She goes silent for a moment.
“You boys seem quiet this morning,” she says a beat later, topping off her coffee. “Did something happen?”
“Nothing happened,” I say too quickly, a trace of irritation slipping through. “I’m just tired.”
Mom lets out a sigh—the kind that says she doesn’t believe me, only hasn’t decided yet how hard she wants to push. “Alright, sweetheart. If you say so.”
I force myself to take a bite of eggs, but they taste like nothing. All I can think about is Connor sitting beside me, stiff and withdrawn. My stomach turns, and I set my fork back down.
There’s another pause, but not for long.
“Did you sleep okay?” Mom asks, still not letting it go. “Those beds are too soft.”
“The bed was fine,” I mutter.
“Very comfortable,” Connor adds, though without much enthusiasm.
Mom nods, but keeps watching us, still not satisfied with our answers. Something’s off, and Caroline Caldwell has never met a personal boundary she didn’t want to bulldoze in the name of maternal concern.
“You know,” she says, sliding into the chair next to Connor, “when Noah’s father and I started getting serious, we fought all the time. Little things, stupid things. But we always talked them through.”
Beside me, Connor goes still, clearly uncomfortable. I just sit there, feeling my frustration start to climb.
“Mom,” I say with barely contained annoyance, “nobody’s fighting.”
“I’m just saying,” she goes on, like I didn’t speak, “it’s perfectly normal for couples to have disagreements. Especially when you’re still getting to know each other.”
Dad looks away from whatever he and Maya were talking about and turns to Mom. “Caroline, leave the boys alone. If they say it’s fine, it’s fine.”
Mom huffs. “I’m just trying to help. Noah is clearly in a bad mood, and Connor’s quiet too.”
I let out a groan and press my fingers to my temples, trying to stave off the headache building behind my eyes.
“We’re not fighting,” Connor says, his voice soft. “It’s just an early morning after too much wine, right, Noah?”
Well. That’s a painfully honest way of putting it, all things considered.
“Yup,” I say, as a dull throb begins to spread through my head.
Dad chuckles. “Yeah, there was definitely too much wine last night.”
Mom studies us for another second, then nods and gets up, obviously not buying it. She heads into the kitchen area to switch on the electric kettle. Knowing her, I can tell she’s just trying to keep herself busy so she doesn’t say what she’s actually thinking.
Dad seems to catch that too and gets up after her, subtle about it but clearly picking up on her mood. The second they’re both out of earshot, Maya looks between Connor and me.
“You two are being weird,” she says bluntly. “Did you actually fight or something?”
“Not you too, Maya,” I say, glaring at her.
“Sorry.” She lifts her hands in mock surrender. “Just checking.”
Connor’s knee bumps mine under the table—an accident, I think at first, until the faint pressure stays there. It’s so slight I almost convince myself I imagined it, but when I glance at him, there’s something in his eyes. Concern, maybe. Or apology. Whatever it is, the knot in my chest loosens a little.
A few minutes later, Dad comes back to the table. “The Scotts want to go kayaking this afternoon,” he says. “Weather’s supposed to be perfect—sunny, but not too hot. How about we all go?”
“Sounds good to me,” Maya says.
“Yeah, sure,” I say, barely listening.
