Her lips form a smile at my brother's mention, disregarding that it’s not actually my favourite.
“I’ll never forget the look on his face when we brought Russet home,” she says, pulling out two mugs from the cupboard and waving one at me. I nod my head and watch as she flicks on the kettle. “It was as though all his Christmases came at once.”
I don’t remind her that he wanted a dog and that I wanted the kitten. There’s not any point.
“Where’s Dad?”
She looks over her shoulder. “Oh, he’s up in the loft sorting out the Christmas decorations.”
Pulling out some dinner plates, she sets them aside before grabbing the cutlery. Like she always does, she’s got one too many knives and forks, but I don’t even bother to say anything anymore.
“Max always loved Christmas,” she says wistfully as the kettle clicks, and she makes us both a cup of tea.
“So, how is Charlotte getting along? The other day, I told your dad how that could have been her and Max.” Her eyes grow glassy, and I worry she’s about to cry, so I reach over and take her hand.
“She’s lucky to find someone like Ethan,” I say.
“Of course, of course,” she says, patting the top of my hand before pulling away and bringing her mug to her lips.
Russet is purring in my lap as I take a sip of my tea, only to realise she’s put sugar in mine too late.
I smack my lips together and pull a face.
“Too hot?” she questions, and I shake my head.
“No. Sugar.”
She just looks at me oddly.
“I don’t take sugar,” I say.
“Oh right, Max did. I’ll make you another.”
“No, it's fine, Mum.”
But she’s already reaching for my mug, so I let her get on with it.
She hasn’t asked me how my audition went, and I can’t say I’m surprised, but it still stings.
Standing up, I place Russet in one of his beds in the kitchen corner.
“I’m just going to see if Dad needs a hand.”
“Okay, dinner will be ready in ten minutes.”
Sitting at the bottom of the stairs, I loosen the laces on my Dr. Martens before toeing them off. If I go upstairs wearing these, Mum will likely give me a slap around the earhole. No shoes are allowed upstairs.
I can hear movement overhead as I make my way up the ladder.
“Dad,” I call out.
The entire loft is boarded out. I thought they were going to make it into another room at one point, but after we lost Max, they never bothered.
“Hey, Violin,” my dad says from behind a box somewhere.
I roll my eyes. Max used to call me Violin when we were little, and my dad adopted the nickname. Go figure.
“Mum said dinner will be ready in ten.”
