FANTASY | CONTEMPORARY FANTASY | FICTION | YOUNG ADULT | SERIES
Titan’s Daughter | Chapter 4
20 Minutes Ago:
Gaea could feel the anxiety clawing its way up from the pit of her stomach, a nervous energy that seemed to seep through her pores. Standing between her and the door was a squirrel, its cheeks overstuffed with nuts.
It was more of an irrational discomfort, the kind that grew over time, feeding off half-imagined childhood traumas. But, in her heightened state of anxiety, this tiny, furry creature was transformed into a harbinger of impending doom.
With an exasperated sigh, she stooped to gather a handful of pebbles as Persephone walked past her towards the door. Each throw was a tiny act of defiance against her unfounded fear. The squirrel darted away, scurrying off to the safety of the trees, its fluffy tail bouncing as it retreated with its precious cargo of nuts.
The scent of curry tofu filled the air as Persephone swung open the kitchen door, only to have Gaea squeeze past her, almost knocking her over.
“I can’t believe you left me with that little monster!” Gaea complained. Squirrels had always been a source of fear for her, ever since a childhood incident.
“Don’t drag me into your weird little squirrel phobia,” Persephone retorted, her words heavy with a suppressed laugh. But Gaea could only offer a half-hearted shrug in response, her heart still hammering from her encounter. She knew it was absurd, this fear of hers. Yet it clung to her like stubborn lint. A part of her had come to accept it, yet she did not fully understand it.
“Gaea, it’s been a while since I’ve seen you around. Are you guys friends again?” Persephone’s father asked, joining them in the kitchen.
Gaea waved at him. “Hi, Mr. Porter.”
“Yes, Dad, we’re friends again,” Persephone interjected.
“Well, I hope that means you’ll be around more often then,” Mr. Porter said while tossing some diced onions into the simmering pot on the stove.
The mixture of onions and curry filled the kitchen with a delightful aroma. However, Persephone, never one to appreciate her father’s cooking, found it a personal affront to her taste buds.
“Dad, what are you doing?” she inquired.
“I’m making dinner,” he replied, making a peculiar dance move. Persephone sighed and rolled her eyes.
“Great, another one of your specialties,” she quipped sarcastically.
Mr. Porter was a vegan, but he never imposed his beliefs on his family. However, when he did cook, he refuses to prepare any meat dishes.
He tasted his creation and said, “You know you enjoy my cooking.”
“Yeah, as much as I enjoy wearing wet socks in winter,” Persephone retorted.
Terrible isn’t quite the word Persephone would use to describe her dad’s cooking, but the absence of salt and his reluctance to use any seasoning are an insult to her taste buds.
“All this is your fault, Gigi,” said Persephone, poking Gaea on the shoulder.
“Oh no, this was never one of my wish,” Gaea laughed.
“What wish?” Mr. Porter inquired.
“I had a few mishaps at school today that ruined my dress and messed up my hair, and Gigi here insists it’s all her fault,” Persephone dismissively explained.
Earlier on the school bus ride back from Salem, Gaea had sat so close to Persephone that other students gave them curious looks. Throughout the journey, Persephone had worn a smile, realizing just how much she had missed her overbearing friend.
Sprite would have completed the trio, sandwiched between them, but her grandmother had picked her up after school for a trip to her aunt’s house.
“Really? Here I thought it was some new fashion trend,” Mr. Porter remarked, noticing Persephone’s disheveled hair and dress with red stains.
With the support of Gaea and Sprite, Persephone managed to get through the rest of the school day despite the stares and whispered laughter at the lockers. Her father received a disapproving look from his daughter, but he winked at her and continued stirring the pot.
“Anyways,” Persephone continued, “that’s why she followed me home — to make sure none of her other crazy thoughts about me came true.” “Ah, Gaea, dear, will you be joining us for supper tonight?” Mr. Porter asked.
Persephone gagged, her hands clutching at her throat, and a silent “no” was directed at Gaea.
Gaea, ever bubbly, who wore her laughter as comfortably as her curly head of dusty, burgundy-colored hair, let out a soft chuckle. “Wish I could, Mr. Porter, but I’ve got a thing with my dad tonight,” she replied, her words floating on the surface of a deeper meaning. She paused for a moment, lost in her thoughts.
Her eyes turned distant, clouded with a hint of wistfulness and perhaps a bit of melancholy. Lost in her own little world, she seemed to journey somewhere — to a place where somber memories lived.
With a soft sigh, she pulled herself back to the present moment. “It’s a sort of tradition,” she finally continued, her voice carrying a wistful tone. “He gives me a present from my mom’s birthday list. This is the last one.”
The weight of the finality of her words pressed down on her. She offered a small smile, but her eyes said something else.
It was as if she was trying to fill the growing, painful void of not having a mother with the comfort of tradition.
While drying his hands on the kitchen towel hooked on the oven handle, Mr. Porter offered, “Why don’t I drive you home?”
With a hint of independence in her voice, Gaea refused, “I appreciate the offer, Mr. Porter, but I’ll just take the shortcut through the park.”
A fatherly worry crept into Mr. Porter’s tone, “Gaea, it’s getting quite dark out there; I don’t think…”
Interrupting her dad, Persephone chided him in her sarcastic drawl, “Oh, come on, Dad, we’re in Perthly Bay, remember?”
“The worst thing that can happen to Gaea is some senile old-timer mistaking her for one of his grand-kids.” Her tone was dismissive, an attempt to downplay her father’s overprotective nature.
With her head buried in the fridge, Persephone continued, “Besides, Dad, Gaea’s practically Snow White. All the woodland critters absolutely adore her.”
She paused to move a few items around before finishing her thought, “They’re like her personal bodyguards.”
Gaea, not missing a beat, joined in the fun, chuckling, “I’ll keep that in mind when dealing with the squirrels. But, I promise, I won’t take any gifts from witches.”
Persephone, opening the freezer and pulling out a pint of ice cream, quipped back, “In Pincher’s forest, the only witch to worry about is Larry, the park ranger.”
Mr. Porter quickly plucked the ice cream out of Persephone’s hand, shooing her away from the fridge. “Alright, enough, you two; I get it.” He turned to Gaea, offering her a warm smile, “Happy birthday.”
