“Does this mean our foods on you?” Finn starts. “I mean, not literally, but I guess… I do, actually.” Sounding thoughtful.
I look down, groaning at the ketchup and mustard stains on my shirt. At the same time hearing a soft thump followed by a grunt from my brother under the table. Abram shooting Finn a less than amused expression by the time my head rises again.
“Do we reorder then?” Finn asks, opening his mouth, wanting to know seriously this time. He never does joke about food. “I prefer to look like the mess when it’s my meal.”
Another thump.
I can admit I know I don’t look the best, but exhaustion, both mentally and physically, will do that. I don’t think I’ve gotten a decent night’s sleep since I left the Caspers’. Before everything went to shit… again.
“Right so, I would like a burger, no tomato. Ketchup that isn’t being worn by you. Same for the mustard.” Glancing at my shirt again. “Oh, and a side of‘what the fuck happened to my sister?’” Words so bitter by the end they bite.
My heart surges as my features grow tight.
This time, Abram doesn’t try and pretend to be nice as he kicks at his son’s knee. Finn acts as if he doesn’t feel it. Fingers crossed, resting on the table as his concentration stays wholly locked on me.
“I… you were all supposed to forget about me,” I say so low I don’t even know if they hear me because I can barely hear myself.
Eli’s shoulders swell seconds later, and I realize they all have.
A fresh batch of anger flickers behind Finn’s lashes so strong that a jolt of energy blazes my spine. Washing away any of my insecurities with it.
I don’t know if it’s out of sympathy for me or rage for not answering his question. Either way, I don’t like it.
It’s not any of his concern, same as it is for AbramandEli. I’m no one’s problem.
“What areyoudoing here?” Tone sterner this time. My resentment helping.
This time it’s Abram who heaves an expectant breath like he doesn’t like my question. Like I’m the one who made them come out here. Like I owedhimmore of an explanation of what I did withmylife.
His posture may be lax, face stoic, but I can feel the quietness of his dwindling patience. It’s like the bomb of his composure is millimeters from exploding all over the ground.
“You tell us first,” Finn quips, lifting his chin defiantly. His natural competitiveness trying to outweigh my stubbornness.
I shrug. “I left.”
Pretending I’m indifferent, cold. Detached. Anything but what I really am, but everything thatheis. Something swirls low in my stomach. I shove it down.
We don’t think about him.
Abram draws out air, and it sounds tired. He sounds tired. “I’ll have the same as Finn. Add a coffee to mine though.” He rumbles the last part, almost an afterthought, rubbing at his temples in exhaustion.
Eli repeats what he’d like with the same dullness.
I don’t bother writing it down. I don’t need to. Their disappointment as engraved in my mind as the menu is.
I should be relieved. Abram has given me an out, so why do I suddenly feel like the guilty one?
Sidestepping away in a daze, I start toward the counter to put in the new order, only to stall midstep. Pretending I don’t hear what Abram says at my back as I keep moving.
The simpleness of the sentence trapped in my mind long after I bring them their new food. Way past the dinner rush and late-night crowd.
They stay. Unified in holding up that one promise.
We aren’t leaving until we talk.
seven
Rory