Bonus Short Story: The Daughter, the Father, and the Young Man

“Hey, Latina, you called my old man ‘Papa,’ didn’t you?” Dale asked as he casually read a letter from his home village.

Dale and Latina were in their room in the attic. Combing her hair next to him, Latina nonchalantly smiled and replied, “Yeah, because he liked it better.”

Latina had stated that plainly, and an awkward expression crossed Dale’s face. He seemed to be having a hard time figuring out what to say. “Pops...”

Latina had called Dale’s father “Papa Randolph.” She referred to her true father, Smaragdi, by the nickname “Rag.” Devil culture and language differed from that of humans, but they did possess the concept of “parents,” although they had hardly any words for addressing them. Because of that, it was normal for devils to call even their parents by their given names.

When Latina stayed in Tislow, Randolph had worn a serious expression on his face and declared, “It might have actually been pretty nice, having a daughter.”

Though it was hard to tell just by looking at Randolph, when Dale’s younger brother Yorck’s wife called him “Father,” and especially when his grandchildren called him “Grandpa,” he’d apparently break out in a wide grin. Dale’s mother, who had written such things in the letter, didn’t pressure Latina to call her anything in particular, so the girl just called her “Mrs. Magda.”

“And you call the old hag ‘Granny.’”

“Right.” With that, Latina looked back and found that Dale had a bit of a puzzled expression on his face.

“But in spite of all that, you’ve never called me ‘Dad’ or ‘big brother.’”

Dale was Latina’s guardian and self-proclaimed replacement father, but ever since they’d first met, she had just called him “Dale.” She called Kenneth and Rita by their names too, so he didn’t especially mind, but thinking on it again, it seemed strange. He’d realized that their ages weren’t so far apart that it made sense to call him “Dad,” but there shouldn’t have been anything strange about referring to him as an older brother. Rather, he thought that “big brother” had a nice, fresh feel to it. And he could imagine her, back when she was little and couldn’t talk quite as well, calling him “big bro.” The thought made his heart beat even faster.

Perhaps it was only fitting, as they were father and son, but there really wasn’t any great difference between Randolph and Dale.

Latina puffed up her cheeks a bit, seemingly miffed by Dale’s words. “I mean, you’re Dale.”

“I see.”

Latina’s cheeks flushed red with embarrassment. She really was easy to understand, looking at the way she earnestly showed how she was feeling rather than hiding her emotions. That was just the way she was.

But then... Latina... she felt that way even way back when she was so little?

Realizing that, Dale’s face went red, too.

Latina hadn’t thought of Dale as a “father,” not even once. The feelings in her heart had been displayed even in the way she’d addressed him.

When she was still a small child holding her picture book tight as she walked, Dale didn’t think of her as anything but an adopted child, but the young girl had a strong will of her own. She’d been plenty grown enough to have her first crush.

Man... guess it’s no surprise I got called dense...

With an awkward smile on his face, Dale stared at the girl whose love had grown since she was little and whom he could no longer call “young.”

The gentle light of the lamp was cast upon the two of them as they spent their time together.