On the day of our father's funeral, I followed Peyton home. The fourteen-year-old boy didn't say a word, hiding in his room with the door locked, no matter how much I called, he wouldn't come out.
That night, I made him a plate of pasta alla vodka and left it outside his door.
In the early hours of the morning, when I came out to get some water, I saw Peyton sitting on the floor in the hallway, eating the pasta alla vodka.
He devoured the noodles without any regard for manners.
I pretended not to see it, went downstairs to get a glass of water, and only returned to my room after a long time.
The next morning, when I went downstairs, someone was washing dishes in the kitchen. The boy, wearing an apron, poked his head out from the doorway and politely greeted me, "Good morning, sis."
Remembering the past, I couldn't help but smile and said, "Okay, I'll cook for you."
There was just enough pasta alla vodka left in the kitchen, and the water in the pot was boiling.
As I watched the food bouncing in the boiling water, I couldn't help but think that, in the predetermined plot, aren't we just like these food in the pot, drifting aimlessly in the rapid currents of fate?
I fell into deep thought, and at that moment, a pair of strong arms wrapped around my waist.
I was startled and was about to push away, but then I heard the person behind me say, "I miss Dad."
With that, I couldn't bring myself to refuse him.
Peyton rested his head on my shoulder, his breath warm against my ear, and softly said, "Abbey, don't be nervous."
I wasn't nervous, just a little uncomfortable.
After a long pause, he sighed and murmured to himself, "Sister, we were always meant to be the closest to each other."
I could feel Peyton's heartbeat like a drum against my back, and I felt a bit dazed.
……
When I applied the medicine to Peyton's ankle again, I focused intently on it.
It was strange. Despite icing it and applying medicine every day, the swelling hadn't gone down at all.
In fact, it seemed to be getting worse.
I looked up and noticed Peyton's intense gaze, which made me pause.
He gave a low cough and looked away.
I ruffled his hair and asked with concern, "When will you get better?"
Peyton's tone was indifferent as he replied, "So I can go back to boarding school sooner?"
I patted his head and said, "Of course not, it's because I'm care about you."
Hearing this, his eyes seemed to flicker, but he quickly regained his composure.
"Mm."
After that day, Peyton's foot quickly recovered.
One day, when I went to pick him up from school again, a rather handsome guy approached me at the entrance.
His name was Cesar Wallace, a graduate from the previous year who had returned to visit his teacher.
Cesar was dressed in a black leather jacket, looking cool and stylish. He spoke in a way that put me at ease, without making me feel uncomfortable.
So when he asked for my contact information, I didn't refuse.
Just as I was about to take out my phone, Peyton suddenly walked over. He stood beside me, leaning against me, with his arm around my waist.
I was taken aback and asked him what was wrong.
Peyton said his leg hurt and he felt a bit weak.
But wasn't his leg almost healed?
The situation felt awkward, and the exchange of contact information now seemed out of place.
Feeling embarrassed, I apologized to Cesar and hurriedly pulled Peyton into the car.
As soon as we got in the car, Peyton looked at me, his eyes smiling but his tone gloomy. "Abbey, are you trying to find me a brother-in-law?"
I thought about how in less than a month, Peyton would turn eighteen, meet the female lead, and then things would get intense.
Ignoring the discomfort in my heart, I responded with a low "Mm."
"Yes, I'm finding you a brother-in-law. Besides, I'm not that young anymore."
After saying that, the car fell into silence. Peyton's eyes darkened, and he didn't say a word.
When we got home, he didn't say a word, quickly heading upstairs to his room. Watching his back, I sighed.
