II. It's all relative
II. It's all relative
As told by Nina
Initially, I felt the need to stall during the after-breakfast cleanup. After all, as soon as we had finished that chore, I would undeniably have to be a big girl again, but I did not want to. There is such a thing as being homesick when you are still at home, or missing someone when that person is still with you.
It was something like that for me. As much as I appreciated the independence of living on my own, I loved Milo more - especially little Milo. In a certain way, I have a love-hate relationship with my boyfriend; one that is to be summarized as 'love it when we are together, hate it when we are apart'. On the other paw, not being with Milo gives me something very desirable to look forward to.
After Milo had cleaned me up, we dressed ourselves for the day. More or less, that is. While I would return to my dorm to plan the scenery, he would stay at his apartment to brainstorm. He and his fellow students had agreed to all brew some ideas, then have a conference call on Tuesday evening.
Most of his peers had gone home to see their parents for Spring break, so the virtual meetup was mostly for convenience. They would get together later that same week to combine their ideas and work out the details.
I could do some preparation for the scenery already, since the theme was specified in the assignment, and they had already decided upon their general setting. I would still need to join their later meeting, just to make sure my plans would be accurate and fitting, before ultimately starting to work on the actual set pieces.
Besides, I had an appointment with my roommate Margaret. She and I were the only students on our floor that were still in Northshore for the week, so we had agreed to have dinner together. She even offered to cook, which I did not object to.
Margaret had a knack for cooking meals that were both tasty and affordable. A very convenient combination for any student. Too bad said combination is so rare. Two of the girls on our floor could barely cook anything edible when they first moved in. It took time and effort, but eventually, it got better.
Still, I preferred Margaret's cooking. Her mother is a Ridgeback, an immigrant from a country to the far East of our own, and she had brought her native eating habits with her. When we celebrated her birthday, Margaret had cooked a steak like no other. When I asked for the recipe, she told me that it was a family secret. Bummer.
Speaking of celebrations, more specifically birthdays, Milo's birthday was coming up. While he had at some point said that he was actually looking forward to it this time, I knew that it was mostly wishful thinking on his part.
Of course, he greatly enjoyed the presents I had given him in the past, but birthdays are not about presents in the first place. We both knew that days like those are hard for Milo, and that he had spent most annual festivities on his own, in his bedroom, crept under the covers. He would lay there, waiting and crying - until he fell asleep, or had run out of tears.
I felt deeply sorry for him, and wanted nothing but to see him happy on his birthday, for a change. However, it looked like I had some nasty obstacles to overcome. First of all, I had the perfect birthday gift in mind, something I would have to make for him myself. Too bad that I lacked the skill to create said gift.
Maybe Margaret could help me out. I could not even begin to consider telling my roommate about my inner puppy, but she might have some sound advice for me. Over the past year, we had become close friends, especially since the car crash we had survived.
I arrived at my dorm a little later than I had planned, since I could not resist stalling at Milo's place. However, the call of nature and the call of work have one thing in common: ultimately, neither should be ignored.
That same evening, Margaret had cooked dinner for the two of us, like we agreed. After tormenting my stomach for an hour with delicious smells of food that was not ready to be eaten yet, she finally invited me to join her in the kitchen.
My nose had not betrayed me. Margaret had cooked one of her family's signature dishes, something that contained rice, grilled chicken and an array of spices I could not trace. I was not going to ask her about that either, since she would probably tell me that it was a 'family secret'.
After thanking her for cooking, I eagerly dug in. A few bites later, I noticed that something about Margaret was off. I looked at her and saw an expression of insecurity and worry on her chestnut-colored muzzle. She had hardly even touched the food on her plate since she had served it.
"What's up, Marge?" I asked. "This is one of your favorite dishes, but you haven't eaten anything yet. Talk to me, girl, I'm not going to eat you."
The Ridgeback sighed and put down her fork. "Remember that Arctic Fox I told you about?"
"You mean Sonia?"
Margaret nodded. "I haven't talked to her for a while. Our contact has been irregular for the past few years, but usually, it doesn't take her longer than a month to hit me up again."
"So that's all? She hasn't called you for a few weeks?" I queried with a neutral tone.
"It's more complex than that. The last time we didn't talk for this long was when she got herself in jail for two months. Turned out she had become a member of some sort of street gang."
"Wow, that's heavy. I thought gangs only consisted of guys?"
"Yeah, so did I. Apparently, when she gets her hands on a baseball bat, gender roles are no longer a criterion."
I gulped, even though my mouth had been empty.
"Sounds like she's kinda violent. That's not how I know you at all. Why are the two of you still friends? Not to be rude, but I don't think people like her are a good influence on you. You don't want to get caught up in whatever business she's involved with, do you?"
The Ridgeback shook her head, but said nothing. Staring at her plate, she finally cut up her meat.
"Then why do you even try to keep in touch with Sonia? I know she's a childhood friend of yours, but that doesn't oblige you to keep the friendship alive, right?"
Margaret suddenly looked back at me with reddened eyes. "She's not my friend. That's what I probably told you, but it's what I tell everyone."
"Huh?" I replied, cocking my head. "But how- "
"She's my half-sister, okay?" Margaret snapped, involuntary raising the fur on her neck.
"Wow. Didn't see that coming... Why did you say she's your friend?"
"My family is a bit old-fashioned. My mother and her parents are immigrants, and their culture values something that is best described as 'family honor'."
"How is that related to Sonia?"
"My mother... she'd had an affair with an Arctic Fox when she an my father were already in a relationship. They were both drunk, which was a slippery slope that led to... y'know?"
"A daughter." I filled in the blank.
Margaret nodded. "An affair and an extramarital daughter. Either of those wouldn't have been particularly pretty on their own, but combined... let's just say that it'd be a disgrace to my mother and her parents."
"So what'd they do?"
"My mother came up with a plan to cover her slip-up. She went on a 'vacation' for a month and gave birth to Sonia in a different country. After the birth of their daughter, the father and my mother went their separate ways. Since Sonia inherited her species from her father, she doesn't physically resemble me. Despite that, half of her blood has the same source as mine, and she's only a year older than me."
"And so you feel connected to her?"
"Yeah. I can't just let her down, y'know? Her father is an alcoholic, and her stepmother makes him look sober. Heck, they never even told Sonia that the fennec her father married is not her birth mother."
I wanted to say something - anything - to console my friend, but I was at loss of words. Margaret looked at me as if she was desperate.
"Please, Nina. Promise me you'll never tell anyone about this. Personally, I couldn't care less about my family's so-called 'honor'," she said, illustrating her lack of interest with finger quotes, "but my mother would be highly embarrassed if any of her relatives ever found out about Sonia."
"Don't worry, Marge. My dad taught me that a lady knows when to speak and when to remain silent. Don't know if I'm a lady, but I can certainly keep my secrets," I reassured, thinking of the babyfur-related items I had hid in my room.
Margaret snorted. "You don't know if you're a lady?" She said with mocked disbelief. "Girl, if I'd get a krone for every time I've heard Milo call you 'princess', I would've cooked you a top-notch steak for dinner and still had enough money left for a way too exquisite dessert."
"Too exquisite and too caloric," I added with a laugh, and Margaret couldn't resist laughing along.
It was good to see the Ridgeback laughing again. We spent the rest of dinner talking about lighter subjects, mostly the classes we had attended the week before. Between the lines, I could not stop to ponder how I was going to solve my problem.