Standing, awestruck, Brent gapes at the massive room, fingers clutching a Nintendo Switch. His attention lowers, but not to me. Nostrils flaring, he takes in Kyran, swallows hard, then passes me like I’m nobody. “You’re FrostPlays,” he says, wiping his hand on his jeans before extending it. “I’m a huge fan. Can you sign my Switch?”
While my heart weathers the familiar neglect from my older brother, my father sets two suitcases down and lets his lip curl. “Why has Clara been cooking all day? Don’t you havepeoplefor that?”
Mom lifts a hand, finger pointing up. “Exactly right. Clara’s not a very good cook, I’m afraid. There’s still time to order something, or we could go out?” Her eyes shine. “I saw this beautiful restaurant on the way in. What was it called, Gregory?”
“Swan or something,” Dad says, nodding, wrinkling his nose at the table I worked all day to set up. “We can go there.”
“We can sit down,” Crimson states, smile icy as she pushes back the waterfall of her red hair. “Now.”
Dad has the gall to give Crimson’s low-cut white dress a onceover, and Kaleb has the self control to keep from hitting him as he steps in to block her body with his.
Discouraged already, I chew my lip while my mother resigns, loudly, with passive aggressive complaints.
Lukas guides me to a chair beside him.
Mom plops down in the free space right next to me while Brent sits beside Kyran, seemingly oblivious that he’s sitting across from me. His rambling about videos he loves meets the brick wall of Kyran swiping on his phone.
Morana sits on Kyran’s other side, overlooking his phone for the first timeeverand snaps, “No consoles at the table.”
Brent grimaces. “Who’s this chick, Frost?”
“My worst nightmare,” Kyran mutters, cutting his eyes toward her with the sharp edge of an almost smile. “Here I thought I was special.”
Morana’s lashes flutter at Kyran even as she addresses my brother. “If you don’t put that Switch up, I’m pouring punch in the card reader.”
“Listen here, you—” Brent can’t finish his cuss before Kyran whirls around and grips his mouth.
“If you continue down this path,I will end you. Put your—” Kyran swears. “—Switch away.”
Horrified, Mom lays a hand on her chest and grips my arm. “You live with these violent people, honey?”
“Calling Kyranviolentis actually the stupidest thing I’ve heard all year,” Lukas mutters, “and I met awolfkinwho pissed himself in my presence months ago.” His disconcerting eyes home in on my mother. “Don’t you know anything?I’mthe violent one.”
Mom lifts her chin. “It seems to run in the family.”
“Where do you think I got it from?”
Stomach rioting, I reach for the nearest basket of rolls and offer it to my mother. “Let’s eat?”
She takes one with a curt smile. “Thank goodness. Store-bought bread. Remember when you tried to make bread for us years ago?” Her laughter scathes. “It washorrible. I’ve never seen something turn out so bad.”
“The yeast was old,” I whisper. “I didn’t know because it was instant…” You don’t have to bloom instant yeast. But now I do. I let all my yeast bloom, just to make sure it does.
“Don’t talk back to your mother,” my father says from her other side as he takes a roll. “Making excuses for your failures is pitiful.”
Failures are how we grow. Mistakes are how we learn. Accidents make us cautious enough to improve.
Mom pats my cheek before saying, “No one’s asked about our trip yet.”
I take the cue. “How was the drive up?”
“Horrible! The traffic was endless, and we hit a drizzle at around the two hour mark! The construction!” She goes on for a while about the abusive condition of the drive while she butters her roll, then before she takes a bite, she says, “You’ll see on our way back home tomorrow.”
“Tomorrow?” I whisper.
“Yes, well.” She cuts a sneer past me, toward Lukas. “I know when we aren’t welcome. We’ll stay the night only because it’s too cruel to make us drive so much in one day, but after we rest, we’ll be leaving first thingunlesssomeone makes us feel more welcome.”
Does that mean I only have tonight to say whatever it is I want to say to my family?
