[Ewan]

They finally fixed the streetlights, but some still flickered—those greedy asses must’ve skipped a few to cut costs. Ewan raced Havanna home, his small steps zipping past the shadows and the lights, swerving through the alleys that departed their school and led to their residential area, his schoolbag slapping against his back as the last flutter of the warmth in the wind smacked him. She was his enemy for the day, so he refused to call her by her nickname—Nana.

When he glanced back at the final turn, she was panting by the eatery they passed, mouthing him to stop. But he didn’t, and he dashed away with a smirk, leaving her in the dust; today’s last piece of the roasted duck leg was his now.

Yet his run halted, and his shoes scraped the asphalt when he reached his front door. The aroma of the smoky roast wafted from his home, not from Aunt Ella’s kitchen—Havanna’s home that brushed his fences. He tiptoed to thumb the biometric scanner and pushed the gate an inch when the lock clicked open, sniffing and peeking. The squarish lounge beyond had trapped the smell of the spices and smoke in, the ducks had indeed died and were roasted in his house… His Pa was cooking…

He gulped and backed off, but Havanna slapped his back, fuming, her sweaty long chestnut hair sticking to her forehead.

“I told you to stop,” she said, her nostrils flared, and her eyes breathing fire.

Ewan covered her mouth in a hurry and gestured a ‘shh’ in panic. “Pa is cooking today,” he said. “I need to run. Hide me.”

“My tooth hurts,” Havanna said in a muffled voice, then pulled his hand down. “My tooth hurts, I think it’s loose,” she whispered, stroking her right cheek. Ewan’s eyes sparkled with excitement as he stared at her, grinning, the dread of his Pa’s food leaving him for a minute.

“Let me pull it out,” he said, inching closer. And she backed off.

“No! Last time you yanked it, it really hurt, I bled for hours,” she said, covering her mouth and shaking her head.

“You barely bled for an hour, don’t be a baby,” Ewan said, pushing her hand down. “I promise I’ll be gentle this time.”

“Where were you two till now?” The gate of his house creaked open, and his Pa towered over him, glaring at them.

“Shit.” Ewan blurted out and pushed Havanna forward, taking a step back behind her. Yet, there was no cooking spoon in his Pa’s hand, no flour whitened his raven hair, no spices streaked his face, and he didn’t don his battle costume—his apron with the funny rabbit face—he was just in his casuals with the ripped pocket. He might not be cooking today…and Ewan almost heaved a sigh of relief.

“We were practicing for the annual festival, uncle. School had us marching for hours,” Havanna said. “Ewan had to lead his class, but he puked on the coach’s shoes.” She tittered.

“They made us drink bland milk right before the march, Pa,” Ewan said in annoyance, staring daggers at Havanna from the corner of his eyes—that tooth, he would yank it out today for sure, as hard as he could. “It was watery, and it stank. I don’t know how she stomached it; she must’ve vomited too when no one was watching her.”

“I didn’t!” She protested with a wrinkled nose.

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“Authen, let the kids in already, stop hogging the door,” Aunt Ella said, pushing his Pa to the side, and Ewan beamed. It was indeed Aunt Ella cooking the promised roasted duck, just she did so in their house. “Food is almost ready, go change and wash up,” she said to the two kids with a gentle smile, then turned to his Pa. “Keith should be here soon, let’s prepare the plates.”

“Hmm.” His Pa hummed a nod. “I need to talk to you two about something, let’s have a drink tonight,” his Pa said and walked into the grassy yard beyond the lounge with Aunt Ella where they cooked on the portable stove, while Havanna dragged Ewan into the house, away from the tantalizing aroma of the duck that made him drool.

…..

“I’m a grown up now, I don’t need this,” Ewan said, throwing the bib away, grumbling on his stilted tall chair where his toes barely grazed the wooden floor. His focus was on the three roasted ducks sitting in the middle of the dining table on the sharing platter, glazed and steaming, and he homed in on their legs—two of the six were his today for he won the race.

“Grown up, my ass. How old are you? Wear it properly,” his Pa said, clicking his tongue, and shoving the bib back into Ewan’s collar.

“I’m nine already,” Ewan whined.

“You’re eight,” his Pa replied.

“Just wait a few months,” Ewan mumbled as Aunt Ella placed the leg pieces on his plate with the side of garlic bread and thick brown gravy and some salad, then he looked at his Pa. “Did you stretch your t-shirt, Pa? It’s really loose,” he said. The charcoal-colored t-shirt his Pa wore today dangled from his shoulders, fluttering on his sunken chest when the crawling ceiling fan sent him a breeze, and the arms hung loose on his bony biceps. Had he lost weight recently? Ewan wondered.

“I need more nutrients,” his Pa said, nibbling on the duck breast. “Let me eat your leg piece.”

“No!” Ewan said, pulling his plate in. “It’s mine.” He eyed Havanna who winced with each bite of the meat across the table, glaring at him. The tooth had been pulled, and she had bled; he took his revenge for her tattling, albeit with reddened scratches on his arms. “I won the race.”

“Forget it,” his Pa said, then flashed his usual mischievous smile with the curled lips. “I love me some breasts anyway.” And he laughed.

“Me too.” Uncle Keith chuckled with him.

“Authen! Keith!” Aunt Ella admonished.

“What, I’m talking about the duck,” his Pa murmured.

“Sleep here tonight, you two,” Uncle Keith said, clearing his throat, looking at Ewan and Havanna, barely taking a bite of the food. “We won't be home tonight, so look after each other.”

“I won't sleep with him, dad,” Havanna whined. “He hogs all the bed and kicks me.”

“You use me as your pillow and drool on me, I won't sleep with you either.” Ewan fought back, ripping the moist pinkish meat off the duck leg with his teeth, the fat and the glaze making his mouth glisten.

And Aunt Ella slapped their heads in sync, planting their faces in the plates. “Eat properly, don’t make a ruckus,” she said. “And go to bed on time, I’ll beat your bums in the morning if I see the lights on when we come back.” She smiled but her eyes didn’t…

“Yes, aunty,” Ewan said, keeping his head down and focusing on the duck.

“My tooth hurts, mum…,” Havanna grumbled and sniffed.

“It’s already out, how would it hurt,” Ewan muttered, then kept quiet as he peeked a glance at the quiet Aunt Ella.

The dinner ended in peace with the clatters of cutlery ringing on the table. When the three adults tucked the two into bed and went away, when the serene night seeped into the late hours, Ewan and Havanna drifted off in a single blanket, snuggling together, their breaths mingling into a warm embrace.

….

His birthday came and passed, they all shared the cake, Nana fought him for the last slice, and the next year arrived. His Pa thinned by the month, and the ending of a year bared it visible. The three adults sighed a lot recently, and they always whispered among themselves, keeping quiet when he or Nana was around. Soon, when his tenth birthday knocked on the door, his scrawny Pa caught a severe cold, he hacked and hacked, and even coughed blood and vomited mangled pieces of flesh. There was nothing to worry about, his Pa consoled him, but he looked worse for wear with each passing day now.

He was just too tired, raising him alone—Ewan comforted his anxiety. When he got a bit older, he could share his Pa’s burden; he would rest while Ewan worked for their living. Everything would be alright. Yet, when he’d barely reached eleven, when he’d hardly cemented his resolve, his Pa sighed his last breath on his shoulder. Ewan lost him…

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