Vivian suddenly muttered, "The chicken soup is too oily. I feel a little sick too."
No one responded.
No one cared.
The old lady, still buzzing with excitement, rushed to the kitchen and came back with a plate of freshly sliced lemons.
"Lila, eat something sour," she urged, her voice filled with old wives' wisdom. "Sour means a boy, spicy means a girl!"
Marcus, knowing full well that I hated lemons, gently pushed the plate aside.
"Mom, don’t worry," he said softly. "I’ll take good care of Lila."
"Alright, let Vivian stay at your house. The girl is sharp."
As soon as Vivian heard she could stay at my place, she rushed to grab a suitcase from the house, clearly prepared for this moment.
Marcus pressed his fingers to his temples in frustration. "You’re not going."
Vivian turned to me with pleading eyes. "Aunt, please? I’ll stay at your place for a few days and take care of you... and Uncle."
Take care of him? Sure, in every way possible.
I sighed and opened the co-pilot door. "Do whatever you want."
Vivian beamed and climbed into the back seat.
She really didn’t see herself as an outsider. After a while, she came out of the bathroom in a bikini, strolling casually through the living room.