Inherited Silences

 The ride back from Dr. Fredericks office was quiet. Kevin preferred it that way. The fewer words spoken after therapy, the longer they seemed to echo. He let the hum of traffic fill the hollow space in his chest as he leaned against the taxi window, watching the city peel by in streaks of colour and shadow. By the time he got back to Nathan’s place in Rondebosch, the sun had shifted high overhead. 

The air smelled of rosemary and slow-cooked tomatoes. Through the open window, he heard Ava’s laughter—sharp and sweet like chimes. It was followed by Maya’s voice, warm and low, humming a lullaby Kevin hadn’t heard in years. He let himself in. The first thing he saw was Maya at the stove, barefoot, her hair tied up in a messy bun, Ava perched beside her on the counter in a cloud of flour. The two of them were kneading dough with their hands—one a master, the other a disaster. Maya looked up and smiled. “Perfect timing. You hungry?” Kevin managed a small nod. “Smells like Christmas in here.” Then he heard the backdoor open. “Kev!” Nathan’s voice called from the patio. “Dad’s here.” Kevin froze. 

Footsteps echoed behind him. Abraham Daniels—sixty-six, sun-worn and wide-shouldered—stepped into the kitchen carrying a bag of lemons and a bottle of red grape juice. “Well, would you look at that,” Mr. Daniels grinned, placing the bag on the counter. “My youngest finally comes home looking less like a shadow.” Kevin gave a light smile and a polite nod. “Afternoon, Dad.” The older man pulled him into a half-hug, his hand briefly pressing to the back of Kevin’s neck—firm, familiar. It lingered a second too long, then let go. 

“How was the drive from Worcester?” Maya asked gently, wiping her hands on a towel. “Long. Hot. But my sheep are alive and so am I, so we move.” Mr. Daniels took a seat at the kitchen table, stretching his back. “Missed you all. Thought I’d check in on my favourite children.” Nathan raised an eyebrow from where he leaned against the doorway. “All of us?” 

“Except Ava. She’s in a league of her own,” Mr. Daniels grinned, holding out his arms as Ava bolted into them with sticky, floured fingers. They settled. Maya handed out water. The light through the kitchen curtains turned everything amber. 

“So,” Mr. Daniels began, glancing at Kevin, “how’s the therapy going?” Kevin took a slow sip of water before replying. “It’s...going. I’ve got a lot of untangling to do.” “And the tutoring? How’s that going?” Kevin nodded. “It’s going great. It’s something I’m enjoy doing ”

 Mr. Daniels smiled thoughtfully, then turned to Nathan. “And you? How’s Ava treating you?” Nathan shrugged, casual but guarded. “She’s loud. And fast. And allergic to sleep.” Maya chuckled. “She’s teaching him the ways of the force.” An awkward silence hovered over the table like a low cloud. Kevin caught the edge in Nathan’s jaw—the way he always did when their father was around. The kind of tension that didn’t announce itself, but existed in the unsaid. Maya watched the three of them, eyes flicking between, then decided to steer the ship off course.

 “Kev, tell your dad about that librarian that’s been eyeing you,” she said lightly. Kevin blinked. “What?” “Oh come on,” Maya grinned. “That one from the library in Rondebosch. The day I picked up Ava’s storybooks, she was basically stroking your shoulder like it was ancient scripture.” Kevin groaned. “Maya. Don’t antagonize me.” “She looked at you like she forgot how vowels work.” Mr. Daniels burst into laughter, full and wheezing. “I always knew I made handsome boys. Didn’t think they’d be library certified.” Even Nathan cracked a reluctant smile. Kevin shook his head but couldn’t fight the smile threatening his lips. “She was probably just adjusting my lanyard.” “Sure,” Maya smirked. “Right after breathing in your soul.” They laughed together, the four of them, and even Nathan let himself relax into it. 

The table was soon filled with fresh rolls, lamb stew, and bowls of cucumber salad with crushed mint. Maya folded her hands and glanced around the table. “You know,” she said softly, “when I married Nathan, I knew I was getting a good man. But I didn’t realize I’d also get a father and a brother in the deal.” Kevin pointed his fork at her. “Hey. I’m not the added side dish you get for buying the combo meal.” 

Laughter rippled across the table again—this time warmer, lighter, like something fragile being allowed to breathe. For the first time in a while, Kevin felt the lines between them blur just a little. Not erased. Just...softer. 

Kevin looked out the window—sun slicing through rosemary and shadow. That same sun spilled across Cavendish Mall... 

 Outside Cavendish Mall, the late afternoon sun stretched golden across the pavement. The bustle of Cape Town teens came and went—some in school blazers, others in track pants and Crocs. Kiana sat cross-legged on a stone bench near the entrance fountain, her navy blue notebook open across her lap. 

Her pen tapped the edge of the page, over and over again. Scribble. Scratch it out. Try again. Next to her, Jada slurped on a Kauai smoothie, the straw squeaking obnoxiously against the plastic lid. “Roses are red, violets are blue,” she said with faux drama, flipping her braids off her shoulder. “He said you’re pretty—but he fooled you.” 

Kiana laughed without looking up. “You’re an idiot.” “I know,” Jada said proudly. “But a talented one. Now come on, Miss Shakespeare. Why are you doing this again?” Kiana sighed, lowering her pen. “Homework. From my tutor.” “Ohhh. The mysterious tutor,” Jada said, wiggling her eyebrows. “Is he hot?” Kiana didn’t answer, which was an answer. Jada snorted. “Nooo, don’t tell me you’re into him.” “I’m not.” Kiana shoved her friend lightly with her shoulder. “It’s not even like that. He’s just... weird. And smart. And... okay, maybe he has a nice face. But that doesn’t mean anything.” “Sure, sure,” Jada teased, sipping smugly. “Live a little, Kiana. You’re young, hot, complicated—it’s your duty to flirt with someone who reads books and smells like grown man deodorant.” Kiana rolled her eyes, trying to hide the blush rising to her cheeks. “You’re ridiculous.” 

Before Jada could continue, two familiar voices called out from the corner of the plaza. Keenan and Luke were approaching from the mall exit, both in civvies but still somehow looking like they’d just come from school. Keenan’s curly hair was tied back, his hands deep in his hoodie pockets. Luke had that careless walk that screamed high school confidence with a side of something to prove. “Jada,” Keenan greeted, stepping up first. His eyes sparkled. “You look good today.” “Thanks,” Jada replied casually, hiding her glee behind her smoothie straw. “I try.” Luke drifted toward Kiana, a little slower. He gave a small nod. “Hey.” “Hey,” Kiana said, glancing up. Her voice was polite. Distant. Not cold, but certainly not inviting. Luke scratched the back of his neck. “You good?” “Yeah. You?” “Yeah,” he said, then added awkwardly, “Just... saw you sitting here. Thought I’d say hi.” She gave him a half-smile. “You did it. Congrats.” He chuckled, rubbed his jaw, then stepped back. “Later, Kiana.” 

When the boys were out of earshot, Jada let out a breath and shook her head. “Why does Keenan have to be so handsome and yet so one-dimensional at the same time?” “You’re asking me?” “It’s like, he smiles, and my brain just short-circuits. But then he opens his mouth and it’s like—static.” Kiana laughed, eyes finally returning to her notebook. She flipped to a new page. This time, her pen didn’t stop. She wrote slowly, deliberately. Like the words were already inside her, waiting for permission to leave.

 Wherever you are, I hope the light wraps you in infinite love in your darkest of days. Love, Your daughter. 

She closed the notebook gently, her thumb pressing into the soft leather cover. She didn’t say anything. She didn’t have to. Jada leaned her head on Kiana’s shoulder. The world kept moving, fast and full and loud—but for a brief moment, the two of them sat still inside .