for you, and for everyone else," I said, wiping away fresh tears. Looking into my eyes, Aunt Marica reassured me, "Dad loves you, Bell. He would never not want you. You are his pride and joy." Her words brought me comfort, and I realized I had been carrying unnecessary fears.

This conversation had left us emotionally drained. Aunt Marica, always one to lighten the mood, exclaimed, "I really want some wine after this talk." I chuckled, and she joined in. "Ask me about what I did at work last week, and nothing will come up. But ask me about the wine I drank last year on September 30th, and I can give you even the exact time I consumed it," she teased. I played along, replying, "So typical of you! Ask me about what we did in math class yesterday, and all I remember is the date I wrote on my book. But ask me about what happened in Africa during the 1960s, and I could write you a 50-page essay." We raised our respective treats as a toast, appreciating our shared quirks.

Sunday morning arrived, and Aunt Marica woke me up for church. She threatened jokingly that if I didn't get ready, I would have to go in my pajamas. I groaned and trudged to the bathroom, getting ready in a white knee-length summer dress and comfortable white Nike sneakers. As we entered the church, we found our seats at the front. Kimberly Ridsvale, the pastor's daughter, greeted me with a warm smile. There was an unspoken desire for friendship in her eyes, but my shyness prevented me from taking the initiative. Since we didn't attend the same school, our encounters were limited to these occasional Sundays.

The church service began, and the familiar tune of a song echoed through the hall. It was my mom's favorite, a song that resonated deeply with her. She used to hum it whenever I felt down. Sitting outside on a bench while Dad and Aunt Marica engaged in adult conversations, Kimberly joined me. "Hey, Bella," she greeted, her eyes gleaming with friendliness. I responded with a smile, saying, "Hey, Kim." She asked how I'd been, and I replied with a simple "Great." The conversation didn't delve much deeper before her mom called her away, relieving me from the slight awkwardness that had settled in.

Back at home, exhausted from the day's activities, I changed into more comfortable clothes and decided to tackle my homework. As I worked on my assignments, a message from an unknown number appeared on my phone. Intrigued and slightly surprised, as my interactions were limited, I read the message that simply said, "Hey." Responding cautiously, I asked, "Hey... who is this?" The mysterious sender replied, "Trouble." Realizing who it was, I decided to play along and not respond immediately, relishing in teasing him. I knew he wanted to ask about the tutoring arrangement, and I had already made up my mind to give him an answer in person.