Chapter 7 Chapter Seven

Nat pov

“Here, have some strawberries,” I murmured, pushing the plate toward Emma.

Her left hand stayed pressed against her jaw, holding her anger in place, while the other moved mechanically, shoving food into her mouth. She hadn't said a word to me all morning.

“Are you not going to talk to me at all?” I leaned closer, reaching out to tickle her the way I always did when she was angry at me.

She shifted away before I could touch her.

"Come on, Em." I nudged the plate toward her. "At least take more pancakes."

"Leave me alone," she muttered, eyes still on her plate.

"Okay. That's fair." I leaned back, rubbing the back of my neck. "I'm sorry about last night, Em. I meant to come read to you."

She kept chewing as though I hadn't spoken at all.

After the argument with Mum, I had gone to my room to cool off, and told myself I'd go back to her in a bit. I didn't even remember falling asleep. By the time I woke, it was past midnight, and when I checked on her, she was already gone, curled up under her blanket like she'd given up waiting.

"Em." 

“You are becoming like dad,” she muttered, still not looking at me. Her grip on her fork tightened. 

"I was exhausted, Em, I didn't know when I slept off, I-" The door opened, and my words died with it.

Mum walked in first, heels clicking against the tile. Dad came in behind her, loosening his tie, fresh home from wherever he'd been and already looking like he was heading back out. Neither of them acknowledged us.

Mom’s eyes swept over the kitchen, landing on the table. 

“Oh,” she murmured, almost to herself. “You made breakfast.”

I wanted to ignore her, but not in front of Emma. 

"Yeah." I pushed a strawberry to the edge of the plate.

She nodded faintly, already reaching for a mug. Dad didn't even glance at the table. He went straight for the coffee machine, pressing the buttons a little harder than necessary.

Emma's fork slowed. I watched her from the corner of my eye, the way her shoulders tensed, how she stopped chewing for just a second, like she was bracing for something she had already heard before.

Mum leaned against the counter, wrapping both hands around her cup. 

"You didn't have to do all this. I was going to handle it."

Dad let out a quiet scoff.

"Emma needed to eat." I shrugged, keeping my eyes on the table.

Mum lifted her cup. Her eyes flicked toward Dad for half a second, then away. He was staring at his phone, thumb scrolling, jaw tight. Nobody said anything for a while. Just Emma's fork scraping the plate and the low hum of the refrigerator.

"The chef called in sick." She turned her cup slowly in her hands.

“I’m aware,” Dad answered without looking up. 

“We need a replacement, tired of her everyday excuse.”

“Then get one.”

“You seem to know where to find them.”

He let out a short breath, something between a laugh and a scoff. 

“Am I wrong?” She held his gaze now.

“Have you been drinking again?” He set his phone down slowly.

“Fuck you, Raymond,”  Her voice was flat.

Emma’s shoulders hunched slightly. I pushed my chair back a little.

"Hey." I kept my voice easy, drawing her eyes back to me. "Why don't we go for ice cream?"

She shook her head.

I raised an eyebrow, trying not to sound disappointed.

"What if we go to Aunt Debby's instead? You get to see baby Aria."

“Really?” A small smile tugged at her lips. 

“Yeah,” I bumped her shoulder lightly. 

She giggled quietly, the first sound of the day that wasn’t filled with anger, and nodded.

I texted Aunt Debby quickly. She replied almost immediately, telling us to come. She's Mum's younger sister and the only one in the family who always had the door open.

Mum was pacing, mumbling words I couldn't catch. Dad stood at the counter pressing his phone as if none of us existed.

I pushed my chair back and helped Emma down from hers.

"We're going to Aunt Debby's." I took her hand and started toward the door.

They both looked up at the same time.

"There's a charity event tonight." Dad's voice stopped us. "You're coming."

"Tonight?"

“Yes, tonight.”

“I have plans.”

“Reschedule whatever plans you have for 8 pm,” he cut in sharply. “You’ll be there. On time. Dressed properly.”

“Do you understand me, Nathaniel?”

“Yes,” I held his gaze for a second, then looked away. 

I guided Emma toward the stairs without another word. Halfway up, Mum's voice rose just slightly behind us.

"Did she cancel, or did you just remember you have a family?"

Dad's reply was too low to catch, but the edge carried. Emma's hand tightened around mine, and we kept climbing.

In her room, she climbed onto her bed, pulling her legs up, still watching me like she wasn’t sure if I was going to disappear again.

I sat beside her.

“I’m really sorry,” I kept my voice low. “About last night.”

She picked at the edge of her blanket.

“Are you mad at me?” she asked suddenly.

“What? No.” I leaned closer. “Why would I be mad at you?”

Her voice dropped.

“Because I kept asking you to come.”

“Hey. No. You can ask me a hundred times, okay? I love reading you bedtime stories. I’m your big brother.“

She studied my face for a moment.

"Pizza after baby Aria?" she asked.

"Sure. Extra toppings. Even the ones Mum says are too much."

A small smile pulled at her lips.

Something loosened in my chest. I reached out and brushed her hair back gently. 

"Get ready, yeah? I'll be right back."

She nodded.

As I stood, the noise downstairs had risen just enough to reach us. Emma glanced toward the door.

"Last to get ready, buy the other ice cream." I pointed at her bathroom door, forcing a smile.

She giggled and disappeared into the bathroom.

I stepped out and closed her door softly behind me. I stood in the hallway for a long moment, one hand still on the door handle, the sounds from downstairs finding their way up through the walls.

I let out a slow breath and ran a hand over my face, then went to get ready.

The rest of the day was kinder. Emma played with baby Aria for hours, laughing the kind of laugh she never used at home. We had pizza, extra toppings, and sang badly to songs as we watched the sun set over the park.

"We need to head home." I kept my voice easy, but Emma's face fell the way it always did when something good was ending.

"Five more minutes," she tried.

"Come on." I helped her with her jacket, trying not to think about the charity event waiting at the other end of the night.

The last one hadn't gone well. Dad had introduced me to some senator whose name I'd forgotten before the handshake was over, and somehow I had caught the edge of a wine glass wrong and watched it tip straight onto the man's suit. The senator had laughed it off. 

Dad didn't say a single word the entire drive home and spent the next three days acting like I didn't exist.

I buckled Emma's seatbelt and started the car.

I just had to get through one night and be the perfect son.