Silver
Age Seventeen
Timing is important.
Papa says that timing is the most important thing in the world.
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sp; You can’t start something a little too early or a little too late. A fraction of a second can make a difference not only in deciding crucial events but also in defining a person’s life.
I learnt the importance of timing from both Papa and Mum. Considering their political careers, time plays a huge tribute in their lives. They never go over the time given to them to speak in parliament. They just say precise information that doesn’t only relay their point, but also makes their opponents pause and think about a possible retort.
And yet, lately, I’ve been having this nagging feeling that I missed the timing for something.
What, I don’t know.
It couldn’t be piano practice or my weekends with Mum or even Papa’s house briefings.
Lately, it’s like we have the parliament at home. Everyone is there, led by Frederic, and it’s almost like early elections. While I love talking to Papa’s friends and getting caught in debates, I don’t like the feeling of emptiness the further he gets away from me.
Mum has been doing well, even after Papa started dating Helen. Actually, it’s too well that it’s beginning to raise red flags. She now goes out on dates to seek out a potential man to step on — her words, not mine.
Is it Mum? Is that why I feel the timing is wrong?
I send her a text to tell her I love her and miss her.
If we weren’t in the middle of dinner, I would’ve called, but Papa doesn’t like it when I talk to or about Mum in front of Helen. Not that she minds, she told me so herself. She said Mum is a part of who I am and no one can take her away from me.
I hugged Helen to death for saying those words.
Papa is wonderful, but he doesn’t understand my constant concern about Mum. He says she’s the adult and should worry about me, not the other way around.
But Papa doesn’t know about Mum’s mental state. All they do is fight. Even after nine years of divorce.
The four of us sit around the smaller table in the kitchen. Helen doesn’t like the bigger dining room when it’s only us. She said it feels impersonal and lonely while this one is cosier and gives a familial vibe.
I consider everyone here family — except for the one sitting opposite me.
Cole eats the steak and compliments his mother’s cooking and Papa for picking the Korean beef. Then they strike up a conversation about the economical exchanges with South Korea and the benefits of it.
That’s Cole to a T. One, he knows everything about everything. He even throws out numbers and statistics. Papa’s friends love him because he agrees with them. Not in a way that seems like a follower’s, but more like someone who did his homework, refused all the others, and settled on them. He makes it seem as if he likes them, not because he has to, but because he wants to.
Liar.
He’s the biggest liar alive. There’s nothing coming out of his mouth that I believe as the truth anymore.
Cole has mastered the art of lies so well, he can even manage to convince you that the truth might also be a lie.
He’s too much into mind games and seeing people trip over themselves. Watching someone flustered because they didn’t see a question or a situation coming their way is his favourite pastime.
He turned eighteen over the summer, but it’s almost like he’s twenty-five. Granted, all of us learnt to become mature since a young age; we couldn’t smile wrong in front of people or speak wrong or even breathe wrong, but he takes it to a whole different level.
Cole is perfect on the outside but rotten on the inside.
Ever since I saw that picture of the bound girl, I’ve realised how deep he actually runs, how far and how fast he can go. That he can be way worse than what I know.
And I hate that my first reaction to that image was intrigue.