"Gael?" Sheena repeated the name. "Of course, I know him. Doesn’t he come over to your house all the time?"
"Can you tell me whose child he is?" I asked eagerly.
There was a brief silence on the other end of the line.
"He’s..." Sheena's voice suddenly became uncertain. "Hold on, let me think..."
Another few seconds of silence.
"This is strange, I can’t remember all of a sudden. Anyway, he’s not from our side," she finally said. "Why are you suddenly asking about him?"
"Oh, nothing, just remembered him out of nowhere," I answered vaguely. "Can you describe what he looks like?"
Sheena laughed. "Gael? He’s a little chubby, short, round face, really cheerful-looking!"
A chill ran through me.
Dad said Gael was taller than my eldest uncle, who was six foot tall.
But Sheena described Gael as a short, chubby, cheerful-looking kid.
After hanging up the phone, I reached out to several more relatives, and the responses were all similar—everyone "remembered" Gael, but no one could confirm his exact identity.
When it came to his appearance, each description was different.
The next morning, I searched through my grandfather’s old study for the family genealogy, hoping to find some clues about Gael.
The thick genealogy recorded the information of several generations of our family, but after going through every page, there wasn’t a single mention of "Gael."
"Florence, what are you looking for?" Aunt Micah’s voice came from behind, giving me a start.
"I’m looking at the family tree," I said, closing the heavy book. "Aunt, do you remember anything about Cousin Gael when he was little?"
Aunt Micah smiled. "Of course I do. He was so mischievous, always following your dad around, learning this and that, couldn’t sit still for a second."
"Do you have any pictures of him when he was a kid?"
Aunt Micah’s smile froze. "Pictures? There should be some, I think..."
She pulled out her phone, scrolling quickly, but after a while, clearly having not found anything, she awkwardly gave up. "There are too many photos on this phone, I can’t find them right away."
"Where is he now? Why haven’t we kept in touch all these years?" I pressed on.
Aunt Micah’s expression grew even more confused. "He’s always been in touch, hasn’t he? Didn’t he come this past Spring Festival?"
"But I have no memory of that," I insisted. "And I went through all the photos, not a single one has him in it."
Aunt Micah fell silent for a moment, then sighed. "Florence, are you feeling too stressed from work? How could you suddenly forget someone so close to you?"
I didn’t say anything further.
Clearly, everyone else was convinced of Cousin Gael’s existence, while I had no memory of him whatsoever.
In the afternoon, the whole family went to the ancestral tombs to pay respects.
On the way back, my little niece, Sofia, suddenly said, "Mom, when is Uncle Gael coming? He promised to teach me how to make paper airplanes."
My sister, Donna, patted her daughter’s head. "Soon, he’ll come in a few days."
"He called me yesterday," Sofia said innocently, "He said he brought me a gift."
Donna and I exchanged a glance, and her expression told me she had no idea my niece had received such a call.
"When did you get that call?" Donna asked.
"Just last night, when you and dad went out," Sofia replied matter-of-factly. "Uncle Gael said he misses us and will be back soon."
That night, when we returned home, the relatives in the ancestral house were especially numerous due to the ancestral rites.
