We eventually part ways when we reach our houses. I enter my place first, getting the scent of homemade dinner inside my nostrils. I can hear mom humming a certain melody as I pass through the hall, catching a glimpse of dad scrolling through his device with the tv playing.
And the sight that awaits me in the kitchen is grand. Mom's prepared a lot of dishes and it doesn't look like she'll stop anytime soon. I circle around the counter to reach her, peeking at the dish on the stove.
"How was school sweetheart?" She utters with a gentle sway in her tone.
"Good. What's the occasion?" I verbalize my inner thoughts. She's making dinner fit for a whole army. As if we're having guests over.
Are we?
"Oh, these? We're having company tonight so you better head upstairs and wash up. They'll
