Part 1
Today was a special day for my aunt. We had just finished eating the dinner that I had prepared. It was one of my signature dishes, pasta with a white chicken mushroom sauce. I was surprisingly good at cooking given I was only 19 years old, but food was always a guilty pleasure of mine.
The messy looking plates now lay in front of us on top of the small coffee table. Her house was unsurprisingly small given that she lived alone. Just two rooms including the living room. The only couch available, the one we were currently sitting on, was one of those sectionals, with two different parts forming the letter l. On the wall opposite to us, as you might expect, was a big flat-screen TV.
I have to admit, preparing dinner in an unfamiliar kitchen was harder than I expected. I could tell from my aunt's face how bothered she looked every time I asked a question regarding the location of the kitchen appliances. But the end result was definitely worth it. She wasn't the type of person to hand out compliments easily, not because she was particularly stern but more because of how forgetful and careless she was. But this time she didn't forget. She even joked that I should probably cook more often for her.
Even though the movie we had decided to watch as a companion to our dinner was still playing, neither of us seemed particularly interested in it. It was one of those stand-up comedies, where half the jokes need explanation, and the other half aren't even that funny. And given that the last time I saw aunt Amara was about six months ago, we had plenty of things to catch on to.
I remember when I was younger and my mother would visit her sister and bring me along with her, there was always something so casual about her approach.
She never relied on fancy clothes or heavy makeup to complement herself. She had this effortless natural charm that never failed to captivate me. Her hair was dark brown and heavy, not very long but not short either. It had always been that way, and as far as I can tell she never experimented with dying it or styling it any other way.
But what I liked most about her was how sweet and selfless she was. On one of our visits, she even taught me how to approach girls. They would role-play with my mother on how a guy should behave. One of them would pretend to be the guy, so I knew exactly what they were talking about. Of course, it was all innocent games as I was too young then, but nevertheless I learned a few important things. That I should be very polite and respectful, putting their needs above the typical needs a guy has and that I should always treat them as princesses, being their best friend above all.
Unfortunately, so far, I wasn't the luckiest person when it came to dating. It is extraordinarily hard in today's age to even find a girl to go out on a date with, let alone find a girlfriend. So hard in fact that sometimes when trying to fall asleep all those crazy thoughts would cloud my mind making me wonder if I was going to stay a virgin forever. I had even tried dating apps, like many people had suggested, but given how many choices girls have on those you never end up being selected. My mother always told me I was a catch, but clearly that wasn't the case.
My mom and I lived together two hours away from her house. And if it wasn't for the fact that today it was her birthday, I would feel very used for being the one doing everything. I was the one that traveled here, I cooked for her, I had bought her a present which by the way cost me 70 freaking dollars. What else did she expect me to do today?
Aunt Amara leaned back onto her couch with a smile. "That pasta was worth all the trouble of having you here." She was obviously joking. "Seriously, kid you have got magic hands."
The compliment wasn't lost on me, but still my face turned sour. "Hey, I am not a kid anymore. I am 19 years old. I even have my own job." I knew she was messing with me, but I chose to play along.
Her gaze drifted back to the TV, but I suspected there was sometimes going through her mind. I knew that look all too well. And as she wondered, I wondered what she was wondering. It was fortunate then, that while all this was happening my eyes, as if they had a mind of their own, moved to the small bag next to the corner of the living room where the door and coat hanger met. And the reason is simple. That was my bag and inside it was the present I had gotten for her. Perhaps now was the best time to bring it up.
My heart started beating a little faster. Giving gifts always did that to me, probably because I wanted to believe the things I picked out would mean something. I'd spent longer than I should've wandering through shops until I found what I thought was the right thing--a deep blue cashmere scarf. It had been expensive, sure, but it was the only gift that felt appropriate after all this time.
"Hey, aunt Amara, this is for you." My voice got weaker towards the end, and I just hope she didn't notice. I didn't want to make a big deal out of this. I got up and picked the bag from where it was located, my fingers wrapped around it a bit too tightly. Somehow it felt heavier than before. "It's for your birthday, let me know if you like it." I extended my hand holding the bag closer to her.
Her hands reached out quickly, the excitement she was trying to downplay betraying her. "You didn't have to do that."
"Well, it's your birthday, and I wanted to." She gave me a glance before starting to open the bag carefully. I watched her reaction, hoping for something, anything to indicate she liked it.
When she pulled the scarf out, her eyes ran directly towards me. "It's a scarf..." She looked surprised and for a moment I thought I had miscalculated. "I hope you didn't pay a lot of money for this... I mean it's beautiful but with everything that is going on, you shouldn't waste your money, you know."
